#beast makers ic

[twelvedozenterrors]

So many presents (and a few lumps of coal) are left for the hatchlings!

Goodness, for being so young, you all continue to amaze me! Keep up the great work!

- Santa 🎄

Christmas usually means two things - family and presents.

And in the Dragon Realms, there were lots and lots and lots of family and presents to be found in a single gathering, which meant there was plenty of fun to be had long after Santa left and the thrill of eviscerating wrapping paper wore off.

Each and every last one of these tots scored at least two gifts - something courtesy of Santa, and however many they got from their caretakers.

And boy howdy, did they need him to shoulder some of the burden with so many kids around.

Juggling secret shopping and craftsmanship with decorating and childrearing was not an easy task at a magnanimous scale, on top of all the additional effort that was customary during the Year of the Dragon.

Toys comprised the majority of the babies’ Christmas presents, with close runners-up being Mudada’s stuffed animals and whatever assortment of knitted goods Revilo had whipped up - mostly sweaters. The pair of Dream Weavers were miracle workers when it came to their crafts; their finesse and efficacy could give the Artisans (and perhaps even Santa) a run for their money.

Fittingly, the eponymous dragon faction dedicated the majority of their days to the little ones throughout the leadup to Christmas, helping both their clutches and any visitors from the other clans make decorations, or working in tandem to build toys, predominantly in the form of Nestor putting his carpentry skills to good use and Lindar providing assistance with the mechanisms. If colours were required, Gildas was their man.

And yet somehow, despite all the time and resources that went into personal gifts, there had been enough leftover in the budget for them to provide spare toys that could be kept around in the nurseries for everyone to play with.

Well, maybe the surplus wasn’t entirely unintentional. Kids often necessitated backups and extra precautions.

Suffice to say, there ended up being hundreds and hundreds of gifts altogether.

A handful of them seemed like they’d be more suitable for pets such as chew toys (no matter how often the hatchlings acted like cats and dogs), but were guaranteed to satisfy their teething issues (and discourage them from mauling all the furniture in sight).

The presence of coal amongst all of the toys from Santa had less to do with it being a punishment for naughty little dragons and rather being something that several nutcases legitimately wanted for Christmas.

It made sense in some aspects because coal could serve as materials for aspiring Beast Makers…but not so much in the cases where the concept of black rocks that were given as punishments piqued their interest for whatever reason.

All the tumult that new toys brought couldn’t compare to what unfolded after a handful of bright sparks realised that there were many fun things you can do with coal, including but not limited to setting it on fire and potentially compromising your health over the long term, throwing it at walls and leaving powdery stains everywhere, crushing it up and mixing it with snow to create unholy grey sludge, or making snowmen that either had the perfect black buttons and eyes, yearned for the sweet release of death, or both.

Either way, every last lump had been enchanted to negate any ill effects they could have on the little ones or leave harmful residue anywhere - and the elder dragons were quick to dispose of it once the novelty wore off.

#artisans #artisans ic #peace keepers #peace keepers ic #magic crafters #magic crafters ic #beast makers #beast makers ic #dream weavers #dream weavers ic #santa claus ic #santaverse #ask

[ozcarr]

The cats have been so profoundly terrible lately that every time I hear a noise above a certain decibel, I assume the worst, so I'll fucking burst out of the room half asleep at top speed to find out what they just broke. But twice in a row now, it's just been my wonderful roommate who's had to watch me just fucking lunge at her in the middle of the night like an analog horror creature wearing old navy Halloween limited edition underwear

#imagine: your beast has been knocking ahit over in your room for the past 15 minutes. you kick him out #and less than 90 seconds later you hear a deafening shattering noise. you tear out if your room towards the kitchen. #its just jen at the ice maker. ''STOP DOING THAT!'' #you gotta understand that leon has sucked so bad all night before so i was well within my rights #we're talking rippinf off the mattress tag with his teeth #were talking knocking shit into the toilet #we're talking punching my face with his little balled up paw #i dont get it cause jimmy is such a little angel at night and HES the baby. leon is 3 he cant be acting like that! #i wanna take his ass to therapy so bad #ayy im talkin here

[melthehoneybee]

Happy Spyro Community Day everyone!

For the day I decided to draw the Legend Elders as Reingited Elders! Each represents a different homeworld. Ignitus is an Artisan who specializes in Raku fired pottery. Cyrill is an ice mage who lives in the high peaks of Magic Crafters. Terrador is a fierce general who lives in Peace Keepers. Volteer is a Beast Maker who became obsessed with the electric tech the Gnorcs left behind. Finally the Chronicler is a Dreamweaver who specializes in manipulating time and dreams in order to help guide heroes.

#art #spyro #spyro the dragon #the legend of spyro #ignitus #Cyrill #volteer #terrador

[knebulanight]

Stretched out my character design muscles by turning a bunch of my favorite* Pokémon into cute girls inspired by the original creatures.

(*Galarian Weezing and Clodsire aren't as high on the list as the rest, I just had some fun character design ideas for them, but everyone else is definitely my top 10)

Character names and short bios below the cut:

Glaceon (x2) | Firn & Mint | Duo magicians specializing in ice magic illusions and fantastic icicle displays, they're part of a band of performers.

Farigiraf | Zarifa | The curator of her own museum. She has a fondness for the old, dusty, magical, and especially cryptic.

Falinks | Hexa Semestre | Genius inventor, master of technology, immature brat, and super full of herself. Very much chaotic neutral, she's prone to nice and naughty acts alike, but it heavily depends on her mood and whoever is paying her with the tastier snacks.

Whirlipede/Scolipede | Latrielle | A high-ranking member of a secret evil organization. She specializes in taming and breeding dangerous beasts and insects with her unique charm and strange magicks.

Ribombee | Talis | A teeny tiny pollen collector and seller. Using her fairy intuition, she's able to tap into the mystical power of flower pollen, and turn them into a powerful healing substances and painting materials.

Sylveon | Pennon | An energetic acrobat who's part of the Glaceon Twins' performing troup. She also part-times as a candy shop clerk. Which candy shop, you ask? All of them.

Galarian Weezing | Madam Miasma | An eccentric perfume maker and wandering saleswoman. She shrouds herself with her own special perfumes. Her mood, methods, and prices dramatically shift with each kind of aroma.

Breloom | Boleta | An apothecary who lives by herself in the forest, studying mushrooms. She's learned the effects of many fungi breeds and their spores, and weaves them into her staff and self-defense fighting tactics.

Slither Wing | Dawn / "Daybreaker" | Professional wrestler in the evening, monster fighter in the morning. "Daybreaker" wakes up squarely at sunrise to fend off the daily influx of giant monsters that threaten her peaceful city.

Clodsire | Daisy | A simple lackadaisical young girl who's often seen prowling the marketplace, conversing with random passersby and indulging in free samples.

Wailord | Lady Duchess McGalleon | The only child, heir, and right hand to a canned plankton tycoon. While patiently waiting for her huge inheritance, she helps her father by overseeing the company's workers, always looming tall over them.

Typhlosion | Ignis Megaboom | She's always throwing herself into fights with no purpose, but her behavior is likely due to insecurities or something. The only time you'll see her exhibit patience is when she's charging up her explosive attacks.

bonus doodles & sketches, including some scrapped designs:

#pokemon gijinka #character design #art

[emyluwinter]

I can't help thinking that if students and teachers had familiars.

Just imagine if Crewel had several Dalmatian puppies. And they endlessly begged and whined to play with Yuu. Because Yuu is a "beast tamer" as Crowley said. But what if Yuu just generally likes animals and likes to play with them from time to time? A great activity for stress relief .

Is Grimm jealous? Grimm is brutally jealous. No one dares to steal his henchman. He hisses, waves his tail discontentedly and scares anyone who pulls his paws to the Prefect.

Before the Crewel lesson, Yuu feels one of the puppies pulling them by the pant leg, trying to tear the poor piece of fabric with all the puppy power. Yuu watches their behavior with affection.

