The Wayward Vigilante - ARCHIVE

"'Got Gone'" {Indie DARP blog for OC Atticus Foster. INACTIVE}

[iron-and-earth]

PSA

For about the 37th time, this website has run its course, for me.  As much I enjoyed Atticus’s romps through Thedas, his time here has come to a much-needed end.

Those of you I had the pleasure of creating with, God Speed, and may winds of inspiration ever fill your sails.

The rest of you?  Bugger off.

[iron-and-earth]

[iron-and-earth]

arallyingcry :

iron-and-earth:

Hawke explained herself and her oddly flat reasons for wanting to tag along, Atticus listening intently to her reasoning as he set to work changing his attire.  Her focus had shifted to the wardrobe nearest to her, so in his mind, the coast was clear.  He stood up straight, his arms at his sides, and fanned the fingers of his left hand a surreptitiously as possible.  He felt the gentle pulse of energy in his fingertips and after, felt his now unbuckled boots shift.  Closing his hand, he merely stepped out of the boots as though they were never there, the gold-plated heels of them momentarily stuck to the floorboards. 

Glancing over his shoulder, he approached the four-post bed and stood beside it, pulling from behind the two ornate pillows two bundles of tattered cloth, each about the size of the pillows that rested upon them, and resting them on the bed.  Unfurling the first revealed another pair of boots, obviously designed more for function rather than fashion, yet evoking an odd air of elegance.  Smiling, he set them on the floor and stepped into them with ease.

“Hawke, no one will ever say you aren’t useful.  And if they do, they’d’ve long since drunk themselves under the table and through the flo-”

He looked up just in time to see her modeling a rather frilly chemise, and felt his cheeks grow warm.

“Please, no.  No ruffles.  T-tr-trying to be subtle.“

He unraveled the last bundle to unveil a sight that made him smile widely.  Grabbing it by its collar, Atticus pulled a long black coat from the bed and, with a slight flare of a spin, he slipped his arms into the sleeves and let is come to rest on his shoulders.  He’d worn it for years and years, and yet it always felt like home…

After finding comfort in his own skin again, free of costumes reminiscent of a grandmother’s duvet, he sighed, and returned his focus to Hawke.

“…Look…fine.  Fine.  You can follow along.  But details will be scarce, at first.  I intent to be quiet as possible, as few casualties as will allow, and…please…go easy on the theft?”

He took the lapels of his coat in his hand, shifting the fit, then bending down to buckle his boots on.

“And, for the record, I have noticed.  You certainly are exploring the palace thoroughly enough, but this is the first place you and I have done any sort of poking, together.”

“You brought a change of clothes? I didn’t know this was a sleepover party – You know I know some fantastic ghost stories. Maybe I can some at the top of my voice while I steal everything and summon ten demons—you know what?” Marian put her hands up and left the cupboard and its frilly contents. “Forget it. I’m giving myself a sarcasm headache.”

He certainly took a long time to get changed, for a man. Not that Marian had been around much of that in recent years. Carver and her father had never been very particular dressers. Varric could ready himself fast enough if he didn’t strike up a conversation with anyone. Anders boots always looked like they took a long time to tie. Marian had laced them together once under the table at the Hanged Man while they were playing cards. It was one of the few memories she had of him laughing.

She pushed the thought away and waved a hand at the door. 

“Let’s get this caper underway.”

A sleepover...

He flat-stared at her for a second or two before sighing, reaching into the pocket of his coat and retrieving leather gloves.  He chuckled to himself as he pulled them on one at a time.  Shaking his hands out, getting used to the feel of the gloves again after far too many hours in fancier, less functional ones, he moved quickly toward Hawke, stopping directly in front of her.

“Your sarcasm is nothing short of an art, Hawke.  Ghost stories are going to have to wait ‘til, later.  For now...pardon me.”

