Me: “Man, Viago Looks Good With Curly Hair”

posting your fic on AO3 like

I will kill any god you ask.

I’m a one trick pony and the trick is krem dragon age

mr thrill of the chase

I think about pre-Ossuary Lucanis pretty much all the time.

old guard

Rook will obliterate every barrel and crate he finds like any graceful and sublime assassin should. He is truly the pride of Antiva.

And Viago is at his limit.

Lucien de Riva and art made by Barguest, do not copy or reupload please.

They have Ashur.

Tarquin runs, lungs burning, breath lurching, his robes soaked through with rain and Venatori blood. His shield-arm screams with pain from a firebolt he didn’t entirely dodge. He ignores it all, hurtling through streets and over rooftops, heedless of the fact that he’s wearing his Shadow Dragon getup in stark daylight; that a bloodied man with a sword charging through Dock Town is drawing stares and probably more fucking Venatori. Tarquin cannot give two shits right now about who sees him, or who follows him, because they have Ashur.

They’ll unmask him, in front of the whole city, the whole Imperium. They’ll kill him slow. They’ll hang his body on the walls, like the Magisters of old used to do to traitors and cowards. Because Ashur decided to slip away and try to bring down a pack of blood mages alone, even though he’s eaten up with Blight. Because he didn’t tell Tarquin.

Didn’t say shit. Slipped away from their safehouse while Tarquin was out getting food. Didn’t even give Tarquin a chance to stop him, or to come along.

They have Ashur.

(Keep reading on AO3)

“I wanna take you in the kitchen. Lift up your wedding dress someone was probably murdered in.”