#trying not to compare him to the elf she remembers

[monabee-draws]

Been daydreaming my Tav and Astarion's backgrounds in the case where they meet before the events of the game and I had to draw some designs.

TONS of What-Ifs in here, which I will elaborate below and also hopefully in a series of comics one day!!!

Astarion is a junior magistrate a few years before the Gur incident, and is (as per usual) used as a jockey for the less appealing, more irritating cases by his seniors. Magistrate Waltzman, the insufferable, well-meaning fool (Astarion's words) often gives Astarion difficult or tricky cases to test his mettle.

One day he's given the application for a Lolthite temple to be built in the Upper City. Everyone else laughs it off and Astarion knows it is going to be a pain (because the patriars would never agree, religious zoning law is complex and takes forever to muddle through, and the drow themselves will probably eat him.) Instead he meets Phaerdril, who commiserates with his work situation, and they find a way to improve both of their situations by causing beaurocratic nonsense. The building of the temple is stuck in broken-ground limbo for several years, Phaer's commander loses face for bragging about progress that never materialises, and Astarion's higher-ups are repeatedly inundated by complaints from the patriars.

They remain friends (with occasional benefits) over the next few years, meeting whenever the drow envoy returns to see how construction is going. Astarion gifts her a sending stone, she meets his sister who (to his dismay) falls in love with and marries a gnomish man, and eventually Astarion is given a chance by Wilbur to take on a more serious charge - the Gur case. He makes a conservative ruling in hopes of impressing his peers. It is not taken well, and his backstory plays out as expected.

Phaer, who was speaking with him over sending stone when he is attacked begs for leave to find out what happened but Iimfryn refuses. She leaves anyway, but gets to the city far too late (without sanctioned magical aid it is a long, long trip.)

Something traumatic happens when she finally arrives (which I will eventually illustrate I hope) and when she returns she is given an excessive punishment. Instead of taking it, she abandons Menzoberranzan, and is saved from her hunters by a band of Eilistraeen duergar. She eventually converts, changes her name in honour of her rescuers, and years later meets Astarion again after being abducted from Waterdeep by the illithids. It is awkward and painful and they fall in love again even though they're such different people from those who met 200 years ago.

[anonymooose]

==== Spoilers for Delicious in Dungeon/Dungeon Meshi! ====

Ok, so, I randomly saw a post by @corvidonia about Falin!Hypnos.

So, I thought to myself, y'know I just started watching too and this seems like a fun mini-project so I started it. Then I subsequently got way too into it and accidently made a whole rendered scene and au concept... welp! It's here now!

For this little crossover Au whatever you wanna call it I did this main drawing but also came up with a bit of background stuff.

In this Meg would be a tall-man paladin in a sort of Chilchuck situation where she's mostly here because it's her job (and bonus, Dusa's here) and she'd be a paladin. Paladin might be an odd choice (?) but I felt it made sense due to her dedication and none of the other martial classes really stuck out to me like paladin.

Zagreus would be the party's Laios of sorts and a fighter tall-man, I imagine that the reason why they went through all the trouble for Hypnos is 50% Zagreus being friends with him and 49% Than not wanting his brother dead and 1% pity. I don't know if there would still be the culinary focus in this Au, probably not, so maybe instead it'd be more about just general monster knowledge. Like Zag and the gang filling out the codex?

Dusa would be a Half-foot, probably the farthest from their Dungeon Meshi inspo character, Senshi, only really sharing the fact that they came into the party late. I imagine that she's kind of in an "I'm the only monster around that has any sentience or emotion??" type situation though I don't really have a worked out reason why. She's also friends with Meg prior to joining and comes because of her.

I translated Thanatos and Hypnos' godhood into having a particular magical ability as elves, so they're elf twins. Than being a sorcerer rouge mostly for the vibes but also because sorcerer powers are innate to their being. Instead of a wand/staff I think he'd just use his scythe as a casting focus. I figure he'd be sort of like a mix of Chilchuck and Marcille, not bound to the party by a job but still kind of obligated to help Hypnos since they're family and all. I don't think he'd be thrilled about having to risk his life to save Hypnos from another screw up though, but he would and I do think he'd be relieved to have him back after the ordeal. (does Falin ever actually 100% come back? I've only watched the anime so idk actually, I like to think Hypnos would here though because I like my happy endings)

Hypnos is obviously the sort of Falin stand-in, but in a very different way I think. I do think he'd be a sort of magic prodigy like Falin but in more of an intuitive way compared to Than/Marcille's book smarts. I definitely think that the connection to the strange would remain but instead of ghosts it'd be personified dreams in the form of something like the Oneiroi. In this Au the starting incident with the monster would be the same but it'd probably be some sort of big bird/sheep to explain the bird/sheep design I went with for the Chimera design and it'd be Than in place of Laios. I also think that he'd be a cleric type situation like Falin sort of is, I like to think he'd excel at healing magic. I do kind of like the idea of Hypnos not being really encouraged to partake in adventuring due to his lack of physical ability but he'd go against that to spend time with Than and try to look out for him. As for Chimeros (As I've been calling it) I think it'd be accompanied by fog from Lethe rather than the harpies in the original and it'd have a similarly blank personality like Faligon (which'd be especially off-putting from him). Added angst potential, I figure his powerset would be very different from Faligon's and revolve around putting everyone to sleep (go figure) and memory erasure, so maybe the main party wouldn't even remember their first encounter with them?

I do actually have ideas for the remaining party, I'll keep it to one bullet though. I think Achille's would be a paladin/fighter or something like that and would be similar to Namari as a weapons expert, probably leaving for a different reason though maybe to join Pat's party? I don't have a particular idea for Shuro's stand-in, maybe switch the Shuro Falin romance thing to Charon Hypnos brotherhood thing and it could work? Idk though.

I did also make a full design for Hypnos as an elf/not Chimeros and here that is. The staff is inspired by actual myth where Hypnos sometimes has a wand dipped in Lethe to induce sleep.

Ramble over!! Congrats if you were able to push through my incessant yapping to actually get here. First Tumblr post btw, who would've thunk it'd be for this. If anyone is interested in using these designs or ideas for art/writing feel free, I'm probably not going to do anything else with this idea but if you want to I'd be very interested in seeing/hearing it! Also, really sorry if this isn't properly spoilered?? I'm not exactly sure what the proper spoiler etiquette is so I tried.

[dufferpuffer]

Random but I was rereading ootp today and the scene during the prefect party for Ron and Hermione that the order shows up for intrigued me.

There’s a moment where Hermione is talking passionately about her S.P.E.W organization and her view on elf rights to lupin, we only get to hear part of it because Harry moves on pretty quickly as it does not interest him in the slightest, but what do you think the rest of that conversation was like? And what do you think are lupin’s view on elf rights are in general? He is the one in the order dinner conversation with Arthur and Bill who brings up the oppression that goblins face and why that would make them wary of joining their side, so he is aware and somewhat supportive of creature’s rights.

I also wonder how his own condition plays into this, and how he feels about the rights he and “his kind” should have. I wonder about his politics in general lol because he is filled with so much self hate and has such a drive to assimilate to wizarding society, I wonder if he hold views that could be the equivalent of a werewolf Uncle Tom (american term for self hating black person who doesn’t advocate for their community and is usually very into respectability politics). What’s your take on this?

Hermione was talking very earnestly to Lupin about her view of elf rights. “I mean, it’s the same kind of nonsense as werewolf segregation, isn’t it? It all stems from this horrible thing wizards have of thinking they’re superior to other creatures....”

OotP Ch9 pg170

“I’m sure they’d never go over to You-Know-Who,” said Mr. Weasley, shaking his head. “They’ve suffered losses too. Remember that goblin family he murdered last time, somewhere near Nottingham?” “I think it depends what they’re offered,” said Lupin. “And I’m not talking about gold; if they’re offered freedoms we’ve been denying them for centuries they’re going to be tempted. Have you still not had any luck with Ragnok, Bill?”

OotP Ch5 pg85

Hermione's 'same kind of nonsense'

The role of Hermione's activism in the story here is to be immature, annoying, tone-deaf and not as inclusive as she would believe. The adults are talking about 'The Real Shit' - the kids are... trying.

Remus takes part in 'The Real Shit': He spies on werewolf communities in both wars, fitting in with them, gaining their trust, trying to turn them away from Voldemort. (Doesn't work. They think life will be better under Voldy... and are probably right.) He talks about the Goblins possible allegiance with depth: They aren't easily swayed, they want rights and freedoms. He considers what they want, with understanding of them.

Hermione takes part in... talking earnestly about her views: That House Elves are in a comparable situation to Werewolves. Which is... oversimplified. Factually incorrect. Insensitive.

I can't imagine Remus having any other reaction than a forced smile/grimace with a "Well... in a way, I suppose." as he tries to leave.

He knows Hermione means well - but she doesn't know what she is talking about... and he doesn't have the heart to tell her off for it. She is a 15yr old Muggleborn with a big heart. He appreciates that. But it's a complex conversation he would have to sit her down for, to carefully explain and discuss... He hasn't signed up for that.

Werewolves are disabled Wizards. People with a chronic illness. House Elves are a entirely different sentient beings with history, culture, belief systems, unique magic and place within society. It's not the 'same kind of nonsense' at all. Imagine: 15yr old walks up to your disabled ass and compares your plight to slavery

Hermione is saying she thinks of Remus as a non-Wizard, even if unintentionally... which is exactly the nature of his oppression.

She is also saying she thinks of House Elves as something like 'disabled Wizards' - which is demeaning. They are Elves.

What does Remus think...? (1800 words)

Remus is very aware of differences in oppression because he has been experiencing it since he was 5 and has spent a lot of time amongst the werewolf colonies, fitting in, learning, listening to their stories... Remus is too compassionate to think poorly of people for being sick. He has self-loathing, sure - but that's a him thing, not a werewolf thing. He goes and hangs out with a lonely werewolf in hospital, just to keep him company. He talks about feeling sympathy for Greyback. Your 'compassion' for everyone else is starting to get pretty unhealthy, Remus. You're allowed to be mad at Fenrir Greyback. No wonder Sirius thought you were the traitor. ((I don't care for the comparison of Lycanthropy to HIV. It works well enough for Remus alone, I suppose - but for the illness as a whole it's pretty shit.)) I rather think of Lycanthropy as more like Leprosy. Outcast colonies of people whose bodies physically change - and who are contagious, thus a danger to society.

That's the difficult thing about Lycanthropy: It is actually dangerous. Easily dealt with in theory: All they need are safe, secure places to go hide on the Full Moon... and the ability to work, ofc. But accepting them into your area will always run the risk of them going on a bloodthirsty rampage if they, say, have a mental breakdown or pull a Remus Lupin and are a procrastinating brat That is not a popular idea. So they are outcasts. Pariahs. Lepers.

What werewolves need is good press. Positive examples of stand-up fellows that are just like you and I, but have a furry little problem. Enough to make the common person want to make things change. Because it doesn't matter how much werewolves bark and howl: they cannot re-enter society themselves. They need healthy peoples help.

People need to start having sympathy for their stories. They need to think of them as Wizards - not as magical creatures. Then they will push for them having equal rights, facilities, research into treatments (rather than a 'cure' - treatments are far more important)

Remus knows this. I think, deep down, he wants to be this. A friendly and beloved professor, a brave and talented soldier... he kept losing steam, losing confidence... but he wanted to be the change. And he got it after his death: an Order of Merlin, First Class for his service to the war.

House Elves... are a different story. Nobody thinks 'poorly' of House Elves. They are quite liked, really - and few people actually have them. Even fewer 'abuse' them.

Wizards are complacent about the treatment of Elves. Elves are complacent about how they are treated. Because they have their own magic, their own culture, their own history - and all that needs to be respected and navigated carefully. Remus knows how horrible having ones agency ignored is. That's something Hermione struggles with: other peoples agency. Ignoring their agency is just treating them like a lesser being again. House Elves need their wants respected. If House Elves want any sort of change it needs to come from within. Otherwise it will be Wizards deciding what is best again.

This is why Sirius has a better outlook on Kreacher than Hermione. He actually respects his agency as a living being. He doesn't treat him like 'just an elf', he treats him for WHO he is: an asshole. He treats him like he would any other asshole.

More awareness of elves that want freedom, like Dobby, is good - Dobby had trouble finding work and that is a damn shame. Once again, someone else treats Elves well: Dumbledore offered Dobby good pay, weekends off and the ability to call him a "barmy old codger". Dobby rejected it, wanting one galleon a week, one day off a month... and Dumbledore respected him. They need to be brought in to discuss laws and rights for themselves. The only thing Wizards can do for them is offer a platform and listen.

I think Remus would want to work towards a world where nobody has to be chained or outcast, where everyone can work if they want to work and have a right to live regardless of who or what they are. Sirius want's this too. As do both the Dumbledores. Other members of the Order... to varying extents. They might not FIGHT for it even if they agree.

Remus has the unique wisdom and sensitivity to actually help. He would want to support Hermione's efforts - but he would make sure it is supporting House Elves, giving them a platform to speak and be heard - even if those words do not fit her ideals.