He stepped past her, toward a lump of fabric hidden by the dresser in the corner of the room.  Pulling the fabric away he revealed a warhammer, the haft around a meter long, the head thicker than a Mabari’s neck.  He turned to face her again, just about to say something encouraging...

...When he heard footsteps.

Someone was coming their way...

And quickly...

“Shit...”

[iron-and-earth]

"If I told you that you had a great body, would you hold it against me?" (Because Toni has no shame XD)

“…”

“Are you drunk?”

[iron-and-earth]

iron-and-earth:

Atticus took t he book he was reading, marked the page with a strip of purple ribbon, and closed it, only to gently pat the closed book against the Warden’s forehead.  He spoke in a flat and uninterested tone, easily likened to one chastising a misbehaving pup.

“Nnnno.  Bad.”

boundbytheblood :

iron-and-earth:

Atticus took t he book he was reading, marked the page with a strip of purple ribbon, and closed it, only to gently pat the closed book against the Warden’s forehead.  He spoke in a flat and uninterested tone, easily likened to one chastising a misbehaving pup.

“Nnnno.  Bad.”

Toni chuckled. “But Atticus…  Do you have a map? I’m getting lost in your eyes. “

He thumped her on the forehead once again.

“Oh, by all means, Warden…get…lost.”

[iron-and-earth]

“Tale of the Outsider”

[iron-and-earth]

doktoraziegler :

iron-and-earth :

@doktoraziegler

Nothing anyone would ever say, regardless of the language in which it was spoken, would ever convince him that Kirkwall wasn’t a dodgy mess.  Sure, Hightown was nearly pristine, almost glistening white in sea salt sunshine in daylight, kept pretty and polite for the slight more well-off, but not one of them would be caught dead in Lowtown. 

Lowtown was where the “less-than-savory” resided.

      Lowtown was filth and debauchery all on its own.

            Lowtown is what Atticus called “job security.”

From his small hovel on the northeastern corner of Lowtown, Atticus sat in the beams of daylight, closing the book he had been reading, and glanced out his window.  Below, in plain sight, was the Alienage.  Though destitute, the Elves there had gone to grand measures to make it bright and cheerful.  Though he was not of their kind, a Shemlen, of course, like them he was an outsider.  Whenever the chance arose, he would stop in and help with something.  Building a merchant stall, providing food, supplies, and the like.  It was then he remembered a delivery of his own he needed to make.

He could see quite a few things from his perch.  He could see their Vhenadahl, their “Tree of the People” reaching into the sky.  He could see a strangely dense grouping of people around it.  He could also see something rather distinct.

Someone…

From his window, he saw a person, another human, in the Alienage.  At that instant, his curiosity was piqued.  He dropped the book on the bed, grabbed a small parcel, and ran out the door, leaving his long black coat behind.

Out the door, up the street, and down the stone steps in the Alienage, he was able to get a better look at the newcomer from a distance.  She was lithe in frame, fair skinned, blonde hair tied up in a way that was more practical than fashionable.  With her, of all things she could have possibly be wielding in an awful mess of a city as that, was a staff.

A Mage?  Here?!

Curious as ever, he sidled to the edge of the stairs, still a safe distance away, arms behind his back, and spoke, clearly and calmly.

“Greetings, milady.”

It has been maybe an hour since she arrived in Kirkwall, the former city of slaves. Through curiosity and kindness she was led to the alienage, where she had been expected already. A city elf by the name Faj greeted her and offered her a place for her little tent. There was enough space for her and one patient and therefore she just had to organize some help.

They gathered all together, rammed the piers into the firm ground, before they threw a bright white cloth over them. Angela draped the cloth carefully, before creating two ties on each pier. An opening for her tent was created and with more effort they put a barrow inside, as well as a table for good measure.

The masterpiece was created and so her little surgery was complete. The first patient was already brought to her, when a male voice caught her interest as. She turned around and saw into a young mans face. “Greetings, how may I be of assistance?” she replied, quite confused about a human being here (besides her, of course).

