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@theredconqueror
shortcut to:
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“No one has ever touched what’s mine and survived.”
Tale of the nine tailed 1938 구미호뎐1938 // Episode 1
Hannibal 3x03 "Secondo" | The Boys 1x07 "The Self-Preservation Society" | The Boys 1x06 "The Innocents"
You're down on your knees, Imma be your idol! KPOP DEMON HUNTERS (2025)
hanif abdurraqib, how can black people write about flowers at a time like this

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@theredconqueror asked
Send 🌸 for three things my muse likes about yours.
Emmrich gives a soft sigh, a warm smile spread on his lips. It's always so difficult for him to pick just three things about someone that he likes, simply because he can always find far more than three things he does like and it is nearly impossible to narrow it all down.
"There is a fierce protectiveness that you have that I find rather admirable, Valrys." Emmrich says with that warm smile spreading a little further. "Something you do very well, even if there is a deep sadness in your eyes, as if what you do is never enough. Your determination to see this fight to it's end is also something I have a deep admiration and appreciation for."
He pauses for a moment before leaning a bit closer, smile and eyes becoming more inviting as he speaks the last bit with an appreciative purr under his words. "I rather enjoy how much of an enigma you truly are, like one of those ancient puzzles we find in Arlathan or Rivain, waiting for someone to stumble upon and solve. And you have very nice eyes..."
He cannot help but wonder how the others see him. Emmrich, in particular. Does he see the hints of the monster? Or only the hero that the world thinks he is? But that's all a lie. Fighting Corypheus was no altruism. Just like it was his patriotism for his home city that had led him to interrupt Solas' ritual. But Emmrich sees more than the most. Part of it unnerves him. The mention of sadness feels like pity and it needles at him. He is not someone to be pitied. He doesn't deserve it, nor does he want it. Only he knows his sins. And knows that nothing will ever be enough. Defeating Elgar'nan... is barely righting a wrong. If they can even manage it. He does not want to speak on how some days, he wonders if it is a hopeless endeavour. He more than anyone knows the power of the Evanuris... "And what happens when you solve the puzzle?" He wonders, those striking blue eyes set on Emmrich. He leans in too, but it is more of a predator's stance. It is what he knows to be. It is what protects him. "Shall you look for the next set of ancient ruins, professor?"
“I turned to laughter, hunger, a body broken by desire, sighs that burned, breath that left me panting.”
— Philip Levine, from “Long Gone March,” Poetry (March 1987)
Scenery in Dragon Age: The Veilguard 08/??
NODDING SLIGHTLY AS VALRYS CONFIRMS CORYPHEUS' DEATH is his desire, there is deep contemplation upon ardyn's face. corypheus had both aided and wronged him with the very same action. revenge is not something he needed. but... he isn't opposed to the idea either, if there is something in it for him.
lips curve slightly upward. ' ' hm. how touching that you would risk your reputation for me, ' ' he answers with a hint of sarcasm. ' ' but if i am to aid you willingly, i would like to know first what i get in return once it's done. corypheus may have wronged me, but other than a momentary satisfaction, his death is of no use to me. ' ' and after several lifetimes spent caged and isolated away from the world, there are few things left for him to desire...
there is one thing, however, he knows he wants that valrys can give him, but he wants to hear what valrys will offer him first. after all, you can learn more about a person if you let them think and speak than if you do it for them.
he needs the other less than the other thinks, though ardyn wouldn't know that. he has full belief that he can defeat corypheus on his own, should he only get the chance to meet him on the battlefield. but ardyn's knowledge may speed that up, and he is ravenous for revenge. besides, a faster timeline... may mean less dead. less innocent dead. there is nothing else he cares about apart from his chance to get retribution. so ardyn's ingratitude grates on him, and he allows only a flicker of it to show, but holds his tongue further. the other surely knew it was no small thing what he was doing: advocating for a monster. he will not do it to the expense of his own mission. his need for penance is not so great. now, to bargaining. there's no subtlety to be had but perhaps this is as close they will get with being honest with each other. ardyn wants to lead him to the strand, as if it might be his own idea, rather than he has been manipulated to it. "you want me to offer you your freedom when all of this is over," he says bluntly, refusing to allow another to think they have got one over on on him. but it is just as much a show of intelligence. if ardyn has reservations about the inquisition, then at least he might not in him. for a moment, his gaze drifts away from the man. "you understand that this is not a term i can propose to the inquisition." the inquisitor was bound to popular opinion. but he was not. "but i will grant it to you. you have my word. and... mine is all you need, anyways." for he holds the leash.
Emprise du Lion DRAGON AGE: INQUISITION 2014・dev. BioWare