-Oh hey, Freckles? Hello little mischief maker. Do you want to play?

As a result, Crewel finds Yuu with his familiar-puppies who have completely forgotten all his discipline and training and are playing with the Prefect.

-Place, puppies.

Hurriedly taking his place at the desk, Yuu awkwardly discovers that the puppies are following them with their tail and trying to lie down at their feet. - Oh....i'm sorry,sir....

Crewel feels that now the students will not give him peace of mind due to the fact that there are "favorites" among the teachers and they can't even hide it.

Just imagine the delight and surprise when Yuu sees a penguin familiar of one of the octatrio. Yuu literally almost broke their necks watching the funny gait of this bird. They witnessed how the penguin rode on his stomach during the rain and ice.

-How beautiful…Oh, such a cutie. - you could hear the Prefect's quiet whisper every time you met a penguin.

By the way, maybe Deuce would have an owl or a light hawk (a very beautiful bird) or maybe something more mundane like a honey badger?

I presume that Ace had either a marten, or a ferret, or a fox. A very energetic animal very suitable for his character.

What kind of familiars do you think certain characters would have?

#twst #twst wonderland #twst thoughts #twst familiar #twisted wonderland #twst yuu #disney twst #twst mc

[foxyanon]

Zahkriisos

Summary: No summary, just notes. So for those who don’t know anything about Skyrim, I’m going to give a simple overview of a few things. The Dragonborn is essentially (in its most basic form) a hero of legend. Hermaeus Mora is a Daedric Prince (kind of like a demon) and his realm of Oblivion (kind of like hell) is Apocraphya (he’s know for being a hoarder of knowledge, hence the book named world). The title of the story gets its name from a dragon priest mask, which means Bloody Sword or Sword-Blood.

Pairing: Cultist!Masema x Dragonborn!Reader

Word Count: 2772

Rating: 18+, Minors DNI

TW: Implied smut, blood, mentions of death, Dragonborn is a Breton but no other descriptors used, religious references

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters from Wheel of Time or The Elder Scrolls nor do I own any of the images used.

Dividers by @arcielee

Masema had been found on the shores of Solstheim by the Skaal, having washed ashore after a bad storm ravaged the island a couple years ago. He had foggy memories of his life before, but he did know he was a warrior and not from here. He was taken in by the Skaal shaman, Storn Crag-Strider, and nursed back to health, so he felt he owed it to the old man to stay and help out as needed. Even though he never felt connected to the All-Maker the way everyone else in the village did, he was still respectful of the religion and the culture. Even though he wasn’t born of the people, they still treated him like one of their own which is why the shaman decided he should help protect the pilgrims during their pilgrimage to the All-Makers stones. It was to be a long journey, one that would take months as the stones were scattered across Solstheim’s landscape.

It was at the Beast Stone, just beyond the borders of Thirsk Mead Hall, where he felt his lord’s presence for the first time. They had traveled to all the other stones and this was the last one before they would return to the village, something Masema was grateful for as he was tired of living on the road. It’s not that he didn’t enjoy spending time in nature, but the northern part of the island was all snow and ice which meant it was really fucking cold all the time. He was standing guard over the camp when he heard Lord Miraak’s voice call out from the stone before he was enthralled, the entire party starting to chant about the return of the Dragonborn and erecting shrines to their new overlord. Masema followed the orders of Miraak, first through entrapment and then of his own free will as it was the closest he had felt to any divine being in his entire existence.

As the Cult of Miraak grew, he moved through the ranks and eventually was the one giving orders to the new recruits from the Temple of Miraak. When rumors of another Dragonborn reached his ears, Miraak had given the command for Masema to send people to eliminate the ‘false Dragonborn’ in Skyrim and upon proof of their death, he would be rewarded. At first he sent out some recruits who were eager to prove their loyalty, but when they didn’t return, he started to get suspicious. There were reports of what this mysterious person was capable of, claiming they could slay dragons single-handed and were currently one of the more well known adventurers of the land. After the third attempt at killing this person, Masema started sending the more skilled men and women. After eight months of failure and many dead worshippers, Masema was well and truly pissed. If he wasn’t needed at the Temple, he’d go out and handle business himself but that just wasn’t possible right now. Preparations for the return of Miraak to the island took priority, so he resigned himself to sending another small group in the hopes this thorn in his side would finally be dealt with.

It was another cold day in the temple when Masema heard the most wonderful news. The other Dragonborn had sailed from Skyrim and was currently at Raven Rock, thanks to none other than Gjaland Salt-Sage, the same ship captain he “persuaded” to send the cultists to Skyrim originally. He even learned that the secretive person was a Breton, but no name was ever revealed to him. He thought things were finally looking up and that he’d be able to deliver the body of the false one to his lord, but how seldom does the fantasy match the reality.

As it turns out, this mysterious creature was working with the Skaal to remove Lord Miraak’s influence from the island. Somehow, on one of his trips away to check on a few things at the Earth Stone, this infuriating Breton got into the temple, killed all the cultists there and stole the Black Book from its pedestal. The nerve of that foreigner to desecrate sacred ground really solidified his resentment for them. Masema decided to take matters into his own hands and search out the defiler on his own, swearing to his lord he would handle matters before he set off in search of his target. Naturally, of course, this would be a monumental task as he would have to be careful to avoid the people he once called friends and his elusive prey seemed to be a master of hiding in plain sight. The only identifying thing about them other than the full set of ebony armor was the mask they wore, the ebony metal hiding them from the world. He recognized it as Zahkriisos, the mask of the dragon priest that was buried in Blodskal Barrow, an old Nordic ruin north of Raven Rock.

He tracked his query across all the island, but they were always one step ahead of him. With the help of Frea, Storn’s daughter, they slowly but surely cleansed the stones and cut off Miraak from speaking with any of his worshippers. After the second to last stone was cleansed and the false one had obtained all of the Black Books, Masema knew he needed to return to the temple and try to defend the last stone. It was here that he heard his lord’s voice for what would be the last time, telling him that all was as it should be and that his destiny was to battle the Dragonborn at the summit of Apocrypha. Lord Miraak claimed that the fate that had been chosen for him would come to pass and that he was pleased with the loyalty and devotion Masema had shown him.

It was here that Masema was waiting for them, standing in front of the Tree Stone in his robes and mask, the last member of a once strong cult. He saw the Dragonborn glide down the hall, their cloak flowing behind them and the mask covering their face as well. He tried to determine the identity of the Dragonborn, but their armor covered them from head to toe, the ebony metal muted in appearance and fitted in the most generic of ways. The soft clanking of their boots on the stone echoed down the hall and into the chamber he occupied, steadily getting louder the closer they got. When they finally stopped several feet away, the tension was palpable as they sized the other up.

For a moment, they both stood there and stared at each other in silence, the weight of their respective destinies entwining with one another in the space between them. He noticed they traveled alone, the Black Book in their hands as they prepared for the final battle against Miraak. There was an energy that clung to them and their armor, the kind that only the favored of the gods could possess and that gave him pause. He found he had no desire to fight them, the futility of their situation coming into focus for him. He could not prevent their destiny from playing out, but he could choose whether he be another body for them or to stand aside and live another day. He chose the latter.

”I will not interfere with what fate has decreed. I shall watch over your spirit as you do what you must,” Masema stepped off to the side, head bowed slightly as he addressed the Dragonborn. The only response he received was a simple nod before the masked warrior opened the book, the tentacles of Hermaeus Mora bursting from the enchanted pages, wrapping around their form and pulling them into Oblivion with a sickeningly green flash of light. All that remained of the mysterious Breton was a spectral image, one that offered no insight to the identity of the physical person.

After what felt like an eternity of pacing back and forth in front of the stone, the book came alive and unceremoniously spit the body of the Dragonborn back out. Masema was startled at the sudden appearance, until he saw the blood dripping from a wound on their side and off their blade onto the stone ground beneath them. There was a new crack in the mask, their shoulders heaving as they pant in an attempt to catch a breath. No words needed to be said, Miraak was dead and the victor returned to the land of the living.