“I must tend to those in need, if its not important, you’ll need to wait.”

His smile remained intact when she turned to greet him in kind, her voice soft, kind, inviting.  Kind as she sounded, her confusion was apparent.  Maker only knew what she was thinking, how long she’d even been in Kirkwall.

He raised his eyebrows, his thoughts cut short, when told him to wait, tending to ‘those in need.’  She was, indeed, a Mage on a Mission.  And that, alone, was admirable.  He tucked the parcel he held into the bag on his left hip and stepped toward her.

“What’s going on?  Could I, perhaps, be of assistance?”

[iron-and-earth]

arallyingcry :

Atticus seemed very intent on his pockets and Hawke made a mental note to have a quick browse through them later. She’d spent a lot of time lifting purses in Kirkwall under Athenril’s employ. Her comrade was about as likely to feel a butterfly’s pinch as he was Hawke’s curious fingers. 

“I have my sights set on not being bored and actually being useful again.”

“Besides, Varric will get us out if they lock us up,” she chided, meeting his gaze in the mirror before he bent forward. “I didn’t bring a change of clothes though…” she pried her gaze off Atticus’s backside long enough to cast it around the room. The wardrobe looked promising. 

“I already am poking around the palace with you, if you hadn’t noticed.” Hawke opened the cupboard and after some sifting, pulled out a dark chemise and held it up to her person. “Except now I’m going to do it in ruffles.”

Hawke explained herself and her oddly flat reasons for wanting to tag along, Atticus listening intently to her reasoning as he set to work changing his attire.  Her focus had shifted to the wardrobe nearest to her, so in his mind, the coast was clear.  He stood up straight, his arms at his sides, and fanned the fingers of his left hand a surreptitiously as possible.  He felt the gentle pulse of energy in his fingertips and after, felt his now unbuckled boots shift.  Closing his hand, he merely stepped out of the boots as though they were never there, the gold-plated heels of them momentarily stuck to the floorboards. 

Glancing over his shoulder, he approached the four-post bed and stood beside it, pulling from behind the two ornate pillows two bundles of tattered cloth, each about the size of the pillows that rested upon them, and resting them on the bed.  Unfurling the first revealed another pair of boots, obviously designed more for function rather than fashion, yet evoking an odd air of elegance.  Smiling, he set them on the floor and stepped into them with ease.

“Hawke, no one will ever say you aren’t useful.  And if they do, they’d’ve long since drunk themselves under the table and through the flo-”

He looked up just in time to see her modeling a rather frilly chemise, and felt his cheeks grow warm.

“Please, no.  No ruffles.  T-tr-trying to be subtle."

He unraveled the last bundle to unveil a sight that made him smile widely.  Grabbing it by its collar, Atticus pulled a long black coat from the bed and, with a slight flare of a spin, he slipped his arms into the sleeves and let is come to rest on his shoulders.  He’d worn it for years and years, and yet it always felt like home...

After finding comfort in his own skin again, free of costumes reminiscent of a grandmother’s duvet, he sighed, and returned his focus to Hawke.

“...Look...fine.  Fine.  You can follow along.  But details will be scarce, at first.  I intent to be quiet as possible, as few casualties as will allow, and...please...go easy on the theft?”

He took the lapels of his coat in his hand, shifting the fit, then bending down to buckle his boots on.

“And, for the record, I have noticed.  You certainly are exploring the palace thoroughly enough, but this is the first place you and I have done any sort of poking, together.”

[ofhotheads-blog]

Send my muse “👀 + a question” and they’ll have to answer with 100% honesty.

No deleting questions, either!

[iron-and-earth]

arallyingcry :

iron-and-earth:

Yes, I would try!  Twelve years I manage to evade arrest.”

“Just one night with you changed that, for good…”

“You make it sound as though I forced you to boost me through that window.”

“Ugh...I suppose it means nothing, right now....”

