seekers of the dead


“I hesitated.”


“Cedric was lying spread-eagled on the ground beside him. He was dead.

He’s that tall, good-looking one, isn’t he? Strong and silent.

I said to him, I said — Ced, that’ll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will… you beat Harry Potter!

We’ll celebrate a boy who was, kind and honest, and brave, and true right to the very end.

basementfestival-archive-deacti  asked:

#6 - illusion - Cass/Varric

immortalised : cassaric

She drops the book on his desk with enough force to rattle the inkwell perched precariously by his hand, spilling droplets across the blank paper he’s laid out, but he isn’t given the chance to protest before she announces, in an even voice that promises nothing good for him in the near future,

“If she is dead I will eviscerate you.”

His sigh is long-suffering, a tad overdramatic, and desperately fond. “Seeker, if she’s dead – if, mind you, you know I don’t like spoilers – it’s because I thought it was necessary to the story.”

“I need to know.”

“And you will. You’ll just have to wait, like the rest of Thedas.”

She huffs. “I am your wife.”

“And that gets you privileges with the dwarf, not the writer.” He grins. “Now’s not when you tell me you only married me for my writing, is it? You’ll break my heart.”

She leans across the desk. “I will break more than that if you kill her.”

“Love was just an illusion, apparently,” Varric sighs. “To hide your true motives. Which is too bad for you, because I’m not telling. Can’t have word getting out before the next book does, the cliffhanger would be useless. And I spent six chapters building up to the damn thing.”

“I will not tell a soul,” she promises, with such an earnest expression, he’s almost tempted.

But, “I’ve seen your poker face, Cass. If anyone asked, you wouldn’t be able to keep it to yourself.” He points the tip of his quill at her. Not a real threat – they haven’t done that dance in years.

She actually looks offended. “I would!” Then, her expression softening, “Please?”

Varric considers her, the veins of silver in her dark hair, and the lines of her expressive face, etched deep with age. The city sprawling beyond the high windows at her back, and the years, written stories in the space between them, read in the easy way she leans against his desk, as though she’s never belonged anywhere else. He likes to pretend he could actually kill off her favourite character, if he decided to. And once he might have, knowing the effect those decisions have on sales. Public outrage is a bestselling feature, any good writer knows that. But now, seeing her eyes alight whenever she opens a new book, delighted even after a decade, even after two, when most of his regulars have long since stopped caring, he couldn’t have made himself do it if his entire business depended on it.

“You know me,” he tells her then, and he isn’t teasing now. “Couldn’t kill her if I wanted to.” Then he smiles, in an attempt to lighten the mood. Old age has made him strangely maudlin, and prone to introspection. “She reminds me too much of you.”

Cassandra snorts. “You are far too old for flattery, Varric Tethras.” But she comes around the edge of the desk to where he sits, a slight limp in her step – a bad wound that never healed well, but she was always too stubborn to accept it. A kiss pressed against his brow, rare and dear and fiercely private. “Thank you,” she says against his ear, before she turns to leave his office, the book tucked beneath her arm and a smile at the corner of her mouth.

Varric watches her go, twirling the quill between stiff fingers. Strong women have shaped his life, he’s never pretended otherwise. But for better or for worse, he carries their memories with him – their laughter, their loss. The latter is the heaviest, and the pile is growing higher, every year. Sometimes he wonders if he writes to remember them; that they’ll live on in his books, long after they are gone.

He’s never been one for prayer, but if he’s ever prayed for anything, it’s that his wife will outlive him. He’s kept many souls alive with pen and paper, but hers has never belonged to him.

And he doubts all the ink in the world could keep her, if he were to try.

Holy water cannot help you now,
Thousand armies couldn’t keep me out,
I don’t want your money,
I don’t want your crown,
See I’ve come to burn your kingdom down.  

Seven devils all around you,
Seven devils in your house,
See I was dead when I woke up this morning;
I’ll be dead before the day is done.  

Seeker husbands. They’ve betrayed and forgiven one anoter an astonishing number of times. Spent a fair portion listening to the Pathologic OST.

I recommend clicking it to get a bigger view, there’s some details.

To the weary He is rest.

To the hurting He is healing.

To the damned He is salvation. 

To the weak He is strength. 

To the restless He is peace. 

To the hopeless He is promise. 

To the fleeting He is steadfast. 

To the damaged He is love. 

To the depleted He is full. 

To the troubled He is safety. 

To the fearful He is assurance. 

To the defeated He is victory. 

To the watchful He is present. 

To the wanderer He is home. 

To the doubtful He is truth. 

To the dead He is life. 

To the seeker He is light. 

To the thirsty He is living water. 

To the scared He is hope. 

To the world He is King. 

To all He is redemption.

He is majesty. 

He is faithful. 

He is the cornerstone, the sure foundation, the rock. 

He is Peace. He is Love. He is Life. 

Showing up to the fandom 8 months late with longfic.

House of Strays (25938 words) by tyigra
Chapters: 11/11
Fandom: Ghost - Mystery Skulls (Music Video)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Relationships: Arthur/Lewis/Vivi (Ghost - Mystery Skulls), Lewis/Vivi (Ghost - Mystery Skulls), Arthur & Lewis (Ghost - Mystery Skulls), Arthur & Vivi (Ghost - Mystery Skulls)
Additional Tags: Horror, Romance, Asexual Character, Hurt/Comfort, Break the Cutie, Body Horror, Fluff and Angst, Sappy Ending, OT3, Friendship/Love, Swearing, BrOTP
Series: Part 1 of MSA Forays

Artsy Fartsy summary:
Evil stalks the night, guilt haunts a young man’s footsteps, and an otherworldly mansion waits with open doors for the walking dead–and for dead men walking. Sleepwalker, Spirit, Seeker, and Shapeshifter: there’s plenty of blame and tears to go around. But there’s plenty of love and laughter, too, waiting to be rekindled.

Troll Not Taking This Seriously summary:
In which a young man is exquisitely tortured by guilt and cries a lot, a bara skeleton is unable to work up any murder-mojo after losing the heat of the moment, a girl’s pack-rat tendencies border on z-space abilities, and a mythical canine fails to get bapped on the nose with a newspaper. Also appearing: a villain whose abilities will be thoroughly jossed once the next music video comes out. Featuring one never-ending shirtless scene for completely legitimate reasons, two instances of male bondage, one kinda-sorta OC who never speaks, intimate hugs and snuggles, and one asexual who does not magically find his sexuality by the end of the story.

emperorofdestruction has been graced with your presence

emperorofdestruction |

Cybertron. A living, breathing Cybertron. It wasn’t often the seeker came across these in the multiverse - most were dead, or completely gone. The last one had been the Cybertron of one of his alternates, which had not seen war…

But this one was different. He couldn’t quite pin down why - more snooping around would be necessary. After all, he could hardly leave his curiousity unsated.

So here he was, in what had formerly been Kaon. It still was, likely, but it was…different. He transformed and landed on top of the highest building, peering down over the edge of it. From what he’d seen, this was one of those no-nasal ridge universes.

Just what had happened here?