So why doesn't he...? Because there's a war on the horizon, and the exact details of House Elf laws are kinda not really important right now. Goblin allegiance? Werewolf allegiance? Immensely important. Hermione butting in to bring up House Elves because they are also magical creatures!... is cute, but severely off topic. That's the role of the kids in the book: To be eager to join in, despite not quite being 'there' yet. That eagerness gets Sirius killed.

I'd love to scour all the books for any mention Lupin makes about non-human creatures like elves, goblins, centaur... but I'm not gonna B^) I doubt there are many. Thanks for explaining the 'Uncle Tom' phrase, I've heard it before and been confused.

[daemon-in-my-head]

Definitely not canon, tragic angsty durgetash shit below as I struggle with the block™️. I don't know how many words, kinda description of injuries, ig? Anyway, not for kids. But it's tame compared to my usual stuff. Maybe I'll upload it on Ao3 one day.

Perfect archduke

Nothing could've prepared him for what he'd witness at the docks.

He had considered a plethora of scenarios on his way here. Distractions from the searing pain shooting up his leg whenever he took another step, daydreams about all the 'what if's' that could've been, explanations for the elf's actions down in the ruins. Just any kind of thought so that he may be able to ignore the hell unfolding around him, but not a single one of them led him to ever consider the horrors displayed before him.

The temperamental little girl who spat her words at him mere hours ago, the brave soldier who had survived all he'd done to her and still retained her fiery passion, was finally donning a look of utter defeat as she held onto the bundle in her arms. The snarky elves who had refused to leave his dear companion's side, who refused to control their ever-waggling tongues for just a second, couldn't even look at the man they'd been constantly circling before.

"What happened?" A calm, firm voice, finally asking his first question in what must've been decades. Still ever carefully masking the bile that continued to rise in his throat as his eyes focused on little red droplets hitting the soiled ground.

"The brain, we- the fall- I-" the Tiefling had become a stuttering mess, a mess that soon crumbled onto the pavement.

He didn't try to ask another question, seeing how the woman before him had stopped being capable of answering him or anyone else for that matter. So, instead, he resorted to the one method he knew would never fail him: studying the situation himself. It had been quite obvious what, or rather who, the person within her grasp had been. The eccentric suit of armour, the carelessly tied greyish hair. There had been but one person who'd ever grace people with such a look, but still. It couldn't be him. Someone who had rejected the god of death and lived couldn't possibly end up like this. It was impossible. You can't kill death. You may outfox it, escape its view, or grasp for a while, but you could never defeat death nor its child. This must've been another tomfoolery of his. A tasteless joke, childish revenge for something he remembered.

The man kneeled in front of the red lady before a calloused, gold-clad hand reached for strands dyed in uncannily warm colours, pushing them away to reveal the cruel truth hidden beneath. He didn't quite know what he expected to find, if he was honest with himself, but certainly not this. The ruby red orbs that had always carefully taken in their surroundings remained hidden. The old scar he himself had traced countless times had begun bleeding again, once more tinting the ashen cheeks he had witnessed flushing in days long past. The cruel hands he had used to crush so many of his foes began shaking as it traced the familiar ridges and curves of a face he'd known for ages, and the pain in his leg began to flare up yet again.

"Heal him." A firm command. Just another of his usual orders directed at the white-haired woman beside them. A tyrant's decree that would be all but ignored.

"You're a cleric, aren't you? Then, fulfil your duty and heal him." His voice grew louder. He would've loved to clench his fists, yet he couldn't bear to lift his hand from the man it had been so desperately grasping onto.

"I'm sorry I can't." The woman refused to look at them. Her eyes darting just about anywhere except the voice's direction.

"Will somebody finally do something?!" His voice grew into a rage-filled scream at her refusal. All these skilled people, and yet none of them did anything. "You know magic, don't you? You've brought people back before. I saw the records. I saw what the bunch of you has done, so fix him, or do you need a personal invite?!"

"I'm sorry, but this- this is beyond what I can do. What anyone could-" the woman finally turned to face them—translucent streams clearing away a path in the marks of battle placed upon her.

"Then get someone who can!" He continued to criticize her, ignoring what she had tried to tell him. The truth everyone but him had already acknowledged. "Why are you still standing there? Go, get-"

"Stop it!" The other pointy-eared man finally raised his voice, silencing the ramblings of the madman in front of him. Refusing to listen to his denial any longer. "It truly is a miracle how someone as dense as you has managed to rise to the position of Archduke, so let me spell it out clearly for you." The vampire's voice dripped with sarcasm, "he is dead. Gone. Ceased to breathe. And there's nothing you, she, or any of us can do about it. Your glorious grand design has killed him." He met the tyrant's rage-filled eyes. A look one could almost mistake as pity veiling the seething anger hidden within his own as he did.

"Congratulations, Archduke," he hissed.

"At last, you've freed the city of all its Bhaalspawn with your own stained hands."

[yb-cringe]

tell me about ur wra headcannons, tumblr user yb-cringe

the whole qpr thing is not-- like none of them sat down and were like man this is a very qpr thing we got goin on. theyre in fantasy land and also suck at communicating. therefore it just sort of happened

fwhip and gem are twins it was kind of expected right. yeah see everyone else was Not expected. there just werent any good words to say to describe whatever codependent bullshit they had going on. someones probably asked them like hey are. are you all dating or. and the response is usually what are you a cop

i dont have time to make a webchart for the wra polycule. empires pearlgem real, theyve made out, fwhip and sausage have the most insane tension, gem and sausage are gem and sausage and pearl and sausage are bros who lift together and also yknow dont think i have to say this but clearly. no incest. :thumbs up:

theyre all just insanely dependent on one another iykwim

kicks rocksc i hate that we didnt get as much canon vampire fwhip as we should have. we SHOULD HAVE HAD more vampire fwhip. i fully believe gem invented vampirism to save her brother.

gem once and ONLY once called sausage 'angel' during alsmp and its Only on sausages pov and its NEVER happened again but im OBSESSED with this cute fucking nickname. he is angel to gem and soos to pearl and 'menace' to fwhip .

post canon pearl sent sausage back to be with the roseblings after the events of alsmp therefore he keeps his angel wings ! and this is how we get the santa pearla statues later on in the same universe as the og empires world (because technically sausage left that world and never found his way back AFTER he started world hopping to find a universe where he stopped doomsday)

essentially i smoke a lot of copium that pearl would recognize he spent his whole life trying to fix everyones mistakes and uses Godly Powers to send him back to the roseblings whove been just chilling in the sky for fuckin years now. because he deserves to be with them !!

remember when sausage drugged kidnapped tortured and then killed gem. hey what if that had consequences.

hey remember when sausage begged for death and gem killed him potentially forever. hey what if that had consequences.

hey remember when gem got freezered by everyones least favorite emo elf? hey what if that had consequ--

You get the point. i usually draw or imagine gem with a) a huge withered scar from sausage killing her (which he feels horribly guilty about all the time. hes getting better at letting it go because gem's assured them theyre pretty much even at this point)

AND b) gem still has a white streak of hair from the ice blast.

fwhip is also fucked up by that explosion btw. brother does NOT get to fuyckin be central to a giant ass BLAST and walk away. he's lost a hand, he's covered in scars, his hearing is fucked up-- I think if I was more knowledgeable and less of a coward id compare his scarring to like. ctubbo. he's okay though he's still a fucking asshole

he also knits. he knits gem gloves. however one time she knit him a scarf uh but she sucks at it so she was like well you dont have to keep it. and fwhip was like the stitching is loose this sucks so much and then never took it off

[crabs-with-sticks]

Happy Friday! How about: remembering tiny things about the other from the Trust Building prompts?

For Solas and Lavellan?

Thanks for the prompt!! Hope you enjoy :D @dadrunkwriting

Ghilara x Solas, 637 words

Ghilara was at her desk, teeth gnawing at the pencil in her hand, one problem away from snapping it in two. The words on the paper in front of her swum before her eyes, the letters morphing into an indecipherable pile of glyphs for all she could understand them. She groaned, leaning forwards, forehead against the table eyes closed, trying to pretend she was somewhere else. Somewhere calming. Somewhere outside. Somewhere without a gauntlet of paperwork to run. Her back slumped, arms hanging loosely by her sides. “I can come back if now isn’t a good time?” She shot up straight and blinked at the sight of the humble elven apostate standing in front of her desk. “Solas?! When did you get here?” He chuckled, “I did knock, so I thought you must have been out. I was only coming to drop something off for you.” She winced, “you weren’t waiting too long were you?” “Rest assured, I have only been here a few seconds. But perhaps you should take a break from your work.” “Josephine will kill me if I don’t get this done,” she groaned, head falling back onto the table. “Perhaps I can tempt you with something then.” She still had her eyes shut but heard him place something on the desk next to her head. She frowned, waiting for him to do something else. Then the smell hit her. Sweet and buttery, a twinge of spices, and the faint smell of dried fruits. She didn’t waste the time to sit up, just twisted her head to look.

“Hearth cakes!” She squealed. She went to grab at them, only just remembering herself in time. She was a grown woman last time she checked, not ten. She coughed, clearing her throat and stood, picking this basket of the cakes up with her. “Consider myself convinced Solas.” She walked over to the couch, grabbing a blanket off her bed as she went. She curled up and patted the spot next to her, holding the blanket up for the other elf to slip in beside her. He was warm against her and she pulled her knees up, leaning her back against his arm. She grinned at him. “Now, you are going to have to eat some of these soon, otherwise I will eat them all. I wouldn’t want you to go hungry though, so consider yourself warned.” “I shouldn’t worry about that Ilara, I have more than enough for us both.” She looked up, mouth stuffed with a cake already and only then noticed the basket he had placed next to them on the couch. She peered over and in and saw a veritable feast. There was a small dish of hall butter with wildflowers mixed into it- borage and chicory. Beside that was a basket filled with dried fruits from the free marches, drizzled with sticky honey. And those were only the things she could see. She looked at Solas. “What is this Solas?” Her words were puzzled, ranging onto the edges of suspicion. They were still in that strange limbo just before romance, still blushing when the other caught them looking, still thinking back on the softness of the others lips and wondering how it would compare to the material world. Did he want something? Did he expect something? He seemed to sense her thoughts. “It is- Just that you mentioned last week that you were sick of the human nobles food. How it all tasted weird. And I was just in the market today and there were a small group of Dalish who had come in to trade. I thought it might remind you of your home.” She softened. “Oh. Thank you Solas.” He inclined his head, the corners of his mouth slipping into the beginning of a smile, pink gathering on his cheeks.

[just-a-gamer-daydeamer-girl]

More Rayman head cannons now starring his friends!

Rayman is unable to stretch, but is curious about it because he hears it feels good, if he somehow gets arms and legs he probably try stretching to see how it feels

Ly, murffy and Betilla are all different species of fairy. Betilla’s kind is more of a typical fairy with wings while Ly’s kind is humanoid with animal and insect traits, such as tails, claws or butterfly wings. Murffy’s kind has the traditional wings but are pretty small.

Ly can only ‘fly’ when channeling her magic, and runs on all fours

Globox has an incredible memory, he remembers ALL of his children’s names and distinct features and personality traits.

Barbara was saved by Rayman out of her imprisonment from her tower, but this happened differently then the tropes, after all it was a self imprisonment, Rayman convinced her to step out and save her kingdom (after the two of them brawled)

Voodoo mama is an expert of transformation magic, it’s why her wings are bat wings, she liked the look and feel of them better then the typical fairy wings.

Betilla used to have limbs, however due to creating Rayman and giving him powers, she ended up losing them becoming limbless. Her magic is in Rayman and Rayman’s power is in her.

Rayman real size is in fact around 5ft(including the space where his ‘legs’ should be), but he actually changes his size depending on his mood. He has the power to change size remember? He can’t get super tiny with out the help of a funnel or a flying blue elf, but he can shrink down a good few feet. He can’t do it instantly though and he likes to be on the smaller size.

Barbara’s favorite food is chocolate

The magician is the one who made the end goal signs in Rayman 1,

Betilla has a pretty grey moral compass but it’s a lot more functional then other magic users.

Raymesis has a soft spot for music boxes

Clark likes having tea, but it’s difficult for him to find cups that he can’t accidentally break. He also like flavorful drinks.

Dolph Laserhawk has quite a serious hair care routine (before he got caught became a GHOST) I mean have you seen his hair in the series? It’s beautiful.

Bullfrog never got a proper name, (I mean his name is kinda the equivalent of a man being named Homo sapien or Human). This is due to the life he lived before becoming an assassin, honestly hybrid seem to be so abused that it wouldn’t be surprising to me if some of them weren’t given names cuz why bother. After becoming an assassin he had the chance of getting a proper name but he refused sticking with the name Bullfrog.

Ramon may not be aware of this but he’s got control over his hair and can glide just like Rayman. He did slick his hair back no problem.

Rayman helped the space opera network so much that it’s practically another studio compared to when the Phantom ran it. It’s now got quality and passionate programs that are encouraged to be as creative as possible, not to mention the amazing employee benefits and the fact no one judges you because of your specices.

Ly like learning about magic and has definitely messed with cursed artifacts and tried to learn more about Rayman biology (he did not make it easy for her).