Wordlessly, Masema helped them up, careful not to agitate the wound as the two staggered down the dank halls of the crumbling temple. The walk to the old medical room passed in silence, the sounds of footsteps and heavy breathing bouncing off the stone walls with a soft echo. He helped the Dragonborn onto a wooden cot draped with furs before wandering towards the shelves in search of healing herbs or potions. He hears the telltale signs of the wounded Breton removing their armor, the sounds of metal and leather hitting the ground while his back is turned. When he turns around after having found a single healing potion amidst the disorganized shelf, he nearly drops the glass vial when he sees the Dragonborn for the first time.

He’s surprised to see a woman sitting on the cot, a thin wound bleeding from her hairline and the once pristine linen tunic sticking to her torso, the gash on her side bloodying the fabric. He was frozen in place, her eyes capturing his and the smirk gracing her lips indicating she is used to such behaviors. She holds her hand out, waiting for Masema to hand her the potion he holds. Even though her injuries look serious, she doesn’t push or taunt him, simply being patient as he collects his thoughts. With a shaky breath, Masema closes the distance and hands her the vial, watching as she downs it in one. He’s so caught up in being in front of such beauty that when she speaks, it startles him.

”What is your name?” She asks simply, her voice soft as she lifts her tunic and gets a look at her injury. She lifts her hand, a warm light emitting from her fingers and wrapping itself around her like an aura as she casts a healing spell that closes the wound better than any stitching. Masema watches a little starstruck as the woman literally glows for a moment, forgetting she had asked a question. When she raises a brow at him, he blushes furiously and swallows hard, having been caught gawking at her.

He clears his throat and looks at the ground, grateful for his mask hiding his face from her. “My name is Masema, Dragonborn,” he spoke quietly, fidgeting with his gloves and taking a few steadying breaths.

”A pleasure to meet you, Masema,” she gave him her name and he tasted it on his tongue, finding that the name suited her beautifully. “Would you mind if I asked your story? You are the only cultist who hasn’t attacked me outright and I’m curious as to why.”

He nodded in agreement and they proceeded to talk for hours, the candles burning low by the time they finished. She listened to his story, no judgment or anger in her eyes when he told her the truth of his involvement with Miraak. About halfway through, Masema felt comfortable enough to remove his mask and the act of trust made her smile, something so minor but it made his heart beat a little faster.

After she decided needed to leave the ruins to find food and clean up, Masema found himself unwilling to leave her side. He followed behind her after she got dressed again, letting her lead the way through the labyrinth of halls. Once outside, they both breathed in the cold fresh air, a far cry more refreshing than the stale air inside the temple. He hesitated as she started off in the direction of Thirsk, wanting to stay with her but unsure if she would want that. He looked around at the landscape, trying to gather the words to ask, but she beat him to the punch.

She was stopped several feet away, Zahkriisos held loosely in her hands at her side as the sun shone brightly behind her. ”Masema, how would you like to adventure with me?” Her question offered him the choice to walk away, but when she was looking at him like that, he couldn’t resist accepting her offer. He’d follow her to the end, to the very halls of Sovngarde and beyond if she’d let him.

She smiled and nodded, looking out over the horizon before turning and continuing on her journey. Masema breathed a sigh of relief, a smile on his face as he looked at the yellow mask in his hands. It was a symbol, a reminder of a life he was no longer living. With a sigh, he left his mask on the stone steps of the now deserted place he once called home, leaving behind one life and eagerly walking towards the next.

Masema had been traveling with the Dragonborn for several months now and he learned a lot about this woman in that time, like the reasons his assassination attempts never worked. For starters, she was the leader of half the guilds in the damned kingdom. He also learned that she only used her respective titles when outright doing business for them and wore different masks when dealing with the general population, only a select handful of her closest allies knowing her name. He practically swooned upon learning she had trusted him enough to know her identity, even more when he discovered through a friend of hers that she rarely kept traveling companions for more than a few weeks. Apparently this was to help maintain her secrecy, but since he had proven himself to be trustworthy and loyal to her, she kept him by her side.

His life finally had purpose again, serving and protecting her on their travels having made him realize that Miraak was a fraud, using his divinely given powers to assert dominion over the people he was meant to protect. Whenever he felt shame for his past actions, she was right there to tell him that his future doesn’t need to be weighed down by the consequences of the past. She did, however, prevent him from falling down the same path of reverence he once showed Miraak, claiming that she had no desire to be worshiped by the masses and that history wasn’t kind to those who sought such power. Even if she wouldn't have a following like her predecessor, Masema had no qualms being wholly devoted to her. He found her desire to aid everyone, even the poor and displaced, inspiring. It’s no surprise her kindness towards him and everyone else had him falling in love with her.

It was during one of their adventures, camped somewhere in Whiterun Hold under the stars and two moons of Nirn, when he finally confessed his feelings to her. He had felt nervous, his palms sweaty and avoiding her gaze as he stared into the small campfire. When he heard her get up and walk over to him, he finally dared to look up at her and was shocked to see her hand outstretched towards him, a silent request to take it as she stood there in the low light of the fire. He placed his hand in hers, standing up and following her towards their shared tent, his breathing uneven as she pulled him along behind her.

No words were said, their lips finding the others in the darkness of the tent and hands pulling at laces and straps of their garments. Masema laid her back on her bedroll, taking his time to learn her body even if he couldn’t see it. His fingers traced over old scars, his lips following close behind. He licked, kissed and bit her skin, leaving physical marks on her the same way she had done to his soul. He doesn’t know how long they stayed wrapped in each other, just know that it wasn’t nearly long enough. They fell asleep in each other’s arms, the sounds of her soft breathing as she rested her head on his chest the most wonderful thing he thought he’d ever experienced. Masema sent a silent prayer of thanks to the Creator and the Divines for giving him a chance to find redemption, feeling a sense of certainty spread through his veins at the idea of aiding the true chosen of Akatosh.

Taglist: @valeskafics @sihtricfedaraaahvicius @whitedarkmoonflower @gemini-mama @alexagirlie @thenameswinter99 @mrsarnasdelicious @synintheraven

#masema x reader #masema dagar #masema #Dragonborn!reader #skyrim

[beargyufairy]

Just My Thoughts Pt. 23

Fairy Tail Manga Reread Version

“A wild beast who knows nothing of the real world.”

Wow. That’s a powerful statement Mr. Fullbuster. It’s such a good comparison to make honestly. Lyon is basically caged from the truth. He didn’t witness Ur’s last moments. He’s still unaware that the ice has her remaining life force. He’s stuck on his goal from when he was a child: to surpass Ur. He doesn’t see anything beyond that. And therefore, he’s unaware of the real world. The statement also shows how his ego caused his own powers to weaken. Lyon believes that using two hands to create ice maker magic is for the weaker and less capable mages. This stemmed from his desires to beat Ur. Of course this is wrong and only led to his magic being trapped in a cage made by Gray. And do note that Gray remained faithful to Ur’s methods. He continues to use two hands and was also the one who witnessed her last breath.

I think the comparison between having a glimpse of the truth and being without it is shown amazingly in these panels. I would also like to point out that mere minutes ago, Gray was willing to give up his life because he didn’t think there was any other way. However, there is clearly another way and he’s doing just that. He’s using their magic to demonstrate his point. Like I mentioned many times before, Gray likes to preach about life and all that but doesn’t follow suit himself. It really adds to his character.

Until my next thought!

#fairy tail #gray fullbuster #fairy tail manga #anime vs manga #just me and my thoughts #just my thoughts #thank you for coming to my ted talk

[minzart]

Hi! I like your idea about little titans. I can find out the reaction of freshmen and other guys (especially the reaction of Idias) when they find out about them.

About this

Asks are still closed!