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It takes everything in his being not to just fall to his knees in absolutely devout worship of the sorcerer. But Astarion knows that isn't the sort of worship that Varis is searching for. The command for Astarion to tell him his thoughts makes him swallow, and he has to stifle a small gasp as those nails dig in deeper, making him faulter in his answers for only a moment before he catches himself again and speaks.
"I have thought of you kissing me." Astarion says reverently against the heat in his chest, the searing pain that makes him feel for once and it hurts so pleasantly he aches for it. Then the pain is gone as quick as it came, replaces with exploratory touch that sends a shiver through the vampire's body. "I have thought of you taking me..."
His words faulter only the slightest and he stops when he feels Varis' fingers caressing the very edges of his scars. Shame would bloom on his cheeks if he had the blood for it, as it is he swallows hard and casts his eyes down to the ground at the sorcerer's command. He hesitates only for a moment, but not out of defiance. No, he doesn't wish to defy Varis, but he's shameful of those scars on his back.
Wordlessly, Astarion moves to lift up his shirt, up and over his head, bringing it down to slide off his arms and discard to the side. Varis doesn't even have to tell him to turn around, he does so almost automatically, allowing the sorcerer to see the raised flesh that decorated his back in elegant script. "A gift from my sire. A poem carved into my flesh in the span of a night. He praised me for staying so still when it was only by his compulsion that I could do so..." Astarion's voice is quiet, his head forward as his eyes close and he tries to shove down the feelings twisting his gut. Would Varis see this and consider him tainted? He doesn't know, but he waits silently for his sorcerer's judgement all the same.
He has seen all of the words already in Astarion's eyes. The vampire knows well how perceptive he is. But the point of the words is to dig up from the grave the unspoken, to make it all undeniable. To figuratively flay open the chest that rests below his fingers. The worship is to flatter the fire of ego, but well, isn't that the least he deserves, for all that he has done for the other? The flicker in his eyes is like a lightning bolt, how he has wondered if Astarion would make such an offering to him... how it is not an unwelcome thought. But that it is a scenario that seems to be tangled up in some complexities. Considerations. Like a god choosing a disciple... But that red thread is tucked away for a moment when another had become more interesting to pull at. From the way Astarion can't even look at him it's quite clear he's stumbled upon a map of trauma that the other would rather not have him trespass. He watches and waits for the vampire's reaction: to trust or not. To obey. And he does. The shirt comes off, and he doesn't even need to issue the further command: Astarion knows he will want to see. It's not what he was expecting. If he thought the wounds would be random, chaotic, they are not. It is writing. The vampire tells him as much, but oh, he has the genre wrong. His hand reaches out anew, the fingertip tracing a line and following it across the top of his back. "No one writes poetry in Infernal," he says, an all too casual remark with his usual wit. Well, almost no one... he can think of a certain devil who does. Exception, not the rule. Consider him curious. It doesn't read the way it should, that its loops and turns should be logical traps rather than linguistic pitfalls. "But they do write devil's pacts." His finger makes the entire loop around the other's back. There's no chance some second-rate vampire would be able to write something he couldn't make sense of. "Except this one is cut off." He sounds lightly annoyed, like being presented a jigsaw puzzle but not being provided all of the pieces.
How do you get so empty? Who takes it out of you?
Visions of Excess by Georges Bataille / An Oresteia by Anne Carson / Art by Scott Donaldson (@/underwaterlad on ig) / Art by Anthony Cudahy / YOUR FATHER MY FATHER by Mal Fawzy / Quote from Ash by Tracy K. Smith / Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk / Dearth by Deborah Stevenson / Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury
in the blood by john mayer // by eduardo corral // primer by aaron smith // aristotle & dante discover secrets of the universe by benjamin alire sáenz // woodtangle by mary ruefle
@ryebreadgf / The Truth About Grief, Fortesa Latifi / bone deep, m.v.e / Sidewalk, Richard Silken / unknown / 60 hours, m.v.e / @itsblackleader / Salt, Nayyirah Waheed / @heavensghost
Heather Havrilesky

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Fyodor Dostoevsky // John Keats
The library is a place he himself has found enjoyment in, from the often times curious and esoteric texts that can be difficult to decipher with their thick and archaic languages, to the astrolabe hovering above in a calming, hypnotic beauty. He does, also, find it a very nice coincidence that Valrys shares in such a passion for knowledge and research and he can often find the other mage there.
He notices how quickly Valrys discards the book, and he wonders if it is because it is one he has read numerous times before, or if he's just not that interested in the subject. Either way, the eagerness with which he greets the Mortalitasi makes him smile warmly.
"Splendid." Emmrich says before starting off down the stairs and to the Eluvian for the travel to their destination. It still marvels him, how this ancient elven technology has aided them in such amazing ways. Truly, after this is all over, Emmrich will have to pen a few papers on everything he has learned. He already has several journals filled with notes, and he hasn't even gone through a quarter of the knowledge stored here.
"You know, before this adventure, I never wandered outside the Necropolis, let alone Nevarra. And now... I have been all over the North, in no time at all." Emmrich says with a smile as he stares at the mirror before looking to Valrys.
"I must thank you for that, you know. For showing me the world outside those dusty halls. I look forward to seeing your city from your perspective, my dear."
The gnarled not-tree that they pass by never fails to get their attention, the invisible chatter of their enemies, their gods, that they eavesdrop on. There are some nights that he sneaks out of the Lighthouse and sits at its base and he waits, listens. To a voice he has not heard in a lifetime. It hates him. It should. But it doesn't stop him from wondering, wishing. He wants to know... what the truth of his god is. Perhaps he never will. But with Emmrich by his side, its only an instinctive flick of his eyes up at it as he passes by, as if it is only momentary distraction. He offers an empathetic smile at the other's words. "I ventured little outside of Minrathous as a child. And often not much farther than my home." His father had like him home. Safe, studying. He knew of the world from pages of a book. "I've been all over with the Inquisition," he tells the other off-hand, as if being part of the organization is another scrawl on a resume. "And this is not the journey that I would have wished to give you, if I'd had a choice." Risking life and limb, for him, at the end of days. The smile recedes slightly. "There are worse things than being happy inside dusty halls." He feels like he's stolen Emmrich away from that life. His city. It was. If Solas had chosen another... would there still be a world left to fight for? It makes him selfish, he knows. But he's never pretended to be anything else. His perspective. He is a stranger to his own hometown, estranged by a millennia. "In fact, I'm more interested in seeing it from yours. What you see... feel, for a place that is new to you. The past colours it for me. I wouldn't wish to bias you."