The space opera network most popular show was ment to be a prank. It was just video footage of Rayman sleeping, but it was wildly popular. (Rayman has no idea about this)

Tilly wants to become a hero and fighter just like Rayman and is doing her best to try and become his apprentice by impressing him. She just has really odd ideas on how to impress…

Most of the princesses in Rayman legends are related to each other.

Beeb-o is Jeanie’s father. Their relationship is weird cuz there robots, but over the course of sparks of hope Jeanie ‘grows up’ from just an ai ment to help to truly her own being.

Rabbid Mario does a lot of unboxing videos, Rabbid peach always butts in.

The four kings in Rayman origins were monster because they were inflicted with darktoons, if the fishermen/monks had the darktoons stuck on their head too long they would turn into monsters as well.

Rayman has a really soft and squishy torso, he pretty much has no bones in there. He makes squeaky toy noises if he is squeezed hard enough.

Elysia doesn’t actually have a scar or a missing tooth, he actually puts on makeup to match her sister, everything else she just goes goth.

Rayman had a special vault installed in the space opera network, it keeps the more dangerous props from causing damage, such as weapons, explosives and darkmess that the prop department tried to use, only Rayman knows how to open the vault, no one gets to use the dangerous stuff without his knowledge or permission.

Finally:

Rayman’s existence cannot be erased by anything. No god, infinity gauntlet or whatever can make him fade away.

[myreia]

Sketches of Times Lost

Day 12: Quarry

minfilia travels lakeland with thancred. a sin eater hunts. ryne (minfilia), thancred. set pre-shadowbringers. shadowbringers spoilers. written for ffxivwrite2024. rating: general 1408 words ao3 link

“Minfilia, keep up.”

Minfilia gasps in surprise and jerks her head up, long blonde hair falling into her eyes. Flushing with embarrassment, she stuffs the flower into her pocket before he can see—but there is no need. He will not have noticed. His back is already turned, long white coat rippling behind him as he picks a course through the clearing.  

Lakeland’s air is cool and bright, a change she has yet to get used to. It’s quite different from the stagnant humidity that stinks up the Eulmoran coast. But the forest is quiet today—purple leaves rustling in the wind, wildflowers untrampled by the local fauna. It’s what drew her attention to this patch of flowers in the first place. Though she has only been on a few excursions outside the Crystarium, she has seen enough to know that something is off. There should be more signs of, well… life.

“Thancred,” she calls, scurrying after him. The daggers attached her belt sit awkwardly on her hips, restricting her movements. Another thing she has not gotten used to. It feels like their training sessions have stretched on for months, but he has only recently insisted on her bringing them with her everywhere. “I think there’s something wrong.”

He glances over his shoulder, profile obscured by the collar of his coat. “It’s the quiet,” he says. “We’re some distance from the city now, away from civilization. It’s natural to be uneasy when you aren’t accustomed to the sound of silence.”

She chews her lower lip. The sound of silence is the problem, but not because of her. The woods is too quiet. “I just think—”

“Come, now. We’ve a ways to go if we’re going to make it to Clearmelt by nightfall.”

He’s always saying such strange things, measuring time of day by idioms that have no meaning rather than by the bell. Nightfall. When the sun sunk beneath the horizon and the sky went dark. Does anyone remember it? Perhaps someone’s grandparent—or their grandparent’s grandparent—remembers.

Did the first Minfilia remember it?

She shakes her head, throwing the thought from her mind. Focus. There was something odd about the flowers. Even if he doesn’t believe her, he needs to know. She should try again. “It’s not that,” she says, quickening her pace. He’s so tall—well, maybe not compared to an elf—but tall enough that it’s hard to keep up. Some days she has to run, puffing and panting after him. He probably doesn’t realize. Maybe she should say something. “The flowers. I think—”

“What about them?”

“They’re different. I think you should look—”

He sighs and picks up the pace, walking even faster now. “We don’t have time for flowers, Minfilia,” he says. His gunblade glistens on his back, sharp and cold, reflecting the Light. She’s never seen a weapon like that before she met him. Not even Ran’jit had one. “We must reach Clearmelt.”

“Why?”

“Because no matter how beautiful it is, Lakeland is dangerous and camping outdoors right now poses too much of a risk. Clearmelt is small. You’ll be safe there.”

“I was safe in the Crystarium.” And I want to go back. She doesn’t say it. She cried for hours before they left, sobbing into her pillow while she was supposed to be asleep, hoping he wouldn’t hear. She rather he didn’t know.

“And Ran’jit knows you were there. If his spies haven’t told him by now, his intuition will have. Sanctuary, no matter how appealing, does not last forever. We cannot be the reason for forced war between the Crystarium and Eulmore.”

“Oh…” She slows her pace, trudging along, her shoes kicking at tufts of grass. He’s explained this to her before, but she’s not so sure about that. Eulmore is strong and powerful. They have airships and soldiers—she’s seen them first hand. But the Crystarium is far away and has soldiers of their own. And Eulmorans don’t pay much attention to anything unless it’s right in front of them. Maybe she’s too stupid to get it. “Then why are we going to Clearmelt? Isn’t Holminster Switch closer?”

He sighs again. “You’re full of endless questions today.”

She flinches. Was it wrong of her to look at the map? “I’m sorry,” she says, bowing her head. She slips a hand into her pocket and her fingertips brush the crumpled flower. “I didn’t mean to ask too many. I’ll be quiet.”

This time, Thancred draws to a stop. He turns around and faces her, his brow furrowed, a strange look on his face. He looks at her like that sometimes, as if he wishes to say something but stops short of saying it each time. “You don’t ask too many questions,” he says firmly. “Ask as many as you like.”

Minfilia raises her eyes. “Even the ones you aren’t going to answer?”

“Even those.” He smiles faintly. “I would rather you ask them, even if I cannot answer, than feel as if you cannot speak to me at all. Does that make sense?”

She nods. Her fingers squeeze the flower tight. “Then why are we going to Clearmelt? Or is that one of the things you can’t answer?”

His smile fades. “There is something I need to track,” he says, turning around once more. He heads down the path, slowing his strides to accommodate her pace. But he can’t hide how tense he is, how impatient. He wants to get going. “Something I need to hunt. My mark is moving towards the northern reaches. I doubt it will cross the border, but nevertheless… Clearmelt is a good staging ground. I know the innkeeper; she’ll hold her tongue. You won’t be anything other than an ordinary girl while in her care. You can stay with her until my task is complete.”

“But I want to stay with you.”

“No.” He walks faster.

She scurries after him, dogging his steps. “I can help! Why else did you give me these?”

He curses under his breath. Another thing he does a lot, she’s noticed—he thinks she’s not listening, or that she doesn’t understand the meaning of the words. But she does. She knows more than he thinks. Eulmore was a filthy place in ways that had nothing to do with the rubbish heaped around its walls or the putrid ocean. He has yet to say a curse she hasn’t heard a hundred times before.

“Those daggers are for you to protect yourself, Minfilia, not to assail monsters!”

“Then why did you train me?”

“Am training. Present tense. We are a long way from finishing what we started, and you are not ready to face a real enemy. That is why you cannot hunt my quarry with me.”

That note of finality. He’s done. This is no longer an argument. He has decided for both of them.

She swallows hard, tears panging in her eyes. Her greatest fear, after he pulled her from her cell, was that he would be another Ran’jit. Another adult who says he cares about her, but whose actions only say otherwise. But for all his coarseness, Thancred is not much like Ran’jit at all. Yells more, curses more, smiles more, talks more. Fumbles at dinner. Converses badly.

Supports her. Teaches her. Watches over her.

But it’s these hard, inflexible moments when he draws a firm line that she sees a shadow of the general in him—and then the fear bites into her, hard and cold and paralyzing.

“Minfilia?”

His voice is distant.

“Minfilia, are you all right?”

She blinks and shakes herself, wiping her nose with her sleeve. “Yes, I’m fine,” she says quietly, her voice small. She stares at the ground, putting one foot in front of the other. “Let’s go to Clearmelt.”

He shrugs and presses on, keen to keep moving. She bites her lower lip, knowing she should follow suit, and chances one last look around the clearing. The Light filters through the dancing purple leaves, casting shadows across the forest floor. All normal. All ordinary. So what is wrong?

A shadow passes over head.

She looks up, craning her neck, and her heart clenches.  

A sin eater. A large one. White and gold, its stoney wings spread wide, flapping leisurely as it spirals on the wind. Hunting something. Hunting them.

Clamping her mouth shut, Minfilia follows Thancred down the path, careful not to stray too far behind this time.

[littlemourningstarr]

Dreamstate

Vette can't be sure why he agreed to leave his home in Secomber and follow Gale to Waterdeep- but he told himself the possibility of learning under such an accomplished wizard was a once in a lifetime opportunity, and he needed to take it. But Waterdeep is a completely different world, and Vette is forced to realize just how alone he has always been- and that, perhaps, he felt it was justly deserved.

Chapter 6: Illusionary

Read below or on AO3!

Pairing: Gale x Original Male Character

Part of the Eternally Yours series!

Tags: Tags to be added as this journey continues, teacher-student relationship, fantasy racism, pining, emotional hurt/comfort, hurt/comfort, miscommunication, if you squint there is some past sexual trauma, masturbation, fluff, slight voyeurism, handjobs, blowjobs, just a touch of sugar baby treatment

“And so, if you invoke all the senses with your illusion, you can easily set an opponent off guard.” Gale paused his pacing at the center of the room, eyes sweeping out along the students. Vette was seated in his usual spot in the back, still isolated from the actual students.

There was a singular empty seat, down towards the front- where the elf who had stabbed him used to sit. Vette had missed if there had been any reactions or talk regarding his initial absence, but he noted that occasionally a few of the students that still sat in that area would glance back at him, mouths drawn into hard frowns.

He told himself he didn’t care.

“Professor Dekarios?” A girl asked, raising her hand straight up. She looked young, compared to most of the students- Vette thought she might actually only be in her teens. Gale gave her a nod, and she lowered her hand. “Is it really worth the concentration? Even if you were to unbalance an opponent mentally, the force of will you’d need to conjure illusions for all of the senses would mean that you can’t focus on an attack or escape.”

Gale grinned. “You have a very good point.” The girl utterly beamed, and Vette understood the feeling- praise from Gale could make the heart sing. “It takes an accomplished magic user to truly fool all of the senses. It’s best for these cases to start from memory- remember last week, we discussed the easiest way to delve into hallucinatory terrains is to build off of memory.” Gale paused, before he glanced up towards the corner, eyes falling directly on Vette. “Vette, would you come down here for a moment?”

Vette stiffened, awkwardly pointing to himself. Gale had never once really acknowledged him in class, beyond the one admission when more than half the class had been gone that he was his apprentice.

Gale gave a little laugh, this carefree lit that had Vette’s belly up in butterflies. “Yes, you.” Vette hesitated another moment, before he stood up, slowly making his way down towards Gale. As he did, the wizard continued, “Class, this is my apprentice, Vette.” He beckoned Vette close, and the half-drow had to resist the urge to slide right up into his space, meld himself into Gale’s side.

There hadn’t been another kiss, since those a few nights ago. But they were still fresh in his mind, making him feel feral with a need to get in Gale’s space, soak up the heat of his skin.

“Demonstrate for the class,” Gale said, leaning back against his desk, folding his arms. Vette glanced back at him, a little wide eyed- unsure why he was being asked to do this. Yes, Gale had begun to try and get him to work on his concentration over the past few days, but it was still dismal, and this-

They hadn’t even practiced this.

Vette closed his eyes for a moment, thinking he’d try to summon up the visage of home- but that felt simple. And with Gale’s eyes watching him- gods, he could feel them like blackfire, he found he wanted to be extraordinary.

Instead he pulled at newer memories, eyes slitting open as the room began to fall into darkness. The students glanced around as the walls seemed to melt away, tables and chairs now situated in a cramped stoned hallway.

Vette rubbed two of his fingers together, the lighting changing slightly- moving from dim to blackness, so that none without dark vision would be able to see.

He could hear a number of students casting it, quickly.

One sense down, but there were more. He thought of the chill that had been in those fetid halls, deep below the moor. He flexed his fingers, trying to coax the temperature to drop, initially thinking to push coldness out-

But the weave pushed back. Vette ground his teeth, trying to think quickly, knowing he had seconds at best to deliver more before the students grew restless.

Instead of trying to push cold into existence, he curled his hands, welcoming the heat of the room into it. It soaked into his skin, his blood calling to it, and he felt the temperature dropping drastically. He actually heard a gasp.

Once he had the heat bundled inside him, he recalled the sounds- or lack of. The tunnels had been silent.

Casting silence under his breath nearly threw off his hold on the room’s heat, but he managed. The room fell into a deathly silence.

The last two memories were mingled- taste, scent. The air had been stale, wet, smelled of stagnant water, overlaying the sweet scent of decay, the dust of old bones. He felt his muscles going tight as he tried to evoke the memories into reality, the weave within him pulled in so many directions it was making everything begin to ache.