Ace and Deuce had a freak out the moment you all finaly got to chill in the new reformed Ramshackled dorm- WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU HAVE POCKET OVERBL-MONSTERS? YUU? YUU YOU ALREADY HAVE GRIM- oh hey they like pop corn

Epel helped Yuu, he knew the little beasts struggling to keep still and quiet for noone to notice them, so he helped switching them from place so they can see were they are going, Rook never told them that he knew all along... he just found so beautiful thecompasion and companerism of the two Freshman helping these little... things? Monsters? They certain don't look like overblots... there's no ink

Jack does not trust them, but the ice titan acquired the hoobie of a walking ice maker, and the lava titan helped warming the cafeteria food, the air titan helped in gym classes by guiding them trough the suden wind changes and just like that he got attached... they are just little guys...

Sebek burned one of his shoes when he accidentally stepped into the lava titan, it took a very long and convincing talk for the Diasomnia freshman to keep quiet about their existence since they could mean a treat to lord Malleus... but he discovered the air titan could be used to carry his voice through the wind to his young master... and then they made a deal. The little shit looked smug to

Idia had no fucking idea what to make of the strange man that was following him... that is... he just now noticed that guy... he was too depressed and then motivated to rebuild Ortho... and well-Orthoseemedtoseehimtoobuttheheadmasterdidn'tso-he's-he's probably just nervous...

But then the stranger talked "oh hey that's where you three went, taking a like to little hero there I see, not so different from our wonder boys now are we?"

Idia murmurs: d-did the apparition just talked?

Hades: hey hey hey finaly acknowledge us? Well then boy name's Hades God of the underworld nice to meetcha-now how does it feel being my anchor and descended from these days, things have changed it's nice to take avocation not gonna lie- who's the human there Megara? Hercules? That annoying horse or-Tartarus forbid-Zeus? Eh? Eh?

Three little things approached him, and if you pay close atention you could hear little "Hadessss" "freeeee" "Young"

Idia: what... thefuck...

Ortho: ow they look cute brother!

Yuu finaly finding the three little rascals and noticing who they are with: hm- heyyy Idia... hmmm... I can explain

Idia: you can see them-

Yuu: so... I found these little guys in styx-

Idia: what

Yuu: and they looked so... small and... weak? And fragile and so tired? I- I swear I tried to not take them but the rock one just grabbed my finger and never let go so- please let me keep them they behave so nicely I promise to keep you updated if anything happens I-

He is weak to your pleas... way to weak than he would admit

Hades: ah... I see the persephone- nice taste btw

Idia: WHAT?!

Yuu: ... what what?

Idia: Imean-sure?y-yeah-I-SURE

Yuu hugs Idia: YOU ARE THE BEST!

Idia: ECK

Their existence is keep a secret for a little while longer for the others....

#twst sgs au #spirits of the great seven au

[shmolish]

Okay hear me out on this one request because I got this idea from strolling down memory lane of the undertale fandom. Headcanons for the ancient heroes at PTA (Parent–teacher association) meeting.

AN: HELP I THOUGHT THIS SAID THE FIVE BEASTS FOR SOME REASON AND FINISHED TWO OF THEM BEFORE REALIZING. IM SUCH AN IDIOT AH- Uh but, if you want them as well just request- ANYWAY THIS WAS SUPER FUN!!!

Ancient Heros at the PTA. (In which their kid is a trouble maker.)

Headcanons

Warnings: not proof read

Golden Cheese

The teacher told her that you pushed a kid in the playground

You said that he wouldn't get off of your swing

She acted all disappointed

"Oh my, that was very bad of you.."

Tells the teacher that she will make sure to talk to you about it

Outside of the room though, she gave you a fistbump and said the kid had it coming

Def did not tell you to do it again but record it

You did and she could not stop laughing

White Lily

When the teacher told her about it, she was shocked

She didn't want to belive it, and said you would never do anything like that

White Lily asked you if it was true

You said it was

She kinda just went quiet the rest of the meeting

Didn't scold you on it since she didn't have the heart to

Pure Vanilla

He too didn't want to believe it

Asked you if it was true and you said it was

He immediately started to apologize to the teacher

Said he was going to have a talk with you

Outside he said that you shouldn't have done it

Very disappointed

Thought he raised you better 😢

Dark Cacao

Didn't have much of a reaction

Swore you wouldn't do it

Kinda just ignored the teachers complaints

Outside he just ruffled your hair

Told you to use your sword next time

He taught you how to use one for a reason

SHOW NO MERCY

Hollyberry

She denied it instantly

Fought against the teacher and said you were innocent

May have flipped the table

Didn't even ask you if it was true because she trusted you

Got you ice-cream afterwards

Would not stop complaining about the teacher

#pure vanilla #hollyberry #dark cacao #golden cheese #white lily #cookie run kingdom #crk

[twelvedozenterrors]

While some of you could certainly brush up on your manners, you all have been wonderful little dragons. Enjoy your gifts! -Santa

Most kids woke up to their presents from Santa already waiting for them under the tree.

Most kids also weren’t created in batches through copious amounts of magic every dozen years. The Dragon Realms had plenty of individuals who were born the traditional way, not that it made the sizeable number of fairy-brought ones any less apparent and clustered together.

What would make a noticeable difference was that there weren’t very many kids from the previous Year of the Dragon - as Spyro could attest to - and the latest clutch ended up being bigger than normal to make up for it.

That was this nation’s special little thing - a full twelve months’ worth of celebrations for the sudden jump in population every twelve years, where even the annual holidays had that extra effort put in since they would be the first ones many would experience.

And what better way was there to celebrate the new generation’s first Christmas than with Santa delivering their presents in-person?

Once most of his deliveries around the world were done, he would spend his time in the Dragon Realms visiting each guild one by one in broad daylight, much to the delight of all its little dragons.

Overall, there mightn’t have been much in the name of children. Opinions could vary on if it was rendered more or less apparent with the 151 newcomers split across five clans, but an average of thirty hatchlings all bundled up in one place was still enough to guarantee a bustling environment. For the jolly man in red, it also proved quicker to make his rounds that way instead of having to go between countless individual houses for a change.

Within minutes of each grand debut, the floors would be decorated with shreds of colourful wrapping paper as far as the eye could see - and if they hadn’t been indoors, it’d especially stand out against the solid white sea of snow swamping most parts of the Dragon Realms lately.

The Peace Keepers were lucky enough to get snow in their arid capital; a clichéd Christmas miracle, but a pleasant miracle since it would save them the trouble of venturing out to Ice Cavern if they didn’t want to miss out on the usual winter atmosphere.

Santa’s extra efforts would be rewarded, he had a rare chance to see firsthand just how happy he was making the children of the world; and of course, the younger Artisans helped Devlin prepare a plentiful batch of the quintessential cookies to fuel the rest of his journey.

While seeing Santa and playing with their loot was enough for some of the kids, others wanted to investigate the sleigh or meet the reindeer, requests that he would gladly oblige (as long as they didn’t get too rowdy, his loyal steeds deserved a peaceful break from all the flying around). They played just as vital a role in Christmas and it was only fair that they were also smothered in gratitude.

The curtains had to close sooner or later; Santa would take his leave and continue on to the next guild for the mirth to start anew, until all five had their turn and he was off to those remaining places around the world. There was unfortunately only so much time he could spare out of an unimaginably busy 24 hour period, but any disappointment the hatchlings had was soon mitigated by them being allured with the mythical visage of his sleigh soaring into the skies.

More importantly, they could still enjoy spending the rest of Christmas with their loved ones…or of course, tackling whatever presents they had completely forgotten about opening the second he showed up.

Discussions about next Christmas were quick to arise following his departure; many of the baby dragons hadn’t yet understood that Santa would instead come during the night in the following years as he traditionally did, literally interpreting coming back next year as in he was coming back to visit next year.

Whenever the time came for the next generation of fairy-brought dragons to come along, leaving them in Spyro’s shoes to be good big siblings, Santa Claus would once again stop by to give the Dragon Realms’ newest residents the perfect first Christmas.

