Reblog And Tell Us In The Tags What The Weapon Type You Simp After Is. Like What Weapon Do You See A

Reblog and tell us in the tags what the weapon type you simp after is. Like what weapon do you see a character use and it automatically elevates them in your eyes? Mine’s a scythe.

For anyone who wanted to watch Grand Army on Netflix

new quiz just dropped: what are you?

yes!! the author of that post actually reached out to me too!! thank you both so much!!!

hey mismag fam can ya’ll?? help me out and link,,,to the blogger who did a post about their sun signs??? am working on a fic and talking about astrology and would love!! to ping ideas off of them if they’d like to,,,but i cannot find them )):

Hi??? The enby icons???? Oh my god??? I would die for Fresh Cut Grass!!!! Oh my god. I’m sobbing. ASHTON??? TALIESIN WITH THE GENDER AGAIN,,,god all these characters are gender thank you crit role gods

thinkin’ about,,,,a fig au that makes no fucking sense in canon but is, in fact, making my brain go “brr” in this moment. my sleep deprived self is thriving. 

okay so. fig being like? biologically sandra lynn and gilear’s daughter. but, they’re unable of having kids. but she loves gilear, and she wants to settle down (even if part of her still screams at the idea, because settling down means letting her guard down, and she’s been burnt once before. she’s not going to let it happen again).

enter gorthalax the insatiable, though not as insatiable now. calmer, soothed, chillin’ in the woods and going to concerts who accidentally summon him when they use infernal in their songs without checking the translation. he’s living the life, baby. except one day he’s cornered, weakened by this feeling of satiation and contentment at his life. and in swoops sandra lynn, younger and wilder and action first, thinking later. sandra lynn, who is young and in love and sees a stranger in need and can’t help but help him.

and gorthalax isn’t about to let a favor like that go unreturned. he’s nursing his wounds, trying to make himself less intimidating to Sandra Lynn, who’s a good head shorter than him and pressing at every wound with skilled fingers. Stopping the blood, applying herbs where she can. She even forces several goodberries in his mouth when he tries to speak the first few times, snapping that she can’t focus with him running his mouth like that. and he’s enamored, and he owes a debt, so when he finally is allowed to speak he asks how he can repay her. 

she laughs, says it’s not a problem. it’s what she does. she protects people from the nightmare king’s forest, and he (or rather, his people) are one of the reasons they’re able to keep it at bay. if anything, she should be thanking him. and he thanks her, says it’s not a problem, and casts a spell under his breath with a hum and a tilt of his head. there’s got to be something in that beautiful head of hers, and he’s going to find it. even if it makes him feel kinda skeevy, using detect thoughts like this.

she’s not expecting it, and it’s all to easy to get to the deepest thoughts. fear of settling down, of committing, of being abandoned because gilear found someone better, more capable. the want for a family, a kid or two or three, blessed with her wild streak and gilear’s way with words. a promise that they’ll remain together, through thick and thin. tangible proof that they love one another. 

it’s an old magic, a part that’s far from his realm but one he picked up all the same (gluttony came in all forms, even if food was his favored domain). he places a hand on her shoulder, smiles wide and says that they should meet again. he knows a great place that has the best fig pastries, made in ancient elven traditions. let’s the magic flow through his fingertips, the barest hint of radiant energy enough to soothe any worries that it’s harmful magic. warm, soothing, like a cure wounds or a restoration spell. an offering, healing magic of the oldest kind. 

sandra lynn huffs a laugh, says it’s a date, and leads him out of the wood. 

three years later, they’re meeting up for fig pastries and coffee, sandra lynn standing taller, hair cut back. and dozens of photos on her phone of a little girl named  Figueroth, with her name taken from the old elvish word for unity, for love, for blessings of knowledge and intellect. and gorthalax smiles, compliments her growth and congratulates her success. asks her about parenthood, feels something dark twinge in his chest as he scrolls through the photos of a child he helped create. the feelings darken, become all consuming, send him spiraling into a rage that leaves him trapped inside a ruby to think, to lament, to wonder why the last dredges of celestial energy turned him into a monster of the lowest form. was it a punishment for his kindness? a curse from sol, to ruin even simple acts of charity and goodwill? For daring to return a favor? He spends a long time thinking, and thinking, trapped in that ruby. Hearing whispers that grow more and more angry, of tears unheard by anyone else in the middle of the night of a child who he cursed, however unintentional.

and when that child calls him father, who is he to deny her?