He opened his eyes properly, could see the students all awash in gray- looking at him, waiting on his every breath. There was fear, growing in some of them- he swore he could smell it, wasn’t sure if it was from his memories or the current reality.

He licked his lips, and then lifted his foot, stomped his heel down hard onto the floor. In his mind the movement had been the shattering of a glass bottle, and Sekh’s illumination potion lit up his memories.

Pulsing blue lines began to spread throughout the classroom. He grinned- couldn’t stop himself- and thought for a moment that perhaps he could conjure up the memories of the scrabbling of the undead, along the ceilings and stone floors- the sounds of nails and paper thin skin…

The moment was enough for his concentration to flicker, and the illusion began to fade. Suddenly he could hear everyone breathing, the scent of still water gone. He tried to hold it, to pull back the control- but his fingers locked up as he tried to move them, pain seizing along his spine as his body rejected the control he needed to hold the illusion.

It fell away in an instant, the classroom returning, the heat Vette had pulled into himself bursting out. The moment it did he felt deathly cold, clenched his teeth to keep them from chattering.

The opposite of how he always felt, in the classroom.

He expected sneering from the students, considering he hadn’t held the illusion for very long- was afraid to glance back at Gale and see the disappointment in his face-

But then the student who had first asked the question stood up, nearly pushing her books off the table and leaning forward, as if she might climb over the table itself to get closer. “That was horrifying,” she breathed, and suddenly the class was murmuring- the array of students from all ages glancing at each other and seeming to agree.

The only group that seemed silent were the few still clustered around an empty seat.

“How did you imagine that?” the girl asked again, drawing Vette’s attention back to her. “That was so real. Professor Dekarios- I thought only the most skilled magic users could pull from imagination like that.”

Suddenly Gale was at Vette’s side, a hand resting on his shoulder, giving it a single squeeze. Reassuring.

Proud.

“I did say that, and you’re right. What you just saw wasn’t imagined, it was from memory.” Gale gave Vette’s shoulder another squeeze, turning his head to glance at him. “Wonderful job Vette, thank you.” Vette could only manage a nod, sure his eyes must have looked like a confused puppy-

He had done alright? But it wasn’t perfection-

“What you all just witnessed,” Gale said, stepping away from Vette, who took the silent que to hurry back to his seat, “was the beginnings of a story I do believe I promised to tell you.” He moved back to his desk, hopping up onto it and sitting casually.

Vette realized the students were all waiting on bated breath, eyes locked on Gale. The wizard looked at ease with their attention, as he began the tale of what they had discovered, in the High Moor, weeks prior.

*

They walked back to the tower that evening, instead of teleporting. Vette was honestly rather glad for it- as intimidating as Waterdeep was, it was still thrilling. And it felt safe to see, at Gale’s side.

So much felt safe, next to him.

His hand itched to reach out, grab his mentor’s, tangle their fingers together. He was almost glad he was still wearing his student robes, as it hid the little motion. Instead he curled his hand into a loose fist, told himself to be patient.

He’d get the chance, eventually. Those few kisses, nights ago- they had to be the beginning of something, right? He’d never had to wait for something like that- granted, he couldn’t say anyone had ever kissed him in the way Gale had.

He moved to turn a corner, but felt a hand grasp his forearm gently, stopping him. Vette glanced over at Gale, who was simply smiling. “We’re taking a little detour.”

“Where?” he asked, turning and following Gale away from the tower.

“Well if I told you that, it would ruin the surprise.” Vette bit at his tongue to keep from retorting, chose to follow Gale in silence through the city teeming with evening life. They ended up in what had to be a shopping district, which Vette hadn’t expected. He was trying to take in the many shopfronts, when Gale paused at a door, opening it and gesturing for Vette to enter.

The half-drow did, almost cautiously. He stepped into a shop and was instantly hit with the smell of books, parchment and leather covers, strings and glue for bindings.

Gale stepped in behind him, and said, rather softly, “surprise.”

“You’re going book shopping?” Vette asked, thinking that the shop seemed almost… average. Nothing seemed to be pulsing with the weave, nothing smelled like magic.

“You’re going book shopping,” Gale corrected, a hand finding the small of Vette’s back. It felt like a burst of fire, through Vette’s clothing. He swore it could soothe his spine- his body still harboring aches from the sheer force of concentration he had used earlier. “We’ve got access to a near endless array of magical tomes and ancient texts- but that’s not all there is to read.”

Vette glanced at the wizard, who moved his hand from the small of his back to the curve of his waist, settled in quite close. And when he spoke, it was so softly.

“You’ve read about your heritage, I know. You deserve to have your own library of knowledge on who you are, as a drow.”

Vette stared, felt his ribs squeezing tightly at his lungs, his heart. Gale remembered? Vette had been able to keep up with Sekh’s knowledge of drow culture and the Dark Seldarine to a point, but had only been due to the one admission that he read any book he could get his hands on.

Gale gestured towards a section, before he pulled away from Vette, offered a loud greeting across the shop. Vette noticed a half orc at a desk, who grinned at the sight of Gale, the two jumping into a conversation immediately.

The half-drow moved towards the section Gale had motioned to. It was a shelf boasting an array of theology texts- histories of the gods, they’re disappearances, their rises, their worshippers.

Finger running along the spines, Vette paused at the first mention of the Dark Seldarine- Gods of the Drow.

He pulled it from the shelf, shocked that it wasn’t paper thin, and opened randomly. He almost recoiled at the sight of Kiaransalee’s name, the memories of what he had seen in the High Moor too fresh now that he had conjured them up for Gale’s students.

Still, he didn’t set the book down. He closed it but held it to his chest, moving a few shelves over, finding a small section of topography. He couldn’t find anything that specified just the underdark, but there was one with a map of Faerun that had a few tunnel entrances marked. He grabbed it as well without a thought.

He could always ask Gale’s advice on which one to get, after all. 

He was glossing over a section branching off from topography on flora and fauna, when he heard the wizard’s footsteps. He didn’t glance up, as the man took up space at his shoulder, peering at the titles of the books in front of him.

“Oh, don’t bother with this section,” he said, “If you care about plants Sekh will get you anything you could ever dream of. I can write him tonight.”

“I was just looking,” Vette offered, turning to face the wizard, offering up the two books he was holding. “I think this one regarding Faerŭn topography is more useful, but I do think the theology book is more… interesting.”

Gale arched a brow, and then said rather loudly, “you’ve only got two?” Vette just stared at him, before Gale shook his head, taking his arm and pulling him through the store. “You leave me unattended in a bookshop for a few minutes and I’ll be using mage hand to carry my findings,” Gale mused, pausing at shelves that seemed at random, and yet finding exactly what he seemed to be looking for instantly, stacking them into Vette’s arms.

In a matter of minutes he had a stack he was going to have trouble seeing over. Vette tucked his chin onto the books to keep them steady as Gale walked him over to the counter, motioning for him to set them down.

The half orc looked beyond amused at the sight. “Taking your students shopping now?” she asked- and Gale smiled in a way that Vette had trouble reading.

“He’s my apprentice,” he said, and Vette realized it had been pride.

The woman smiled. “I’d heard rumors you had one, but wasn’t sure if I should believe the talk.”

Gale just kept smiling, and Vette couldn’t stop the color rising in his cheeks. He glanced down, as Gale suddenly said, “oh!” and rushed off for a moment.

When he returned, he was holding multiple packages of parchment, a few new pens, and an inkwell that looked like it cost more than all of the clothes Vette had brought with him to Waterdeep.

He set them on the counter, and Vette realized this was all for him. He wasn’t choosing a book from the pile, Gale was simply buying all of it.

There wasn’t even time to react, one moment Gale was adding the last items to the counter, and the next they’d been purchased and he was piling various things into Vette’s and his own arms.

The half orc wished them both a lovely evening, and Vette barely managed to get out pleasantries of his own, before they were back on the busy street. “We’d best teleport home,” Gale mused, managing to shift some of his purchases to one arm, the other grasping at Vette’s waist as he spoke a quick incantation.

And then they were in the tower. Vette was almost sure the dizziness that overtook him was more from the whirlwind of the impromptu shopping trip than the teleportation itself.

Gale made his way towards Vette’s room, setting down the items he was carrying on Vette’s desk. “We’ll have to do some real organization,” Gale mused, glancing at the sparsely filled shelves. “And if you find topics that we are unable to find in the shops here, we can look elsewhere. I’ve kept quite a good network of book sellers under my thumb for years. Of course, not counting anything more magical, those may require a bit more hunting-”

“Gale.” The wizard paused, turning as Vette set down the books he was holding. “Why did you buy me all of this?”

Gale stared at him for a long few seconds, seeming completely perplexed by the questions. “Because you have an interest in your father’s heritage,” he said, as if it had been obvious. “And you should be writing your mother on nice parchment, and with all the glyphs you’ve been practicing I know you’ll be running out of ink, and frankly you should have a nice selection of materials to work from-”

“Gale.” The wizard paused, pinching his mouth shut. When Vette didn’t elaborate, Gale cleared his throat.

“You should have access to everything you need,” Gale added, and then, after a moment of hesitation, “and perhaps I want that to be the finest of anything I can find.” The wizard reached up, rubbed at the back of his neck, adding, “and I was quite proud of the work you did today.”

The single word nearly had Vette tipping to the floor. Proud? He must have gawked, because Gale smiled at him, fondly, causing little crinkles along the corners of his eyes.

“The amount of concentration you showed today was extraordinary. I know it has been the most difficult thing for you, but you proved to me today that not only can you do it, but I believe I found the exact way to get you focused.” Gale took a step closer to him. “Stress.” Vette frowned, and Gale actually chuckled at him. “Or some rush of strong emotion, at least. I’ve been thinking on it, since you teleported yourself back here after… the incident with the Ashbreaker.” Gale paused, as if even saying the family name had left a bad taste in his mouth. “You haven’t been able to teleport before.”

No, Vette hadn’t. He assumed it had been dumb luck, and maybe the weave itself taking solace in the blood he had quite literally been shedding.

“And today, with that illusion you managed.”

Vette studied Gale, before something dawned on him. “You were testing your theory by having me do that?”

Oh, Gale beamed. “That’s my clever boy.” He took the few steps to Vette, reached up as if to tap his nose, but the sorcerer grabbed his hand instead, guiding it to his jaw, to slide along the side of his neck. Gale moved as if that had been his first intention, cupping the back of Vette’s neck, soft grip making Vette’s breath catch in his throat.

“What if I had fucked the whole thing up?” the half-drow whispered, as Gale’s other hand found his waist, held him as if it was instinct. Gods it was good to be this close again.

“There isn’t a reality where you would have.” Gale tipped his head up, and for a moment Vette thought he was going to kiss him-

And he did, but it was a tender kiss to his forehead, against a mess of red and gold scales. Vette swore for a moment he legs were going to melt beneath him- a combination of the soft touch, the affection, and the fact that this man believed in him-

Gale pulled back slowly, almost reluctant to let go of the sorcerer. Vette wished he hadn’t, wished Gale had given him the moment to clutch at his robes, get his arms around his neck, have them flush so he could wish to feel the very drum of Gale’s pulse through his skin.

“I should leave you to your books,” Gale offered, “you’ve got quite a bit of reading to do now. And after today’s display, I think you deserve a bit of the night off from any real training.” 

Leaving was the last thing Vette wanted Gale to do. He took a step towards him, thinking to tell him no, he didn’t need a night off, or time away from him, or anything that wasn’t Gale within an inch of him like a comforting ghost-

As he moved his muscles clenched painfully, reminding him that he was still feeling the residual effects of his earlier display. He meant to ignore it, but he grimaced just slightly-

It was enough for Gale to notice. Eyes going from a joyous pride to concern, he asked, “Are you alright?”

Vette could have lied. He probably should have- but Gale made him honest. “Just still sore from earlier. That much of a show pulled the weave from my bones.” He tried to smile, like it was a joke, he’d be fine, but when Gale’s expression didn’t change, Vette sighed, added, “I couldn’t get the room to cool down, so I might have absorbed all of the heat. Releasing it back out might have been the uh… tipping point.”

“You shouldn’t have hurt yourself.”

Vette shrugged a shoulder- that wasn’t new. But what was- “I wasn’t going to disappoint you.”

Gale’s face softened. He shook his head once, as if he simply didn’t know what to do with this man, before he was moving past him, telling him he’d be right back. 

The half-drow worried his lip, wanting to chastise himself for his honesty- gods, did he sound like a hopeful child, just wanting Gale’s approval? But it was true, he couldn’t lie to himself- he just wanted the man to smile at him, to be proud.

When Gale returned, he had shed his teaching robes, had the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows. He was holding an ornate bottle in one hand, all colored glass and jewels. It looked expensive.

“Off with your robe,” Gale said, and Vette listened without hesitation, shedding the fabric and leaving it tossed over his chair. “Shirt as well- then lay down on your stomach.” Confused, Vette just stared at him, trying to ignore the way his belly lit up in an inferno at the instruction to even partially strip. When Vette didn’t move, Gale added, “I’m going to work the tension right out of you.”

Oh. Vette turned away then, fingers working on his shirt as his hands shook. Once he’d pulled it off, he glanced back as he tossed it away, noticed Gale was watching him, the gentle look in his eyes replaced by something sharp, dark.