#artisans #artisans ic #peace keepers #peace keepers ic #magic crafters #magic crafters ic #beast makers #beast makers ic #dream weavers #dream weavers ic #santa claus ic #santaverse #ask #frost i'm sorry this is so late

[spiritsncrystals]

GX FAIRY TAIL/GUILD AU REVAMP POST

since my ass was bad at properly compiling this stuff and I'm interested in doing something with this au again sooo this post just serves as a reintroduction to the concept and with a list of the assigned Magic, there are a few characters i never really settled on their magic even now so if there are any exclusions that'll be why some also have a combination which I'd chalk up to it's an au I can mess around if I want. Anyways! THE CONCEPT/GENERAL OUTLINE: While i call it a fairy tail au it doesn't really follow the plot of fairy tail mostly just borrowing it's magic systems and world-building (not to bash on the plot it's more just a personal decision) hence the alternative name for this au just being the guild au instead of a school Duel Academia is a guild, instead of duellists they're magic wizards and so on and so forth the plot's similarities lean toward certain important gx events but play out a little differently. like you'd still have stuff like SOL and Haou but the way they happen changes. if anyone wants further clarification feel free to ask and i'll go in-depth in a separate post. with that ot of the way let's get to the magic assignments and with a small explanation to why if applicable

REQUIP MAGIC - JUDAI (and Haou too) - I Figured this was the best parallel for the Elemental HEROs what with the many combinations and whatnot considering there are SEVERAL different requip armours it felt right. I say Haou too for the obvious reasons as there's not really much reason to change it other than the sorts of armour used. DRAGON SLAYER MAGIC - MANJOUME (Lightning) RYO (METAL) FUBUKI (FIRE) - Manjoume might seem like a little bit of a weird decision but cmon he's Manjoume Thunder it'd be fun (also in the time between this new post and the old post we now have armoured thunder dragon lvl 10 so that's pretty cool incentive) Ryo seems the most self-explanatory what with the cybers. and foobs getting fire bc of red eyes ICE MAKER MAGIC - ASUKA - This takes more from her manga deck n all but there's also just the fun dynamic of Fubuki being fire and her being ice MEMORY MAKER MAGIC - MISAWA - you could argue about something else being more fitting but idk i kinda enjoy this for him SATAN SOUL - EDO - mostly because some of the Destiny HEROs have that demonic kind of appearance (Dogma, Bloo D, ect) and idk there's something fun to it as a ploy to E HEROs being the requips CELESTIAL GATE MAGIC - JOHAN - this just makes sense. 7 keys for each of the CB an extra special one for RD and you can even throw in Crystal Protector and Vanguard too for some fun dynamics

YUBEL: i had a lot of different ones down for yubel due to plot reasons for the original but mostly crash and black magic i'm still hoping for it to be an amalgamation of stuff but what hasn't been really landed on yet just like the kind of magic where they're powerful enough to decimate someone but yet still have some sort of believable innocence (since part of their plans in the au does involve them infiltrating the guild at some point) PEOPLE I HAVE IDEAS FOR BUT NOTHING SOLID YET: SAIOU - I would imagine it to be something similar to Kana's cards but with Tarot cards instead not exactly sure of the ins and outs yet KENZAN - something of a mix between beast soul and animal soul take overs?? just with a more reptilian focus bc gotta keep the Dino DNA in tact O'BRIEN - gun requip might be an option but just a hard maybe atm I'll write more on bits later down in separate posts but that's basically it for now again feel free to ask for more if there is anything od interest

#yugioh gx #ygo gx #gx #GX FT/GUILD AU #i'm not gonna tag everyone sooo yeah #if you looked hard enough you might find the old post?? #but for the most part all that needs to be known will be in the new stuff #hence the spankin new tag

[marcusagrippa]

i've been thinking about jedi!maul a looooot recently and finally decided to write something (almost) for him. um uh this is hopefully the precursor to a lil series about his grumpy old man rehabilitation program at the temple! (also posted on ao3 but i will post it here too under the cut :3)

in which there is a wraith in the caverns

there is a labyrinth of stinking catacombs beneath the surface of lotho minor. in their depths, a feral beast yearns for revenge.

---

Hunger. 

The wretch writhes. Trapped in darkness, infinite, infinite, skittering and hissing its way through the catacombs as it searches for something that will never be found. Lost, it is lost, it is lost and broken and collapsing endlessly in on itself as it struggles in weakness. Weakness, weakness, it is weak, weak, weak and twisted and afraid, so afraid, it does not know if it will survive, what it even is to survive. It knows blood eyes, dead sky, clutching fingers, thoughts spiralling and spiralling into a mess of fractures and eyes and and and

Fear. 

There are not many names the wretch can remember from before - before it was turned half-mad and blind and deaf from exhaustion, before it lost half of itself to him, him, HIM, before it was shattered into a million tiny fragments like a glass sculpture being dropped carelessly on the floor, cast aside cast aside, it is useless and torn and paper-thin and ash-grey and the haze of hatred that has settled over its psyche clears only for one name, one being -

KenobiKenobiKenobiKenobiKenobiKenobiKenobiKenobi

Jedi. The Jedi, the Padawan, small and pink and insignificant, he doesn’t matter he can’t hurt you but he can, oh, he can because you killed the Master and so you were killed, that’s how it works that how it always works, ever since it can remember the cycle has perpetuated itself. Ouroboros. Ouroboros? The Jedi is the snake and he is the snake but the Jedi is not there, he cannot hear him, he can’t feel the ice chill of his venom as he sinks his teeth in - 

Food. Kenobi. Food and Kenobi and food and Kenobi, both to survive, one to hate and one to crave, or both at the same time? The wretch does not know - it cannot even tell if there’s a difference, anymore. Is there a difference? It needs the Jedi’s blood 

in 

its

mouth. 

It needs food, Jedi, survive survive survive, it is the cockroach and the Order is the boot, it is buried under red energy fields and staring eyes and a mouth stretched wide with horror, lips red and taut and cracking, blood welling up in the little gaps between skin and it can smell it, oh, it can smell it, so vivid and vibrant it might as well be in the same room as it and oh, god, it's lost its mind, hasn’t it? Did it have one in the first place?

Is there anybody listening?

Limbs and teeth and claws and dust. Marching, an army of one, forged from scrap and hatred, patrolling the catacombs and becoming the catacombs. Lost. Oh, it is well and truly lost, lost and forgotten like all the rest of the slime in this galaxy deserved to be lost and forgotten, buried in his sins and his vengeance and the corpses of good men. There is no hope no hope NO HOPE for him now - none for him, none for the galaxy, all of it has gone to Master Master Master Master and the wretch can only pray that he is spared from His Wrath when it rains down on the galaxy. Soon. 

Soon. And it will happen without him as he languishes down here, in his filth his filth his squalor.

It has been silent for so long… 

Snap. Snap, snap, snap, the sound like crunching bone and kyber, so clear and loud that it echoes through the tunnels like a beacon. Food. Food. Perhaps that stench of blood was not imagined after all. The wretch roars, rotten teeth bared as it races towards the snap - the snapper, the maker of noise the cruncher of bones the giver of life and the noise is fading but he is faster, faster than sound faster than rot faster than light itself as the disgusting amalgamation of man and monster that it has become skitters madly through filth to where the scent is strongest. 

It smells like burning. Meat and plasma and meat and plasma, oh and he can smell the pain from here. Hands trace walls and legs spasm rapidly beneath it, the world blurring as its mind zeros in on that smell, so sweet and sickly and sweet and he needs it craves it in his belly in the emptiness below him to fill him, fill fill fill fill he is empty he needs needs needs needs -

“Cody -”

Voice. A voice. Soft. Not like the harsh rot-blade of this place. It shakes with nerves. 