“...how are we getting out of this?”

[iron-and-earth]

arallyingcry :

@iron-and-earth continued from 

“Nnnno.  I mean you’re lucky…”

“That I’m cuffed otherwise I would slap the taste out of your mouth!”

“Uh–I think you mean you would try.”

Yes, I would try!  Twelve years I manage to evade arrest.”

“Just one night with you changed that, for good...”

[iron-and-earth]

“It’s not MY fault we’re in fucking handcuffs.”

Where words failed, a silent and simmering death glare prevailed…

“You are…so lucky…”

[iron-and-earth]

arallyingcry :

“Oh sure, I’m holding all angels.”

“Nnnno.  I mean you’re lucky...”

“That I’m cuffed otherwise I would slap the taste out of your mouth!”

[iron-and-earth]

“It’s not MY fault we’re in fucking handcuffs.”

Where words failed, a silent and simmering death glare prevailed...

“You are...so lucky...”

[splattermemes-deactivated202007]

“Fuck” Sentence Starters

Angry

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Fuck this.”

“Get the fuck out of here.”

“Who the fuck are you?”

“Fuck that!”

“I fucking hate him/her/them/you.”

“Fuck. FUCK. FUUUUCK!”

“Shut the fuck up.“

“Get your fucking act together.”

“Keep your shitty nose out of my fucking business.”

“Leave me alone, or I’ll fuck you up.”

“Get your fucking hands off of me!”

“Stay the fuck away from me.”

“Who stole my fucking shit?!”

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”

“You wanna fucking go, punk?”

“Get the fuck over it.”

“Where the fuck have you been?”

“What the fuck do you want from me?”

Sad

“Fuck life.” 

“No, I’m not fucking over it.”

“Why the fuck did he/she/they have to go and die?”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

“Why did things have to go so fucking wrong?”

“I’m gonna eat fifty fucking cartons of ice cream and then pass out and die like a warrior.”

“Try to fucking stop me from leaving my room. It’s not gonna happen.”

“The love of my life just decided that I was worth fucking nothing.”

“I fucking miss him/her/them.”

“Who the fuck cares?”

“All of this fucking shit was for nothing.”

“I fucked up my own life.”

“I can’t believe I did this fucking shit all over again.”

Insults

“Fuck you!”

“I fucked your mom last night.” 

“You’re a fucking asshole.”

“You just think you’re fucking hilarious, don’t you?” 

“Who the fuck died and made you king/queen/ruler?” 

“Go to fucking hell, you piece of shit!”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Motherfucker!”

“Wow, that’s fucking small.”

“Get the fuck over yourself.”

Sexy

“Fuck me.”

“I don’t ‘make love’, I fuck.”

“I’d fuck you all night long.”

“You look like a fucking dog in heat.”

“You look so fucking hot right now.”

“Fuck–faster~”

“FUCK, I’m gonna come!”

“I’ll fuck you right here, right now.”

“Babe, fuck–not here.”

“You’re one cocky motherfucker. Let’s go back to my place.”

“I want to bend you over and fuck you until you can’t walk.”

“I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk.”

“F-fuck–please–~”

“I’d let you fuck me any day.”

“You better use a fucking condom.”

“Tell me what you want me to fucking do to you.”

“Do you want me to fuck you while everyone’s watching?”

“Fuck, it’s big.”

“Let’s make a fucking baby.”

Situations

“Give me a break. I’m in the fucking hospital.”

“How are YOU mad at ME when I’m the one who’s in FUCKING JAIL?”

“Help me set this fucking thing on fire.”

“I’m gonna need a fucking lawyer.”

“This is all YOUR fault, you dumb fuck.”

“It’s not MY fault we’re in fucking handcuffs.”

“Fuck, I’m so wasted.”

“What the fuck did we do last night?”

“Where the fuck am I?”

“Fuck. SHIT. There goes my car.”

“Wait–fuck. Isn’t that my house?”