Afraid he might whimper under that stare, he turned back towards his bed, climbing on it and settled on his belly, face turned to the side and settled on his pillows. He felt the bed dip as Gale climbed on himself- and then the pleasant weight of his body, as he straddled the back of Vette’s thighs.

The sorcerer was almost thankful he didn’t have long to dwell on that feeling, as moments later he felt Gale’s hands grasping his shoulders. They slid along skin easily, the oil filling the room with the scent of wood, incense.

Gale’s hands worked along his shoulders, pushing just hard enough that for a moment the muscle cramped- but then the discomfort was replaced with relief. Vette groaned, unable to bite back the sound, as Gale’s hands moved to his back, thumbs working down his spine and seeming to find all of the hidden cracks in his vertebrae where the pain wanted to hide.

The wizard was silent, and Vette wished so badly he could be inside head, in that moment. Just for a breath, a single thought. Was the heat of Vette’s skin driving him as mad as the pressure of Gale’s fingertips was driving the sorcerer? Was being this close evoking images of so many could-bes?

Vette bit his lip as Gale worked at his lower back, felt his cock throbbing between him and the bed. If he could think beyond the weight of Gale settled on the backs of his thighs, he might be alarmed at how quickly he’d gotten hard- but his mind was nothing but molten iron, dripping along the confines of his skull.

Gale worked up his back again, hands moving along his spine, over the scales that adorned the entire length of it, the movement having him leaning forward, pressing into the swell of Vette’s ass.

For a moment the joyous delirium turned into a thrumming panic, and Vette went stiff, his body’s instinct to brace for discomfort-

But Gale was just a pleasant weight and heat. He noticed the tension, however, and pulled his hands back, breaking most of the contact quickly, making Vette want to cry out in dismay. “Don’t,” he managed, his voice coming hoarse, a rasp from his tight throat. “Don’t stop.”

“You went tense,” Gale observed. However he reached forward again, got his hands back on Vette’s back, had the muscles singing for him again quickly.

“Just memories,” Vette mumbled, letting his eyes fall shut again. When Gale leaned into him again, he swallowed down the urge to panic- he told himself he wanted to believe that things would be different, with Gale. That the man wouldn’t hurt him.

He hadn’t, thus far. Gods he’d done the exact opposite that any lover had ever done to Vette, in the past. And Gale wasn’t even his-

His what?

Gale got his hands on the dip of Vette’s shoulders, pushed at nerves that had the half-drow gasping, the sound ending in a whine. The sorcerer shifted his hips, nearly wanting to grind into the bed over the feeling-

But instead pushed himself back against Gale, slightly. Just enough that it seemed accidental- hells, it was- but gods, he could feel a tension go through the wizard, as if he was forcing his muscles to steel, to keep from canting his hips forward.

He could feel the shape of his cock, pressing against his backside.

Vette slid his hands along the bed, grasped at the blanket, as Gale pushed into the muscles at the top of his spine one last time, before he leaned back, quietly studied him.

One of his hands ran along Vette’s side. “Can you roll over?”

Vette shook his head, only pushing further into his pillow. Gods if he did, it would be obvious how badly he had liked Gale’s touch, what it had done to him.

Gale leaned over him again, braced his hands on the bed so he was bracketing the sorcerer in. Vette felt the drag of his mouth, on the back of his neck, a whispered, please? that had his heart beating so erratically he feared he might die.

He swallowed thickly, nodded, and Gale moved off him, sat on the edge of the bed. Vette took a deep breath before he shifted, moving to his back, staring up at the ceiling and trying so hard not to focus on the way his cock was aching for a touch, pressing against his pants.

He squeezed his eyes shut, heard Gale shift, could feel the man lean over him, a hand plant firmly on the bed near his arm-

And then the feeling of his lips, pressing sweetly to Vette’s.

The sorcerer trembled, an arm reaching up, hooking up over Gale’s shoulder, holding onto his shirt. He tipped his head back slightly, let Gale press to his mouth harder, gentle drags of his lips becoming a well practiced dance of his mouth, making Vette tremble down in his belly. He swore all he could do was follow the wizard’s lead, react when his tongue flicked against his lips- gasp when Gale nipped at his lower lip, pinched it between his teeth and let out a devious chuckle that shook Vette to his core.

Gale’s hand shifted, grasped at Vette’s that was still twisting the blanket, guiding it to rest on the sorcerer’s bare belly. The older man’s knuckles brushed against his warm skin, the trail of fine, straw blond hair that led to his groin.

“Don’t be scared of what you want,” Gale whispered, against his mouth. Vette forced his eyes open, peered up through heavy lids as his wizard smiled down at him, his eyes dancing like black flames. Vette flexed his fingers against his own belly, and Gale leaned down, pecked his lips, then the bridge of his nose, before nosing towards his ear. “How can I take care of you if you won’t take care of yourself?”

Vette choked, a whimper trying to claw up his throat. Gale smiled, gods he swore he could just tell when the man did, before he was pulling away, standing up.

“I’ll go start dinner,” he offered, looking down at Vette, drinking him in. The half-drow wanted so badly to see what he saw, to hear even a fraction of his thoughts. Gale’s eyes lingered on his lower belly, the hand splayed there, darted even between his thighs, at the obvious bulge of his cock. “When you’re ready, come join me.”

He turned, headed for the door, stepping over the threshold. The door shut, and after a moment of silence, Vette realized he was holding his breath. He exhaled, slowly, acutely aware of the fact that he hadn’t heard Gale walk away, yet.

He was fairly certain he was still on the other side of that door.

He teased his fingertips along his happy trail, before he pushed his hand further, working quickly at the buttons of his pants. Gale had made it fairly obvious what he’d wanted Vette to do-

The half-drow freed his cock, sucking in a breath as the air in the room felt so much cooler than his burning skin. He wrapped a hand around himself, eased it up slowly, let his head tip back with a relieved exhale at the touch. He arched slightly, smiled when the bed creaked with the action, as he rubbed his thumb over his cockhead, smearing precum from his slit over the sensitive skin.

He rolled his thumb just under his cockhead, over the bundle of nerves there that had his breath coming faster. “Fuck,” he groaned, squirming slightly along the bed. He wanted to tease, but the impatience in him was growing to such a degree he swore it was a beast that would consume him whole.

He grasped himself again, stroking quickly, shaking as his muscles- so sweetly lax thanks to Gale’s hands- began to tense, but pleasantly so. He wished Gale had stayed, wished the man had wrapped one of his hands around him, stroked him however he wanted. Vette didn’t care- so long as the man touched him, he swore he’d find oblivion.

And gods if Gale would just keep kissing him.

“Gale,” he breathed, to himself, wanting to taste his name, learn how it felt to wantonly gasp it. Then, bolder, swearing the wizard had to still be on the other side of the door, groaned much louder, “Gale.”

His toes curled, pressure growing at the base of his spine, making his belly and his balls go tight. Gods, he was close, he was so fucking close already. 

He swore he heard the faint sound of wood groaning. Had Gale leaned against the door? What if he was touching himself, too? What if he was out there with his hand around his cock, desperately seeking the same release Vette was chasing.

Vette licked his lips, would have given anything to have the fucking guts to just get up, rip the door open, grab the wizard and kiss him with every bit of desire he harbored down into his bones. To drop to his knees in front of him, taste the salt of his skin, feel the weight of his cock over his tongue, until Vette was nearly sobbing as his jaw burned-

He gave a quick, wordless cry, shoulders digging into the bed as his orgasm hit him with the force of an ocean wave. He trembled, stroking himself through it, felt a splash of warm cum along his belly- and then another, as the crest of his orgasm seemed to hold for a moment. 

His body relaxed, until he swore he was melting into the bed. He released his cock, hand resting on his belly, dangerously close to the pearly mess he’d left. He was panting softly.

He dared to flick his eyes to his door- and could just make out the movement of shadows and light, beneath it.

Gale had been there. And there was no way he hadn’t heard his name, from Vette’s lips.

He knew then that if he wanted Gale, he’d have to act. His wizard could dance this routine forever, but Vette felt so sure in his gut that Gale was trying to coax him out of himself.

Trying to tell him if he wanted something, he had to take it. To just embrace his ambition.

[privatebooth]

All these talks about the new Dragon Age game are making me nostalgic.

I remember how when DA2 was being made there was so much hype, and I was not thrilled at all. Origins left such a strong impression on me, I hated the idea of moving on to something different. Change was always difficult for me to accept, any change. I know a lot of people didn't want to part with their wardens, there's nothing original in that, but...

I hated Hawke before he even came into existence. I only wanted to see more of my Warden and Zevran who turned my world upside down.

Instead, they made this new character who spoke and had a semblance of an actual personality which I couldn't even control!

Then Bioware started feeding us little snippets of the game, and I saw the grumpy little brother, obviously displeased with his life, which pretty much instantly endeared him to me, and I thought I could try playing this game just to make him smile. Also, I really liked Nicholas Boulton's voice, and didn't mind hearing more of him (my Warden was a city fem elf, so I thought working with him would be fun).

The demo came out when I more or less started to come to terms with the fact that I'll never see my warden again, but may still hear something about her, and I was desperate for something. I played with all combinations of classes and genders, absolutely hated the gameplay - still do, loved being a rogue in DAO, but here it makes me want to smash my keyboard - but was very happy to find that mages are much more fun to play now, since I wanted to have Carver in my team.

Okay, but I still hated Hawke. I didn't know anything about his story, didn't care to know, and I told him right away "You will fail". I really didn't want him to succed, there was no way he could ever compare to HOF, who solved every single problem, saved every single soul she could save, and befriended everyone she ever met. The icon of diplomacy and efficiency, with just enough arrogance to be lovable (cocky elf voice FTW!) I still miss her so much.

The good thing about not caring too much about this guy was that I actually allowed Hawke to be human. I didn't feel pressured to play the hero who must always make the right choice. He was allowed to make questionable decisions, to fail, it was expected of him. I didn't want a lousy wannabe superhero. Can't persuade that angry Dalish elf on Wounded coast? That's okay, Hawke, you're not the Warden - she definitely could have talked her down. A crowd of weary Fereldans protecting Anders? Carver, you go talk to them.

On and on, it became more apparent that Hawke's story would not be as glorious as the Warden's, and he won't be as much of a hero. He truly was just a guy who was trying to get by and take care of his family and friends. No ambition to fix the world and save everyone.

The Warden remains an unachievable ideal I can only dream of emulating.

Hawke... he is so much more relatable, and a lot closer to me than any Bioware char will ever be. I love him so much.

[katetheworm]

Naud Bui Amarth

Note: hi hi hi, welcome to another part in this lovely adventure with Cefrey and Aragorn. I was planning on adding a whole other scene to this but it would have made it very long and kinda unnecessary, so here we are! I hope you enjoy and please feel free to chat or send in asks! Also! A little while ago I commissioned another piece of Cefrey, go check it out!! Reblogs, likes, comments, etc are always welcome, but please remember reblogs >>> likes Other Sites: Ao3, Quotev Pairing: Aragorn x Original Female Character/Reader Warnings: none for this chapter Rating: T Words: 3748

Part Six (Masterlist)

The morning after Cefrey and Strider’s conversation was quite eventful. Elrond had summoned many people from all across Middle Earth to discuss the fate of the Ring, and, much to the mage’s surprise, she had been invited as well. Gandalf assured her that it should not have come as such a shock since she was there, protecting the Ring from falling into the hands of evil. And while Cefrey understood his train of thought, she still was not sure what to think of it. She was simply a human, yes she was a human with magical abilities, but she rarely spoke to others and… The mage sighed. Her mind was just trying to get her out of going to the meeting, a meeting which she had every right of attending. 

Gathering herself, Cefrey rose out of bed and donned another dress that was gifted to her by the elves. This one was a two piece with an off-white chemise and a forest green cover, it had a corset like top and flowed down the sides and back of the chemise. Fixing her hair by pinning it on the sides with two beautiful elven clips, the mage took in a deep breath. This was a meeting to decide the fate of Middle Earth. Cefrey was not used to such grand undertakings, preferring solitude and the embrace of nature compared to civilization. But this was different, she decided, this was important beyond her regular comforts. 

She finally moved to leave her room, glancing at herself in the mirror one last time before setting off to join the Council of Elrond.

The room where the council was to take place had many chairs surrounding a white pedestal in the center, most likely where the ring would be placed, as well as a larger chair at one end where Cefrey noticed Lord Elrond resided.

She walked up to him as she seemed to be the first one there. “Good morning, Lord Elrond.”

The elf’s countenance shifted from one of deep contemplation to one of soft care at the sight of the mage. “Good morning, dear Cefrey. I see that you are quite early to this meeting.”

Cefrey laughed. “Yes, well it is nicer to be early rather than late, don’t you think?” 

Before Elrond could respond, more people funneled into the room, taking their respective seats. The mage bowed her head at the elf, leaving to take her seat as well. Much to her joy, Frodo had decided to sit between her and Gandalf. She smiled down at the quite anxious looking halfling, resting a hand on his shoulder to try and ease his nerves. He looked up at her, grateful for her support. 