The wretch skids to a halt as the hot hot hot hot burning hot blue, blue light flickers ahead of him, a pinprick at the end of the tunnel. Its lungs rattle, mouth open in a gaping, hanging wheeze as it drags itself slowly forward by its front legs. Noise means food and prey, it is prey it is hunted but no, now it is hunter and the hunted is

right 

there 

so close it can taste the prey’s scent on its tongue -

- familiar, thick like syrup at the back of his throat, curling down into his stomach and the back of his mind there is a memory that he cannot grasp, there is an emptiness that goes beyond flesh and blood beyond survival beyond madness there is something that he is missing -

- mingling with the stench of meat -

A new voice. Strange accent. Foreign. The wretch rears back again, but makes no sound but for a strangled chittering that the Voices don’t seem to hear. 

“General, I can’t - ow, fuck, don’t -”

“Breathe,” Soft Voice says again, less shaky this time. The blueness moves a little at the end of the tunnel, around the corner, obscuring it from direct view. “I know it hurts, but I need to cauterise the wound properly or you’ll bleed out.”

Bleed is the only word that registers in the wretch’s mind, then, and it sends him into frenzy anew, legs scrabbling for purchase on the shifting sea of trash as it silently screams screams screams its way towards the light and the food meat meat meat meat

“I mean - yeah, I get that, but - Force above - can’t you use your… Jedi things to make it hurt less? Because I swear on all that is holy this just - OW!”

The wretch senses a sharp stab of pain echoing through the Force and it speeds up, broken prey easy prey easy meal please please please Master let me FEED Master Master Master 

“Hold still,” Soft Voice says. The wretch can hear the gritted teeth from here, where it stalks in the shadows just shy of blue light burn light stole its legs light. “I don’t want to burn the rest of you by -”

A scream cuts Soft Voice off and the wretch jerks back just before it rounds the corner like it’s been burned, teeth snapping together with a hiss. As it moves, its legs brush against something warm and wet on the floor, and its head whips clumsily to look. Near-blinded by the years and years and years and years of darkness it can barely make out what it is by sight alone, but sight is nothing compared to that smell, sweet and metallic and shot through with something that is unmistakably MINE MINE MINE -

Its hands, its real hands, its own hands, all red and black and fractals and patterns, patterns it’s spent the last decade forever forever forever searching desperately for meaning within, dart out to the tunnel floor and wrench the wretched thing away. The foot is caught tightly on some jagged rusty edge, but after a second of effort it comes away with a soft pop, liquid spilling onto its hands. Still warm. 

The wretch holds the severed leg up to the light. It’s a mangled, scorched, bloody mess below the thigh - firebreathers the firebreathers got him on the surface they must have they’re hungry it is hungry - but the top is clean-cut and scorched bloodless, arteries sealed over neatly. Cut by plasma. Cut by a lightsaber.

The pain the pain the pain through his middle his centre his soul and his insides are all gone all gone empty now all gone worthless worthless worthless it is left to die and fester until it’s All Gone Away oh Master I’ve failed you Master forgive me forgive me I am weak weak weak

The mess of a limb stinks of disease as the wretch raises it to its mouth, ripe and rotting and tempting. Was it from one of the voices? They must have been down here longer than the wretch thought. The mutterings and screamings and hissings of the Soft Voice and the Other fade into the background for a few seconds as it sinks its teeth hesitantly into the flesh. It yields easily but tastes foul, just as decayed as everything else in this hell hell hell hell hell of his own making and the blood is like lava running down his throat and dripping down his chin and Force it's still warm and the wretch’s face twists into a pained grimace as it spits the diseased dirty filthy sickness meat from its mouth -

And blinks up into light. Blinding light. Blue light. Blue like Naboo, blue like falling, blue like the end of all good things.

“...you,” Soft Voice says. The wretch cannot see his face - it shies away from the light, hissing, oh it does not belong here it does not belong here in the light and the heat he needs the darkness, the cool darkness, the comfort he finds in the rot and rot and rot and isolation and not this oh Force not this get away from him not the blade not that ANYTHING but that -

Scent. That scent, the scent the scent the scent. Mixed with plasma, yes, and blood, but unmistakable. Sending the wretch ricocheting backwards in time to that precipice above the gaping maw of his destiny, eyes rolling back, mouth open with bloody fangs bared to the air and the dirt and the man that ruined everything, everything everything everything was his fault, oh, KenobiKenobiKenobi, how it needs you. 

The wretch’s half-blind eyes take milliseconds that feel like decades to adjust to the blade’s glow. Just enough to see the two figures clearly, clearly, one slumped weaky against the wall of the catacombs and the other facing him. 

Face

to

face. 

“Maul,” Kenobi breathes, as the man without a leg behind him stares up at the wretch in statue-frozen-terror-awe. Maul, the wretch thinks. “You’re the disturbance. You’re alive.”

Bloodshot eyes widen. Fire-ringed pupils dilate. Teeth snap, fingers flex, a growl rises in its throat, and then within seconds the wretch, the wretch, Maul has discarded the leg and descended on the Jedi like a sparrowhawk upon a gentle dove. 

KENOBIKENOBIKENOBIKENOBI

The thing called Maul slams the Jedi up against the wall, screaming so loudly that his throat goes raw within seconds. The hilt of the blue light death light kill kill kill falls useless to the ground below them, echoing hollowly as the air’s knocked out of Kenobi’s, oh, Kenobi’s lungs, leaving him gasping for breath. The Sith senses movement from the other man but he cannot bring himself to care because the Jedi, the Jedi he’s right here his scent is so thick and revenge is in his grasp finally finally finally -

“Jedi,” Maul snarls, one hand curling and squeezing tightly around Kenobi’s throat, gnarled claws already drawing blood that smells sweeter than any honey. His lips split into a rotting, feral grin as he sees the primal terror painted on his enemy’s face, the weak spasms of his limbs as he struggles. He cannot wait to feel the Jedi’s skull burst in his hands like an overripe jogan fruit.

“You’ve come for me - finally. It has been years and years and years and it is you who has answered my prayers, Kenobi, finally, finally -”

He breaks off into a fit of maniacal laughter, overgrown claws digging into the fabric of the Jedi’s robe and the soft flesh beneath as he pushes him harder against the trash of the walls - rusty shards of scrap are forcing their way into his back as the wretch-not-wretch-not-anything pushes, popping as they pierce flesh, a sickening sound that’s like music to Maul’s ears. The light brown of the robe blossoms with scarlet flowers of blood, oh, he is hungry. 

“Cody!” Kenobi yells hoarsely as he struggles - fruitless, pathetic, WEAK - against Maul’s grip. Cody… the Other, yes, the one whose flesh he has tasted… frail by now, surely, with limbs lost. He will not be an issue. “He’s the -”

Maul cannot allow himself to be distracted again, the hand around the Jedi’s throat squeezing tighter and cutting off his words, oh he is close he needs to bite and rip and tear he needs to survive survive survive as he leans in he is drooling teeth gnashing he is scum and he acts like scum, like the monster the beast that he is and he will DEVOUR -

Something barrels into his back and Maul screams as he drops the Jedi in shock because no no no no NO LET GO LET GO LET GO but it’s too late - Kenobi crumples back down the floor in his blood-spotted robe as the thing without a leg - Cody? Cody Cody Cody - launches itself at Maul’s back and drags him to the ground. He screeches and flails, clawing and squirming and trying to twist around to stab stab kill the thing with the festering flesh and the gone all gone all gone away leg, the taste of its flesh still lingering on his lips, but the thing pins him down even as he writhes. Metal legs jab and claw, but the thing's armour renders them harmless, no no no, and he looks up with eyes wild and crazed and pleading to see the Jedi -

Oh, he looks terrible, and the thought brings Maul some semblance of comfort in the depths of his depravity as he struggles and yells. The years have not been kind to him - his hair is greying, stress lines deep-set and looking far older than he has any right to. As he writhes in vain against the one-legged creature he chokes out a feral laugh, blood spraying out from between his cracked lips and splattering the horrified Jedi’s face. He’s not even trying to fight him, which Maul can’t help find odd. Just… frozen, the coward, the coward. Perhaps he would not be good to eat anymore, gone too leathery with age, too sour, oh the Jedi have no honour they are nothing more than pawns in the plan the great plan the plan that he has be left out of for years and years and years -

Gauntleted hands grip the horns in front of his ears and his head is wrenched to one side - pain, pain, pain, shooting down what remains of his spine and then up, up, up, curling icy fingers around his brain. A loud scream escapes his lips as he feels something crack in his neck, his skull, and suddenly he feels his arms go limp - no, no no no NO he has to FIGHT he has to - 

Black tendrils writhe in the corners of his vision. Metal legs slow their kicking, then stop. The weight of the soldier rolls off of him even as Maul’s mind is screaming at him, and there’s the shifting sound of robes in front of him. His eyelids are so heavy - he hasn’t slept in a decade in a decade he is so tired…

“General, are you alright?” 