“Fuck it. Might as well have fun, if we’re going to get caught.”

“Why the fuck do you have gasoline?”

“Where the fuck did that baby come from?!”

“It’s not a party until someone almost fucking dies.”

“FUCK, you scared the shit out of me!”

[iron-and-earth]

“Tale of the Outsider”

@doktoraziegler

Nothing anyone would ever say, regardless of the language in which it was spoken, would ever convince him that Kirkwall wasn’t a dodgy mess.  Sure, Hightown was nearly pristine, almost glistening white in sea salt sunshine in daylight, kept pretty and polite for the slight more well-off, but not one of them would be caught dead in Lowtown. 

Lowtown was where the “less-than-savory” resided.

      Lowtown was filth and debauchery all on its own.

            Lowtown is what Atticus called “job security.”

From his small hovel on the northeastern corner of Lowtown, Atticus sat in the beams of daylight, closing the book he had been reading, and glanced out his window.  Below, in plain sight, was the Alienage.  Though destitute, the Elves there had gone to grand measures to make it bright and cheerful.  Though he was not of their kind, a Shemlen, of course, like them he was an outsider.  Whenever the chance arose, he would stop in and help with something.  Building a merchant stall, providing food, supplies, and the like.  It was then he remembered a delivery of his own he needed to make.

He could see quite a few things from his perch.  He could see their Vhenadahl, their “Tree of the People” reaching into the sky.  He could see a strangely dense grouping of people around it.  He could also see something rather distinct.

Someone...

From his window, he saw a person, another human, in the Alienage.  At that instant, his curiosity was piqued.  He dropped the book on the bed, grabbed a small parcel, and ran out the door, leaving his long black coat behind.

Out the door, up the street, and down the stone steps in the Alienage, he was able to get a better look at the newcomer from a distance.  She was lithe in frame, fair skinned, blonde hair tied up in a way that was more practical than fashionable.  With her, of all things she could have possibly be wielding in an awful mess of a city as that, was a staff.

A Mage?  Here?!

Curious as ever, he sidled to the edge of the stairs, still a safe distance away, arms behind his back, and spoke, clearly and calmly.

“Greetings, milady.”

[iron-and-earth]

"It's a shame, that no one cares about those, that need the most intensive attention." Angela left her bag down on the ground before kneeling before a little elven boy, panting heavily, moaning from feverish pain. "Fetch me some water! And clean cloth!" His high fever was an indication for an infection. "Quickly!" she yelled.

Following orders given so intensely by one who seemed to know what to do, he retrieved what she required, and with haste.  The poor child was, in short, a mess.  Whomever this kind woman was, she would become indispensable, if she kept on like this.  He returned to her, a bowl of water and a clean cloth in his hands.

“This should do the trick, milady.”

[doktoraziegler]

After an intensive, short talk with my friend @iron-and-earth​ I decided to row back and allow certain crossovers, so I can experiment with Mercy in different worlds and universes. 

Here is my idea for Angela Ziegler for a Dragon Age AU. I used her original color palette for the design.

[iron-and-earth]

{Yo, everyone!  Check this fun little crossover out!  Kiiinda cool, if I do say so myself :P}

[iron-and-earth]

"Did someone call for a doktor?" #DragonAgeAU #itsmeyourMercy

{Something leggy this way comes...}

[iron-and-earth]

"If I told you that you had a great body, would you hold it against me?" (Because Toni has no shame XD)

“…”

“Are you drunk?”

[iron-and-earth]

boundbytheblood :

“No, I am not drunk Atticus. On another note, did you sit in a pile of sugar? Because you’ve got a sweet ass.”

Atticus took t he book he was reading, marked the page with a strip of purple ribbon, and closed it, only to gently pat the closed book against the Warden’s forehead.  He spoke in a flat and uninterested tone, easily likened to one chastising a misbehaving pup.

“Nnnno.  Bad.”