Once everyone had been seated–Cefrey caught the eye of Strider as he sat across from her–Elrond stood and began the meeting, “Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate, this one doom.” He glanced over at Frodo, nodding his head, “Bring forth the Ring, Frodo.”

The young hobbit hesitated a moment, gazing up at Cefrey and Gandalf who both gave him a firm movement of their heads, encouraging him to do as Elrond said. He stood and walked over to the plinth, carefully placing the Ring down on it before turning and going back to his seat. 

Cefrey gave him a quiet look of consolation as he sat back down beside her. A tight feeling wound its way around her heart as her gaze moved away from the hobbit and towards the tiny piece of metal before her. It… it seemed as if it was trying to speak to her, attempting to twist her morals and her thoughts into more sinister and evil things. Furrowing her brows and inhaling a sharp breath of air, the mage pushed those thoughts away. Those thoughts of power and greed, of using her magic to make all in the land bend to her will. She was stronger than that, she would not let him win.

Thankfully her thoughts were interrupted as the man with dirty blond hair that Cefrey saw the other night stood and walked closer to the Ring, “In a dream,” He paused. “I saw the Eastern sky grow dark, in the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying, your doom is near at hand,” The man took another step closer to the Ring, Cefrey’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Isildur's bane is found.” Cefrey glanced over at Elrond, then at Gandalf as the man neared the Ring, his hand reaching out, “Isildur's Bane…”

“Boromir!” Elrond jumped to his feet, his voice filled with rage and fear at what the man might do.

Cefrey’s hands gripped tightly at her dress. The fear in the elf lord’s voice and the desperation in Boromir’s, scared her. This evil was stronger than she could ever have imagined. And she knew at that moment that this evil ring must be destroyed, lest it destroy them all. Before anyone could do anything–or perhaps before Boromir could continue his cursed train of thought–Gandalf stood quickly, the air around them growing dark and cold as he spoke.

“Ash nazg durbatuluk,” His deepened voice caused all around him to wince in pain, the man staggering back to his seat. “Ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatuluk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.”

Sighing in relief once Gandalf finished and the light returned to the room, Cefrey looks at Gandalf, her brows furrowed, emotions running haywire. Lord Elrond then spoke the very words that were running through her mind, “Never before has anyone uttered words of that tongue here in Imladris.”

The talk continued as Gandalf warned the entire council of the Ring’s evil. Cefrey understood that none could wield it except for Sauron, but decided to not say anything… yet. Boromir disagreed. He believed it to be a gift, a tool to use to save Middle Earth, to protect Gondor from harm. 

Cefrey had half a mind to stand up herself and tell Boromir how idiotic he was being, she instead tried a softer approach as she knew men like him, men that would not care to listen to others when they are so set in their ways. She sat up straighter then, her eyes locking with Strider’s once more as some unspoken words passed between them. 

“None here can wield the Ring, my lord, not you, not I, none but Sauron.” Her voice held a conviction she had never experienced before, and yet it felt right to say such things to this man. 

Boromir narrowed his eyes at her, unsure of what to fully make of this wandering mage, but still displeased at her outright argument towards him. “You are but a maiden, unaware of the hardships of life around you, why should I believe what you say?”

A certain ranger spoke up rather quickly to Cefrey’s defense and she could hear the annoyance in his tone, “Cefrey is right, Boromir, and I believe you know what she says to be true as well. You cannot wield it. None of us can.” Strider’s voice slowly lost its anger as the knight of Gondor turned from the mage to face him, a deep scowl on his face. “The One Ring answers to Sauron alone. It has no other master.”

Boromir scoffed at Strider’s remark, his glare intensifying. “And what would a ranger know of this matter?” His words reflecting what he had said to Cefrey just moments before.

The mage raised a brow at that. Yes, Strider was a ranger, but he was invited to the council just as Boromir was. Once again, Cefrey wanted to speak up but was interrupted as an elf – Legolas from the Woodland realm if she recalled correctly – stood abruptly.

“This is no mere ranger.” That was interesting, Cefrey thought. “He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. You owe him your allegiance.”

Cefrey’s eyes widened. Isildur’s heir? Heir to Gondor? That was who she had been traveling with, who she had grown close to, trusted with her life? Her green eyes landed on his gray ones, confusion and shock laced in them. It took him a minute to return her gaze, after he told Legolas to sit and Boromir’s disdain for the ranger only grew. His eyebrows were furrowed, a look of… guilt, or perhaps regret on his face. It was not Cefrey’s business to know exactly who he was, and she understood that, but then why did it hurt her so? She had not divulged all of her past to him and there was no reason for him to do so either. And yet she still felt saddened by the fact that she only found out his true name from someone else, at a time where neither could speak to each other about it. 

Changing her expression to one where she hoped to convey that they would talk about it later, Cefrey's attention was then quickly switched over to the dwarf as he stood and smashed his axe onto the ring, only for his weapon to break rather than the Ring itself. Lord Elrond told Gimli then that there was only one way to destroy the Ring; by bringing it back to the very place it was forged. Mount Doom.

Boromir interrupted after that, "One does not simply walk into Mordor. Its black gates are guarded by more than just orcs. There is evil there that does not sleep and the great eye is ever watchful. Tis a barren wasteland, riddled with fire and ash and dust. The very air you breathe is a poisonous fume. Not with ten thousand men could you do this." He shook his head. "It is folly."

Soon practically everyone stood from their seats and began arguing. Cefrey’s eyes landed on Aragorn again, a thousand words passing between them as they listened to the commotion. The mage was surprised as even Gandalf joined the fray, her green eyes widening only to fall onto the quiet hobbit beside her, his voice barely being heard.

"I will take it."

Frodo glanced at the sorceress, his countenance filled with doubt. She gave him a sad yet reassuring look before squeezing his hand and nodding. It wasn't that Cefrey wanted the halfling to go on such a perilous quest, but she also knew that anyone else–including herself–would be too easily corrupted by the Ring's power.

Emboldened by Cefrey’s encouragement Frodo stood taller, his words rising over the din of voices around them. She noticed Gandalf’s resigned look then, as he heard the hobbit too. 

“I will take it.” He took a step forward, hands clenched in a tight fist by his side. “I will take the Ring to Mordor.” The entirety of the hall stopped and stared at Frodo, looks of fear, suspicion, confusion, but mostly awe, all focused on the young halfling and his strong choice of words. Cefrey noticed his eyes go over each and every person who stood, staring at him, making his previous courage dwindle a bit before he spoke again, “Though, I do not know the way.”

A soft smile spread across the mage’s face as she stood as well, stepping forward until she was in front of the hobbit. Gandalf came up beside her, his eyes still conveying a deep sorrow, yet he did not convey it outwardly. The grey wizard spoke first, “I will help you bear this burden Frodo Baggins, as long as it is yours to bear.”

On any normal day, under any normal circumstances, the mage would much rather have simply gone back into nature, enjoying her simple life. But these were not normal times, they were dark times, trying times, and she knew that she had to help anywhere she could. She already swore to protect this young hobbit and she would not back down now. Perhaps it was because she had grown to feel rather protective of Frodo, or perhaps there was something else drawing her to do so, either way, she knew she had to. Cefrey felt, in the deepest parts of her being, that this was what she must do, in spite of the dangers, of the hardships they will all face, the stark difference from her previous life to this, she will help him. 

Kneeling down and taking his small hand in hers, Cefrey held Frodo’s gaze, a resolute look on her countenance. “I, too, will aid you on this quest, young Frodo, my magic is yours to wield.”

As soon as she began to speak, she heard a rustle behind her as Strider… as Aragorn stood as well, causing the sorceress to rise from her kneeling position and move to stand behind the halfling. Seemingly without even a conscious effort, Cefrey’s eyes landed on the ranger’s, and while his gaze was fixed on Frodo, for a brief moment it moved to her, an emotion behind his grey eyes that she could not understand. 

“If by my life or death I can protect you, I will” Aragorn walked up to the hobbit while talking, kneeling before him as he spoke again, “You have my sword.” His words echoed the ones Cefrey had uttered before.

Legolas took a step forward as well, his countenance grim yet determined, “And you have my bow.”

Another came forward beside the elf, “And my axe,” said Gimli, son of Gloin.

“You carry the fate of us all, little one,” Boromir spoke and took a step forward. “If this is indeed the will of the Council, then Gondor will see it done.” Despite his previous misgivings, the mage felt as though he would be crucial to their journey and deemed to hold no ill will towards the man.

Cefrey smiled at the group that was forming as a thought graced her mind; perhaps this quest did have a fighting chance–

Her thoughts were interrupted, however, as out from the bushes came a shouting Samwise Gamgee as he ran up next to Frodo, “Mr. Frodo’s not going anywhere without me!”

With a glint of bemusement in his eyes, Lord Elrond shook his head at the headstrong hobbit, “No indeed. It is hardly possible to separate you, even when he is summoned to a secret council and you are not.”

“Wait!” Two more hobbits burst forth, completing the group of four halflings that Cefrey helped guide to Rivendell. “We’re coming too!” Exclaimed Merry, Pippin not far behind, much to the elven lord’s astoundment. “You’d have to send us home tied up in a sack to stop us.”

“Anyway,” Pippin spoke, with much conviction and confidence in his voice. “You need people of intelligence on this sort of mission… quest… thing.”

Merry shot him an unamused glance, “Well that rules you out, Pip.”

The mage chuckled at their antics before stepping in line beside Aragorn, and with the rest of their interesting group.

Elrond’s gaze wandered over each person standing beside Frodo, a faint, proud smile curling on his lips, “Ten companions…” He nodded resolutely. “So be it! You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring!”

“Great!” The youngest hobbit spoke yet again, “Where are we going?”

.

The meeting having ended, the recently formed fellowship disbanded with their respective groups to gather their things, to say goodbyes, and to prepare for the upcoming journey. Cefrey was amongst those ten companions, a fact which continued to astound her. Her, a wandering mage of unknown origins, who spent most of her life simply living, especially after all that she had been through. A woman, in the end, a simple woman who lived longer than other women she knew, who aged differently because of what? Her magic? Some outside force? It couldn’t all have been fate that created her, that led to her having such a strange life. 

The woman sighed heavily, those thoughts had been running rampant through her mind for the past few days as one strange occurrence after another continued to happen to her, around her, because of her. Cefrey rounded a corner, the trim of her dress brushing against the stone floor as she walked through the halls of Imladris. Her mind still going a mile a minute, the mage came to a stop as her eyes focused on a man just ahead of her. His back was turned slightly, but she could tell it was him almost immediately. Strider… well Aragorn as he should be referred to as now, stood a mere distance away, hands clasped tightly behind his back, from what she could see of his expression, it seemed contemplative, in a way. Perhaps he, too, was dealing with troublesome thoughts that refused to go away. 

At the sight of the ranger, Cefrey was reminded of how his identity was rather abruptly thrown in her face at the meeting just hours before. They had not been able to speak about it since, each having their own duties and ministrations to attend to, but the desire to was definitely there. At least for Cefrey it was, she could not speak for what Aragorn thought.

Approaching Aragorn, the mage clasped her hands in front of her, a few ways of broaching the topic of his identity ran through her mind until she settled on one, “I wondered why you had looked upon those shards of that forgotten sword so despondently before, and now, I suppose, I know why.” Her tone was not one of displeasure or hurt, she did not hold his secrets against him. “The heir to Gondor, and here I thought I was merely traveling with a common man.”

The ranger sighed but did not seem displeased at her company nor her comment, simply resigned to it. “That sword and those titles carry a burden I am not sure I wish to bear.” His grey eyes lifted to look into her green ones, and Cefrey could see the pain and the guilt he felt, all because of men he was distantly related to. “How can I, a common man as you say, hope to repair the mistakes made so long ago, mistakes that are coming back to light, mistakes that I feel the need to help rectify.”

“Mistakes made by men you have never met, by men that are not you, Aragorn.” The mage furrowed her eyebrows, sympathy and kindness in her face and voice. She did not understand why he carried such guilt for things he did not do. “Do not let those who came before you dictate what you will do in the future. Your fate is in your hands to do with what you will.” 

She wanted to say more, to say that she saw his kindness, courage, his empathy for others. That he could never be like his ancestors, that she knew, in her heart and soul, that he was better, and that he would change the world in such wondrous ways. But she felt that it was not her place to say such things, at least not yet. They knew each other for mere days, and she also believed that these were things he must figure out on his own, that he would not believe them yet as he has not said them to himself.

Aragorn huffed a quiet laugh, “You are wise beyond your years, Cefrey the Green.” 

His comment held some underlying meaning to the mage, he took her words to heart, yes, but she did not think that he fully believed them yet. Perhaps they should switch to other topics, she thought, ones that were not so melancholy.

“Wise beyond my years, you say?” Her tone and body language shifted to a more playful disposition. “I suppose that depends on how old you think I am.”

At that, she saw the ranger’s expression change as well, he definitely knew that she was trying to switch the tone of their conversation, but he was also curious at what she meant by that. “Is this some trick to get me to stumble over trying to guess your age?”