“...I’m fine, Cody,” Kenobi’s soft voice mutters, sounding strained. “Did you kill him? Are you alright? Your leg -”

“That thing was eating it.” Disgust. In the haziness of his rapidly-fading consciousness, Maul registers disgust. “But I’m fine. And - no, it’s just incapacitated, not dead - not yet, at least.”

Maul tries to speak, but his mouth feels… heavy. All that comes out is a quiet whimper, and then he feels the still-warm emitter of a lightsaber pressed to his temple. Do it. “Should I kill it, sir?”

A pregnant pause. “No. The Council will want to see him. Alive, after all this time…”

There’s a muttered curse as the hilt drops away from his skin. Maul tries to speak again. He will not be silenced, no, not again not again - 

“Kenobi,” he manages to spit, the word dripping with pure, unadulterated hatred, before he finally blacks out. 

#jase writes #(not quite) obimaul #YET #sw #maul #obi wan kenobi #cw actual straight-up cannibalism #star wars

[marythegizka]

WIP Word Search Game

Tagged by @mxanigel, thank you!! 😊 I was given the words NIGHT, COMFORT, and TREE.

Now, two of those aren't actually WIPs because CTRL+F has informed me that I do not, in fact, use the word 'comfort' a lot (I'm not sure what that says about me), and the one instance of 'night' I found is honestly rather disappointing, so I'm just bending the rules for this one.

Night - From Dreaming of Home (Not a WIP), a one-shot from my Mass Effect/Dragon Age crossover series, in which the Warden who killed the Archdemon (who happens to be Loghain, because I just have to put him in unpleasant situations) wakes up in Shepard's body after their reconstruction by Cerberus.

Dark. All around him is dark, unfathomable as a starless night, or a thick coat of tar spread over his vision, and he tries to move his hand to rub it against his eyes, but his limbs are heavy, stuck under the itchy cover that traps him like a coat of ice - cold, and inescapable. There are footsteps in the distance, and as they grow closer the distorted echoes that surround him become clearer. More human. Voices. Erin and Wynne's, he realises as a door creaks open, and, though he still cannot see them, he is now certain they are in the same room. “Surely you realise another grimoire is unlikely to hold the key to our problem.” "And what would you have me do?" Erin snaps. "Tell her Majesty the truth, for one. Maker knows I have little respect for the man but she ought to know..." "That her father remains unconscious. And she does." Past his closed eyelids, a faint, yellowish glow pierces the darkness, and he tries to open his eyes once more. To no avail. "Unconscious does not even begin to cover it. The man is cold as a corpse. It has been..." "Three weeks, yes, but he’s breathing,” Erin cuts her off again. “They both are. And that didn't stop anyone from trying to cure Arl Aemon, now, did it?" "You know this is different. The Arl is… everything Loghain is not. And you cannot expect the Circle to dispatch what few healers they have to spare for the benefit an apostate and a traitor to the Crown. Not after what happened.” “Oh, trust me,” she huffs. “I do not expect the Circle to dispatch anything for the benefit of anyone. That I got Irving to relinquish this book is a small miracle in its own right.”

Tree - from The Bear, in which Tav and Astarion have a run-in with - you guessed it - a bear (no, not that bear, as they will soon find out)

Outside the tent, Scratch barks in alarm. Urgh. Of course. It's in moments like this that he curses himself for not letting Shadowheart keep the dog. "We're fine, Scratch!" Tavalyn exclaims, but the barking doesn't stop, and soon enough, a growl follows.  Astarion doesn't bother repressing a groan as he throws the flap of the tent open, ignoring the rays that prick at his exposed skin like so many ants busying themselves about a piece of carrion. He doesn't dwell on the image, blinking at the beast before him instead. "What in the Hells ... Halsin?" he hazards, knowing full well the man is half a continent away petting bunnies, feeding orphans and hugging trees. Not that he is particularly eager to have the druid play gooseberry, mind you, but the prospect is somewhat less daunting than fighting a bear naked while the sun slowly-but-not-that-slowly roasts him to a crisp. Gods, the sun... Astarion dives back into the tent, finding cover in the shade. The bear, however, does not lose interest. One roar, then it charges. Not Halsin. Definitely not.

Comfort - from Long Live the King (not a WIP either), in which Erin and Loghain join Alistair on his journey to Tevinter to rescue Maric. Things are going swimmingly (no).

“Maker damned rum,” he groaned. “I’ll be feeling this all day… A word of advice: if Isabela tries to ‘comfort’ you with a drink, do yourselves a favour and say no. I’d rather have darkspawn blood again. At least you expect it to be foul.” Loghain extended the bucket to him. “This might be of use,” he said. “But your advice is noted.” “Oh, wonderful. A bucket to barf in. Way to turn around a lousy day. Never would have thought of that myself.” Well, then. Loghain picked up the bucket and made for the cabin-door. Alistair caught his arm. “Wait! I’ll take it.”

Tagging (as always, only if you feel like it): @dairine-bonnet, @deedeemactir, @illusivesoul... and I think everyone else has already been tagged, but if you haven't and I forgot you, don't hesitate to pretend I tagged you too! Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to find the words: light, friend, and danger!

#tag game #my fics #loghain mac tir #erin amell #wynne #astarion ancunin #tavalyn silversong #scratch #alistair theirin #dragon age #bg3

[nightwardenminthara]

valentine's drabbles - gideon/rodaine

stop - muse a holds muse b back from walking back out into the fray

a scene we have discussed many a time, in which rodaine is frozen by trauma upon seeing corypheus' archdemon in haven (as always, rodaine belongs to @sinquisition)

The last of the stragglers are being ushered into the Haven Chantry when the dragon’s screech rips the sky. Gideon grips his staff so harshly his knuckles feel as if they will burst from his skin. His heart is racing and dear Maker, the sound is only getting closer.

What can they do? It’s all so hopeless. He is going to die here. Gideon remembers what it felt like to be burned by the brunt of a fireball. His skin flaming, so much pain and heat it felt like being plunged into ice. And now he’d be engulfed by it. By a dragon’s flaming breath.

His eyes dart to Rodaine for support. Rodaine… who had led the world to victory once before, who had every answer Gideon ever needed, who knew his way around impossible battlefields. But Rodaine’s eyes are planted firmly on the skies. Wide and full of fear, his hand seems to tremble on his staff. And when Gideon finally looks up, it all connects.

It’s not just a dragon. A horrifying beast that could rip in two… it’s an archdemon. Rodaine had had dreams… heard the call of the Darkspawn. They had written it off as fluctuations in the Fade but no.

Maker save me. Blessed are those who stand before the corrupt and wicked and do not falter. Blessed are the righteous the lights in the shadow. Blessed are the peacekeepers-

Gideon only has seconds to make a choice. If he is truly the Herald of Andraste, then there was only one course of action. Rodaine still stands frozen, a look of terror Gideon has only seen on his face on private nights alone when he wakes up on the edge of a scream.

He straightens and shouts, “Move. Now.”