Cefrey laughed openly at that, “I would never do such a thing, I would never make you guess a lady’s age in such a way, nor do I think you would get it right.”

“And why is that?” The ranger questioned.

“Because… I am seventy eight.”

Aragorn’s eyes widened slightly and it was not difficult to guess why. While the Dunedain aged slower than most men, and the mage was certain Aragorn was older than he appeared as well, she was most definitely not one of the Dunedain, which made her age peculiar, to say the least. However, somehow, due to her magic that flowed within her, she was also able to age much slower than others. There was not much else she could explain as to the reasonings or the science behind her aging other than her magic. She explained as such to the ranger and he took it rather easily–in spite of his earlier surprise.

Cefrey hummed, her eyes glancing at the scenery around them before landing on the man before her once more. “We both have held secrets from one another, ones that, I hope, have not ruined what trust we have formed between us.” She placed a hand on her chest, “I hold no ill will towards you for not revealing your true identity, we both have things we wish to keep close, and I respect that.”

Aragorn bowed his head towards her, a silent showing of that same respect he has for her. “You are much too kind, Cefrey the Green, and while your kindness is your virtue, I still feel as though I should have been the one to tell you who I am, not have it be revealed to you in such a manner.”

A small smile graced her freckled features, “And your chivalry and wisdom is your virtue… Aragorn.”

Saying his true name felt right to her for some reason unbeknownst to her. Cefrey bid farewell to the ranger then, unsure if their conversation should continue even though she wished it to. As much as she wanted to simply sit and talk to him, this man she met not days before, she knew that they did not have such time to do so. There was a darkness looming on the horizon, a darkness she was afraid would soon consume them all if they did nothing to stop it.

[poetryofyouth]

the last few weeks i have been obsessively playing Dragon Age, in preparation for the veilguard release of course.

Dragon Age: Origins is still a work of Art and I would die for her and every companion

Dragon Age: 2 is not as bad as I remembered it? Sure it has it's issues but the story is genuinely so fantastic. Like, the story, the characters, Hawke's relationships with the companions - the combat is almost an annoying obstacle to get to the heartbreakingly tender moments between Hawke and their damaged, broken, hurting friends

For that reason I would love for an option to just skip combat alltogeter and turn it into a walking simulator.

In both Origins and 2, the male love interests are so so so much better holy fuck

Like the first time I played as a lesbian (of course) and romancing Leliana in Origins. Which is... sweet and everything, but the relationship with Leliana always felt... hollow. Love without any true base in Friendship. If that makes sense.

This time, my warden was a bit of a slut and romanced Leliana, (also Isabella), Zevran and lastly Alistair. And holy fuck, the relationship between Warden an Alistair is just perfect. Me playing a female elf only added to the perfection. Sad I couldn't marry him at the end, but hey, staying as the King's mistress is fine with me, Anora's cool with it, mostly, and nothing can get in between true love. I mean, the relationship between Warden and Alistair starts off with pure banter and friendship, you can feel them acutally caring for each other way before you even start any romance. They feel like two people who just fit like puzzle pieces. Jokes, support, bleeding together, either one would not think a minute before sacrificing their own life for the other. and finally, after weeks of pain and suffering and drinks in taverns and jokes around the campfire and horribly traumatizing deaths all around, they both realize that they aren't just friends anymore. Fucking hell that is literally the perfect fictional relationship omg i have never shipped a straight couple harder.

Also I found the thought of being a slutty warden who bedded every available character before finally taking the future king's virginity, then arranging a marriage between her boyfriend and another woman and then also arranging for her boyfriend to get her other friend pregnant just... incredibly funny ngl

And in DA:2 on my first playthrough I romanced Merril. Which was... fine. Though I find it kinda difficult because I didn't like the idea of Hawke just being completely fine with blood magic and all that. Merril also isn't that interesting a character. I mean, comparing her to many other games she is fantastic!! But in this game, she just kinda pales in comparison to everyone else.

Now I'm playing a male gay Hawke and I first romanced Fenris. And I am just a sucker for a sad, hurting man learning how to feel again. Fenris is just such a good character. Of course he is horribly racist agains mages, which i mean, not that i / Hawke condone it, but anyone would need years of therapy to get over what the magisters did to him, so i love the thought of Hawke being patient and slowly trying to show him they are not that bad.

So I love to kinda torture Fenris and run around with him, anders and merril, their companion banters are so great.

But Fenris of course dumps Hawke after the first time and sure you COULD wait for him to come around in act three but screw that, I will not have my feelings played with like that.

Especially when there is an even sadder, more broken man waiting for me. Anders is probably my favourite character in DA:2. Even the last time I played, without romancing him. But now I startet DA:2 right after finishing the Awakening DLC and I just LOVE the difference and the similarities between the two Anders versions. Some might say it's inconsistent. But I choose to believe that in Awakening, even if Anders had seen so many horrible things already, he was still able to keep a more happy-go-lucky facade. I imagine between the end of Awakening and Hawke first meeting him, Anders has seen many many more horrible things while being with the wardens. So he is just extra-traumatized in 2. And of course, his character changed with the whole spirit of justice thing. But even if he is a lot more serious and a lot sadder, he still has that Anders-Charm. I love his love for kittens and his need for justice for the mages

And even if the DA:2 love interests (apart from Sebastian) are all bisexual, I love that they are not just default staights that can just also be romanced by same gender Hawkes. Like, when Anders confesses that Karl, who just died, was his first boyfriend??? I think I cried. The PAIN the HURT the HOMOSEXUAL ANGST. I will burn down all of Kirkwall if that makes Anders feel even a little better.

The rivalry / rivalry romance aspect is really cool and I love it exists but unfortunately i am incapable of not being liked by everyone.

Seriously how does a game that was pretty much universally considered a disappointment by the fandom (i previously didn't like it either!! Idek why!!!!) have storylines that trump pretty much any movie of tv show made in the last 5 years. Please let me play this just as a story game/walking simulator i need to look into mods i want to see every possible conversation and fuck everyone (tenderly and with love. and also as hateful rivals)

Also I have played the games so much recently I hope I don't accidentally say "by the maker" in public lmao

[fractured-shield]

Writerly questionnaire

thanks for the tags @honeybewrites and @nczaversnick!!

about you:

when did you start writing?

I was stapling together loose paper and handwriting weird shit on the playground instead of socializing for as long as I can remember, but I was 12 when I first got serious about telling any kind of coherent narrative and 19-ish when I overhauled FS into it's current form

are the genres/themes you enjoy reading different from the ones you write?

oh, nah, I'm a sucker for the same cliche high fantasy tropes as I write. I got really into LotR in 6th grade (like, reading the silmarillion and other supplemental texts the following year. don't ask me about my favorite traumatized elf guys unless you want the most incomprehensible rambling response. i've been told it's all very predictable of me on no less than half a dozen occasions) and that shit was a formative experience I can't go back from

is there an author (or just a fellow writer!) you want to emulate, or one to whom you’re often compared?

yeah i think every high fantasy writer gets compared to tolkien at some point, the whole mt fuji analogy of the genre and all that. I'm not really trying to emulate the same scale or depth of lore, but I find that a lot of the themes really speak to me now in my mid-20s more than they did as a kid, so I like to lean into some of those in my own writing, and keep (and occasionally fuck around with) the typical high fantasy trappings along the way

can you tell me a little about your writing space(s)? (Room, coffee shop, desk, etc.)

eh...don't really have one rn. i'll write anywhere from scrap paper during church (i'm a church musician only so i don't lose my skills lmao) to my phone, to actually sitting at a desk. but i recently had to move pretty suddenly and don't have much set up yet

what’s your most effective way to muster up some muse?

find yourself in traumatizing situations and project them onto your characters instead of getting therapy long car rides listening to music

did the place(s) you grew up in influence the people and places you write about?

i'm sure it did a bit subconsciously, but most of my formative years were spent using fiction as escapism, so not too much

are there any recurring themes in your writing, and if so, do they surprise you at all?

grief and trauma and coping with things out of your control, finding purpose, found family and good supportive familial relationships, feeling lonely and othered and using self-improvement as harm...etc. normal stuff like that. i'm doing so good i'm so well adjusted please believe me

your characters:

would you please tell me about your current favorite character? (Current WIP, past WIP, never used, etc.)

😔 <- character profile link. i cannot pretend anyone else is my favorite when i literally have a tattoo in honor of him. (tldr that's my protag's father. she wouldn't even be mad she's relegated to second favorite, she'd agree with me)

which of your characters do you think you’d be friends with in real life?

i think i'd get along with a lot of them actually. therien, oenith, and waith would all have some initial conflict but we'd figure it out. hal would be chill. i wish leithe and idhren were my parents

which of your characters would you dislike the most if you met them?

i think if i met maithyr he'd kinda scare me tbh. and i'd be so tired of dealing with malin's genuinely friendly extroverted behavior, love the guy though. waith's parents piss me off, as do deras and ealrid. alfrin is a little shit and, like therien, he'd get under my skin. unlike therien, i'd be too much of a coward to punch him

tell me about the process of coming up with of one, all, or any of your characters.

uhhhhhh therien and oenith kinda happened on accident...? a friend and i were fucking around and wanted some sick ass fantasy self insert ocs and now it's 12 years later and they're their own fleshed out fully different characters. waith was originally a shared oc with a different friend, and she's still pretty similar and they get consulted sometimes about how i write her. idhren and leithe were always therien's parents but their role wasn't originally supposed to be this big. maithyr and linna are shamelessly based on the vibe of a popular ship in a fandom i've been in but i made them debatably worse. hal just showed up one day and malin reinvented his whole self when i wasn't looking. ...mor and arennir and alfrin were...interesting cases...

do you notice any recurring themes/traits among your characters?

mostly the trauma, yeah

how do you picture them? (As real people you imagined, as models/actors who exist in real life, as imaginary artwork, as artwork you made or commissioned, anime style, etc.)

i've had them all for long enough that it's some fluid mix of faceclaims (one very notable story about that), picrews, video game character builders, and just imagined collections of features and vibes

your writing:

what’s your reason for writing?

idk i didn't know it'd be 12+ years of these guys with no signs of stopping when i made therien and oenith and idhren back in 2012. they're like real people to me and i'm very fond of them, so i enjoy thinking about them and i think their story deserves to be written

is there a specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating coming from your readers?

i really like when people connect with my characters. particularly therien and idhren, any "oh my god she's weird as fuck i love her" or "ohhh im sad about him i think a hug from him would fix me" is like. going to make my entire week

how do you want to be thought of by those who read your work? (For example: as a literary genius, or as a writer who “gets” the human condition; as a talented worldbuilder, as a role model, etc.)

tbh i've never really thought about how i want to be seen as a writer. i just want to tell a story people connect with, i'd rather readers find characters as inspirational rather than myself

what do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

probably characters, but only within FS. I don't think it's a strength, like any new character I make for another project is whatever, but with these guys—I hope they feel complex and realistic, I've been thinking about them for long enough

what have you been frequently told your greatest writing strength is by others?

i've been told I write dialogue well I think? I also got a comment from when I submitted ch1 of my current draft for a class critique last spring where someone said I wrote anxiety/panic in a very realistic way. that scene wasn't even in the outline lmao my characters do what they want

how do you feel about your own writing? (Answer in whatever way you interpret this question.)

it's...fine I guess? It's definitely gotten noticeably more consistent and closer to what I want it to be in the past 2-ish years, but I still struggle a lot with feeling like the style is bland and the topics forgettable. I try not to linger on it too much because I primarily write for my own sanity, the approval of any readers is just a bonus

if you were the last person on earth and knew your writing would never be read by another human, would you still write?

oh yeah, i'd keep writing. i like my characters and i like seeing new parts of them and their stories revealed to me as i progress

when you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely what you enjoy? If it’s a mix of the two, which holds the most influence?

nah, not really. i mean, aside from "if i introduce this thing earlier it'd make more sense / breaking the chapters here would flow better for readers" type things. the actual content and themes and characters are purely what I enjoy. i'm not delusional enough to think publishing is likely anyways, i know the whole "cliche high fantasy" thing isn't terribly marketable, especially how it falls in the overlap of YA and adult

open tag for anyone who wants to join! doing open tags until I get caught up I think

tag list: @just-emis-blog @orions-quill @honeybewrites @leahnardo-da-veggie @robin-the-blind-sniper-rifle

[everythingloveandanimated]

Probably low chance of happening…

but I really want Murtagh and Thorn to meet Rhunon.

(Not in order)

Rhunon is happy that Zar’roc has been renamed and that Murtagh has taken it upon himself to rewrite the sword’s history. Also proud of him in her own way.

Thorn: If it’s not an imposition, Rhunon-elda, may I watch you work?

Rhunon questions Thorn’s interest in smithing. Thorn: I suppose you could say I’m interested in the creation of art. Turning ordinary things into works of beauty.

Rhunon makes a comments about Murtagh resemblance to Morzan and Thorn’s scale colors being similar to the scales on Morzan’s dragon.

Thorn asks what Morzan’s dragon was like.

Murtagh asks why Morzan named his sword “Misery”.

They got onto the topic of Eragon and Rhunon making Brisingr. Rhunon says that Eragon “pestered” her into making one. Murtagh chuckles at Eragon’s persistence. Rhunon asks what Murtagh thinks of Eragon and their relationship as kin.

In the forge Murtagh creates a poem stanza but finds it hard to write outside the forge as if the inspiration leaves him and what he’s trying to capture in words can only be captured in the proper atmosphere.

Rhunon becomes interested in his scribbling, Murtagh reads it hoping the Attenwrack, the meter from Galbatorix’s court, doesn’t offend the elf. She comments that it’s not as melodious as the elven meter. She mentions that Eragon wrote a poem, more like an epic, for his first Agenti Blodren.

Murtagh gets a bit miffed at once again being compared to his brother. Thorn gives him a nudge and his own soothing thoughts.

She gives him some tips about writing poems. Murtagh creates stanzas based on what he sees, sort of recording the world as he sees it. Or it’s something born of something he feels. He doesn’t have any grand plans of a compilation of his poems. Merely just the observations of a traveler (or a man dealing with his past.)

At some point this comes up…

Murtagh: I grew up around gilded tongues Rhunon-elda. I may not always like what it said, but I prefer a blunt truth over veiled statements.

Rhunon applauds this.

Thorn comments that Murtagh is an accomplished dancer, this briefly piques Rhunon’s interest.

Murtagh: The steps from the court of the mad king won’t offend you?

Rhunon: if you can still enjoy the steps after all, he’s put you through. I will be fine. Cheeky hatchling.

Thorn rumbling with laughter: I’ve never heard someone call you a hatchling like that!

Murtagh: in the case of years, you’re more of a hatchling than I am.

Thorn: perhaps. Though given her age I assume you’re practically fresh out of your egg.

Murtagh scoffs with humor.

Thorn: Queen Arya is probably also a hatchling to her.

Murtagh briefly remembers the day Thorn hatched. Thorn touched his arm with his snout, positioning himself behind Murtagh as a human would to give a hug from behind.

Thorn: I do not regret hatching for you, dearest friend.

Murtagh curves his arm to caress Thorn’s lower jaw and leans his head against Thorn’s head. Eyes closed, a smile as he soaks in Thorn’s comfort and affirmation.

Rhunon sees this and notes the softness in their relationship that wasn’t as prevalent with Morzan and his dragon. It warms her to see Morzan’s son so gentle. She watches as Murtagh stands to wrap both arms around Thorn’s snout; they lean into each other.

Rhunon: You were a foreboding scourge to us, Morzan. But for his all sins your son does not have the same twisted nature you do. She softens. The boy must get that from his mother.

Not Rhunon related, but Murtagh and Thorn do briefly meet Dusan and Alanna, the two Elven children of Du Waldenvarden. They briefly interact with Thorn who rumbles contentedly from their touch. Murtagh is taken by their youthful beauty. As they depart Murtagh realizes that the children would be potential targets for Du Eld Draumars if they had any cult supporters in Du Waldenvarden, He thinks darkly that if anyone threatened or set hands on the children, he would personally see to it that their captors would not live to see another sunrise.

When Murtagh and Thorn leave Du Weldenvarden, they say goodbye to Rhunon. It’s understood that there is a respect between them. Rhunon appreciates Murtagh’s mission, she appreciates Thorn’s compliments and appreciation of her work. Murtagh and Thorn respect her as a smith and thank her for her time, allowing them to be in her forge, and for her wisdom. She wishes them well.

[thegemthatreads]

Alakai ‘Kai’ Novalar - Half-Elf Warlock Bhaalspawn

What is your Tav’s…

Favourite weapon: Bloodthirst Dagger. He loves to get all up and personal with his victims so they can see the bloodlust in his eyes.

Most prized possession: A little trinket Klarity made for him when they were younger. It was one of the very first things she made and tried to make a crescent moon out of vines. He carries it in his pocket wherever he goes and when he needs to calm down or needs a little’ luck push', he holds onto it.

Deepest desire: He doesn’t remember his past. Only that he had to look out for his little sister when they were younger, but after that, everything was a blur. So his deepest desire would be to create more memories, good or bad since he can never see the line between the two, especially with his family he found with Klarity.

Guilty pleasure: He loves to make people around him flustered. It could just be a stare or using what he’s learned against said person. He loves to watch them squirm and get red in the face, not able to say a sentence without stuttering.

Greatest strength: As cheesy as it sounds. His sister. She gave him the courage and the strength to be who he is today. Though most people see being a Bhaalspawn as a curse, his sister inspired him to use it to their advantage and use it for….mostly good purposes while still having fun with it. She may be the more calm and collected one and people friendly but when it comes to combat and strategizing, she’s more experienced compared to Alakai which inspires him to be more. She is the reason he gathered the strength to stay alive and keep fighting.

Greatest weakness: If Klarity or his partner is hurt or in trouble. He’s a mess. He can’t focus on anything but their safety. It would always cause him to get gravely injured. He either gets really scared/worried or so angry, all he sees is red and won’t stop till he gets to them, even if it means his life is in danger.

Fatal flaw: His rage can make him not think rationally. He would black out and wake up the next day with no recollection of what happened.

Favourite smell: The type of atmosphere smell when you’re by the lake. The fresh air with the fresh water smell, calms him and would always make him want to sit by the lake, basking in the moonlight (He prefers night to day)

Favourite spell or cantrip: Eldritch Blast (Especially when it throws the enemy back…preferably over a cliff)

Pet peeve: Gale keeps absorbing his favourite artefacts or little trinkets he thought a friend or his sister would like. (Normally when Alakai finds out Gale absorbed it, he ties Gale up like a hog in his tent as ‘punishment’ and leaves them there to think about what he’s done.)

Bad habit: He tends to have a snarl-like expression on his face 24/7. He was never a people person so it always made him unapproachable. It’s a habit he tries to break but always fails miserably at.

Hidden talent: He plays the Lute and he can juggle. (He had to entertain his little sister somehow growing up)

Leisure activity: Sitting by the river at night, watching the scene in front of him. Sometimes he likes to take naps with his back against the tree. Scratch and Owlie (He named the owlbear Owlie but refuses to tell anyone) curled up on either side. If he can’t sleep, he’ll hum to himself a tune he’d hear on the day.

Favourite drink: Mermaid Whiskey. It’s a bonus since he’s a sucker for bottle designs too.

Comfort food: Poutine. Potato, cheese and gravy all in one? Sign him UP!

Favourite person(s): He saw Shadowheart more as a sister as they travelled together. Although he should have disapproved of it, he was proud of her when she would try to threaten La’zael but would only smirk since he kinda liked the idea of the two together. Shadowheart was one of the very few people that would see the ‘teasing’ side of Alakai. Everytime there was tension between La’zael and her, when they would set up camp, he’d walk past her tent while making lewd gestures while pointing to La’zael and Shadowheart, causing her to chase him until he’d fall in the lake. They had a brother and sister bond that she didn’t wanna trade for anything.

La’zael he cherished so much. She was all about fighting and spilling blood which he LOVED. They bonded over the fact they wanted to constantly spill enemies blood. They both aren’t very familiar with having friends but he would die for her and would hope she’d do the same for him but would also respect her even more if she didn’t.

Astarion…well…Alakai thought he was a dick at first. Although when they first met, he didn’t like the fact at how much Astarion pulling a dagger on him, excited him. So in a panic he’d twist around, decking Astarion in the nose before scrambling to get up. That day was when their relationship blossomed. Astarion would always flirt with him or Klarity for some sort of protection which of course would urk Alakai the most. When they all found out that Astarion was a vampire, he made Astarion promise that he would drink from him only and not to touch his sister. They would always joke around and actually enjoy each other's company as time went by. Alakai didn’t want to admit it but he started to fall for the Pale Elf and wouldn’t do anything about it and would continue to continue the bond they built since he was convinced Astarion needed a friend more than any form of intimacy.

Karlach was a puppy in Alakai’s eyes. He wanted to make sure she’d get the escape and happiness she wanted and would bend his back backwards for the Tiefling. Although she had the strength and courage to look after herself and such, that didn’t stop him from wanting to keep her safe. The same with all of his friends.

Favoured display of affection: If he really cared for the person, forehead kisses or a faint smile. He wasn’t always one for affection and when he’d be worried about an upcoming battle, he’d give the people he really cared about an encouraging smile or a forehead kiss, depending on the person. If it was someone he is involved with, an arm around their waist while kissing the side of their head or resting his forehead against theirs.

Fondest childhood memory: He doesn’t remember much but only the laughter and fun he shared with his sister.

Is there anything else you'd like to share? (feel free to include art or a screenshot of your Tav if available!)

When they finished facing Cazador, after Astarion decided not to ascend and let off all his feelings. Alakai crouched down, his head bowed so Astarion could have his moment of relief. Later that night in camp, Alakai went to check up on him and when he could see the pain in Astarion’s eyes, he gave a look to Astarion, asking for permission to hug him and when he is given permission, he pulls Astarion into a hug, resting his face in the crook of Astarions neck before moving his head to give a faint kiss on Astarions forehead and gives a faint smile to him. “I’m happy you’re finally your own person, if you ever need a night hunting person, I’m always available.”

Later that night, Shadowheart goes to Alakai’s tent as he’s reading a book he found. Shadowheart kneels beside him and has a knowing smirk on her face, Alakai already sensing what is about to happen, he closes his book and exhales through his nose. Shadowheart then reenacts Alakai’s words that were said to Astarion, causing Alakai to growl and throw his book at Shadowheart that runs out of his tent laughing.

Also fun fact, Alakai doesn’t like to show his soft side often but when he does, he gets so lovey dovey towards Scratch and ‘Owlie’, fawning over them and giving them plenty of treats while everyone watches, shocked that Alakai even had that side of him (considering they only saw the anger looking, murderous side of him). He even allows them to sleep in his tent which leads to them curling up to his side.

[agrazza]

ficlet

Blood and Music AU(?) ficlet, inspired by that "why does xxxx call you babygirl meme", durge/astarion, rated T. In which Lae'zel has some concerns about Faerûnian courtship. Crossposted from the discord (if you're in the discord, the meme was drawn, and it was glorious, go look at it XD)

“Tavran.”

Tav glanced at Lae’zel, as they made their way down yet another alley in the Lower City. They were looking for clues about Lora’s missing daughter, but also tracking down a lead on a missing clown arm.

Their to-do list was so odd.

“Yeah, Lae?” he asked. She was wearing that frown-y face she had whenever she discovered a question about Faerûn that vexed her, usually a cultural connotation she had missed. He glanced behind them and sure enough, the others had fallen back a bit; Astarion could probably still hear them, but Wyll and Gale didn’t have as sharp a hearing.

Sometimes Tav and Lae’zel compared notes, before asking someone more knowledgeable (usually Gale), to see if they could discover the answer themselves about some piece of common knowledge they lacked, instead of risking someone’s pitying look. It was their thing, the alien and the amnesiac.

“I have made an observation that… escapes my understanding,” she said, carefully, and Tav nodded.

“Alright, hit me,” he said.

“I have no desire to hit you, I merely wish to understand,” Lae’zel told him impatiently, and he swallowed a smile. 

“Right. I mean that I’ll do my best,” Tav said. “What is it?”

“You are aware that our room in the Elfsong is not large, and that gith’yanki have excellent hearing.”

“Er. Yeah?” Tav said, stepping around a suspicious-looking puddle.

“This means that I have overheard you and your lover quite frequently as you canoodle.” Tav nearly choked on his spit.

“Who taught you ‘canoodle’?” he asked, once he’d stopped coughing. “Was it Wyll? No-- Gale?”

“Irrelevant,” she said with an impatient shake of her head. “My query pertains to the language aspect of your dalliances. You seem particularly to enjoy these Faerûnian ‘pet names’.”

Tav’s neck felt hot. Was it hot out here? He looked around hopefully, but the others were still too far back to provide a distraction. “Er, Lae’zel, maybe—”

“What I do not understand is why,” she continued, talking over him. She was still frowning fiercely, the most vexed anthropologist in Toril. “I do not believe that Astarion calling you a ‘satisfactory small man’ should inspire the volume you achieved last night. And yet, your pleasure was obvious.”

Tav blinked at her. “That’s…” A lot to unpack. “I don’t remember him saying that,” he said weakly, because it seemed the safest part to address.

“It was after he had laid you bare and used his—”

“Yes, that I remember!” Tav said hastily. Someone was cackling behind them, a familiar voice. A familiar voice with keen, elvish hearing.

Tav turned around again and shot Astarion a glare. The elf snickered, ignoring Gale and Wyll— likely asking him what was so funny— as he met Tav’s gaze. The damned elf shot Tav a wink and mouthed ‘good boy’, very clearly, right out in the middle of the streets! In broad daylight! Tav’s stomach swooped and he felt himself going bright red.

Oh. Right.

“…If I promised to keep our, ah, dalliances, to Stelmane’s old room, can we never speak of this again?”

“Acceptable,” Lae’zel said after a beat, giving a sharp nod.

“Great,” Tav said, and pulled out his flute to practice for a while, so that nobody would try to engage him in any more conversations about his ‘canoodling’ for at least the next hour.