The others begin to run but Rodaine still seems stuck. Gideon shoves him roughly towards Cassandra. “Go.”

And, as if thankful the thinking was done for him, he does. Right as the blast of fire comes raining down from the skies above.

Gideon tries to run. Tries to keep up with the others, but the blast sends him hurdling into the snow, his staff far out of reach. When he looks to where he saw his partner last, all he sees is a curtain of fire.

If Gideon is truly Her Herald, he must have faith Andraste will guide Rodaine to safety with the rest. If it is his destiny to die here so he may live, he will face his fate gladly.

Yet his hands don’t stop trembling when that Darkspawn Lord lands before him. And his heart races faster when it begins to speak.

#writing tag #yet another oc x oc thing i cant tag with the event bc... no kissing lmaooo #fully unedited im just feeling some shippy drabbles #gideon x rodaine #ch: gideon trevelyan

[nirikeehan]

*kicks in ask box door* NIRI TAKING PROMPTS???? HELLO HAPPY FREAKIN FRIDAY I would like to request some Cullen/Thalia w/wingman Pravin (shock of shocks), mayhaps with a dramatic situation prompt: Just, being carried, being held (legs give out, weak, illness, injury, fatigue, fear), or being able to carry someone, to hold someone safe in your arms, to cradle them close PLEASE AND THANK YOU

OKAY so Pravin isn't wingmanning so much here bc it's after the battle of Haven and he's big mad that the Inquisition probably got his cousin killed bUT here's some delicious shippy angst anyway

For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 698

Note: "Fidencio Frye" is Pravin's stage name and Cullen does not yet know his true identity nor relation to Thalia bc dramatic irony is delicious.

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The wind howls through the night. She’s dead, it whispers in Cullen’s ears. He sent her to die, and die she did. 

His tent is flimsy and no one is warm. When they break to make camp for the night, he huddles by the meager campfire, struggling to get the feeling back in his hands. To shake the images of Haven as it fell: the screams of the dying; the look on Thalia’s face, steeling against the reality that she would not make it out. The red flash of the sword in a friend’s hand as he stood beside… whatever that beast was. Cullen recognized him immediately. That is Samson. He gave orders he thought he would never have to give.

Friends are monsters and the Herald is dead. 

Supplies are low. The bard Fidencio Frye shares Cullen’s campfire more often than not. Leliana’s mysterious contact has folded in on himself, become grim and taciturn. He sits in silence. Reflections of the flames dance in his chilly green eyes.

“I never should have let her go.” 

Cullen didn’t even know Fidencio cared much for Lady Thalia. Nor did Cullen, now that he thinks on it. The void she leaves behind is vaster than he could have imagined. 

“You wouldn’t have stopped her,” Cullen murmurs. “She believed in the cause. She wanted to fight.” 

“The Maker can fuck your cause all the way to the Black City,” Fidencio snarls. “She was just a kid.” 

Cullen does not want to argue. He is so tired, and so hungry. The headache pounds inside him rhythmically, almost like a song. All that lyrium surrounding him in the battle  — the bright, putrid red. It was calling to him. Ever since it’s been like those first bleak days all over again: he’s been shaky, feverish. He has one blue bottle hidden, one he promised himself he would never actually drink. All he wants to do is taste the sweet metallic tang and forget the delicate lines of Thalia’s face.

“This is my fault,” Cullen says.

“Damn right it is,” Fidencio retorts. “Haven had terrible fortifications. You all knew it.”

The blizzard has dispersed — a mercy, or they’d all be dead — and the night is the still, blistering cold that shocks one to the core. Cullen used to like nights like this, in his youth; they reminded him he was alive. Now these might be his last days on earth, and he’ll take them quietly, beside a bitter man to remind him how badly he’s failed. 

The snow glistens blue in the light of the moon. Somewhere, a wolf howls. Cullen swears he can hear faint, crunching footsteps. He looks up and sees the distant figure, swaying on unsteady feet. A shade of the girl he sent to die: the crown of braids is the same, the darkness rendering her auburn hair black. 

She falls to her knees, and Cullen is on his feet, because she hasn’t vanished from his sight, a trick of his guilty mind. “It’s her,” he says, taking off at a run. 

She’s shivering, her skin like ice, face smeared with dirt and dried blood. Strands of her hair dangle low in her eyes; one plait by the nape of her neck has all but unraveled. Without thinking, Cullen grabs her and hoists her up, pulling her close. He is desperate to transfer her some warmth. It’s a miracle she’s even alive, a miracle she’s somehow made it all this way, to find them anew. 

Thalia lets out a trembling breath and buries her face in his fur collar. “It’s all right,” Cullen whispers, although he is terrified that is a lie. “I’ve got you.” 

He turns and there his colleagues stand, expressions alight with shock and disbelief: Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra. Shoving between them is Fidencio Frye, the ostrich feather on his cavalier hat streaming behind him like an afterthought. 

“You’re such a brat,” the strange bard admonishes the half-frozen Herald of Andraste, clutching her hand. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.” 

“Nice to see you too,” Thalia murmurs, and Cullen has the curious sense he’s stepped into a scene of a play having missed the first act. 

#thalia trevelyan #cullen rutherford #cullen x trevelyan #thalia x cullen #pravin talavera #pravinquisition #fics #dragon age drunk writing circle

[ripeteeth]

last sentence meme

Thanks for the tag, @orchisailsa!

Looks like the last thing I've worked on is my Frankenstein sorta-sequel, where Victor and the Creature survived the Arctic and are living together and loathing (and pining). I know it's supposed to be a sentence only, but I can't stop myself as I'm writing this in a vacuum and not getting that dopamine of ao3 comments is killing me:

Dinner is served at a long polished table of dark wood. He had hoped to be at the opposing end, the distance an interruption allowing him to breathe, but the fiend had not been so kind. Where the Creature sat at the head of the table, a place was laid at his right side. Candlelight scattered across porcelain plates and fine stemware, the thinnest shade of glass, as if the wine could be spirited directly to the tongue. The scent is heavy in the air. His nostrils twitch. Once, twice. Three times. The beast’s mouth curls up at the edges, amused. He rises from his place, pulling out the chair beside him. A fat roast sits squat upon a platter, glistening with oil, trussed and browned. The Creature carves, placing the pork before him. 

“You are hungry. Eat.”

The meat gleams bright and wet and pink. Beckoning. Gravy in a ceramic boat, greens tossed with dijon and olive oil, bread fresh from the oven. 

“I’m not.”

“You lie so poorly,” the Creature sighs. “You may eat of your own volition, or I may feed it to you. That is your choice, though you will not like the latter.”

“You can’t force me.”

“I can,” he says mildly, unconcerned.

“So this is it - you’re to fatten me up for the slaughter?” Imagine: the beast’s sharp incisors digging into his thigh, just as his teeth rend the grain of the pig’s muscle. 

“If I wished to slaughter you, I would have done so.” He spoons tender carrots onto Victor’s plate, glazed with honey. Victor’s appetite howls. He touches nothing but the wine, red and velvet; it reminds him of the carpet in his room. The curtains. The bed. 

“Why? Why do you not kill me? You have been my mortal adversary, what happiness could you possibly find in continuing this - “

“On the ice,” the Creature interrupts, halting him. His gaze heavy. “You pulled me from death, wrapping me in your own body for warmth. I would ask you the same, Victor. You had your wish and were free of me - why did you call me back?”

Victor’s cheeks flush as red as the wine. None of Galvani's experiments had talked back to him thus. “You are nothing more than a sentient frog’s leg!”

“Then might I suggest to my maker more sympathy for amphibians," the Creature drawls, running his fingers through a candle's fire.

Tagging: @mia-ugly, @soft-october-night, @weatheredlaw, @racketghost, @perverse-idyll, @danpuff-ao3, @rcmclachlan, @robotmango, @iodhadh, @wildcard47, and anyone else who wants to!

#frankenstein #victorcreature #frankensmut #victor frankenstein #frankenstein's creature