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kinloch-warden · 1 year

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I've been having a lot of thoughts about magic in Dragon Age:

So mages in Dragon Age seem to have spell books right? Merrill mentions that Anders has a grimoire, Flemeth has one, the mage enemies in Inquisition have them, etc. So it stands to assume that most mages have them (maybe not lifelong apostates like the Hawkes but circle mages for sure, right?)

I think these spell books are a compendium of instructions for many spells that mages CAN learn and cast, not just the ones they already know how to cast.

Like in world leveling up would just equate a mage getting time to memorize new spells so that they could cast them without needing to look at the book (aka the instructions).

I think mages can cast most spells if they have their spell book with the instructions for the casting of the spell available. Obviously some people are going to struggle with certain schools of magic even if they have instructions for it (my warden is hopeless at casting entropy spells).

And then they have a core set of spells that they know well enough that they can cast quickly and easily in things like combat or emergencies (aka the spells on they have on their hot bar from leveling up).

So mage spell books are basically their vast collection of notes from years of apprenticeship and further study as an enchanter (for circle mages) or notes on spell casting that they've figured out themselves or learned from others (for apostates and such).

I also like to imagine that spells aren't as rigid as they are in, say, d&d. Mages can essentially twist reality to their will, which I feel lends a lot of mutability to the magic use. So while there is a template for certain spells in books, everyone is going to cast the spell a little different and each casting will probably be different based on what the mage wants the spell to do.

Like how DA2's cone of cold is a wide swath of ice spikes to impale enemies vs DAO's cone of cold being a concentrated and controlled blast that freezes enemies solid. I think mages can do both of these and more depending on what they want the spell to do/ what they need it for in the moment.

So compared to d&d where a spell like fireball is always going to have a 150 ft range, 20ft radius, do 8d6 damage etc. things are a lot looser. Mages draw on the mutability of the fade and bring it into the real world to cast spells, so it makes sense that spells are inherently mutable.

So the best mages are more like sculptors rather than rules lawyers :3

#dragon age #dao #da2 #dai #dragon age origins #dragon age 2 #dragon age inquisition #sorry if some of this doesn't jive with canon- I'm coming back after a 5 year break from playing these games so my lore might be rusty 😅#Meg's grimoire is scribbly and has lot of doodles in it #studying and copying doen spells for hours on end is boring work so you get little dragons squished in between the spells

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seeingivy · 9 months

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sweet nothing

satoru gojo x f!reader

**part of my satoru as taylor swift songs series

content: talks of grief, references to hidden inventory arc, satoru just being in love, megs + tsumiki babies

an: giving love to one of the best songs on midnights. also idk where I procured this emo at like 1 in the afternoon but here we are

You give him the book after the two of you settle Megumi and Tsumiki into bed, in the few minutes of peace you and Satoru get before you both nestle into your shared bed. You hike your knees to your chest as he picks it up, a confused look meeting yours when he reads the title.

“On Grief and Giving?”

“I took Miki and Megs to the bookstore today and I thought you might like it.”

“A book about grief? I’m not grieving.”

You look over at him - sparkling blue eyes rimmed with red, the usual sparkiness in his voice gone for the past few days, and no smothering, smushy cheek kisses every morning. You scoot over and he opens his arm up, tucking you into his side.

You whisper the words against his neck, your hands placed on his body, tracing out the lines of his biceps.

“He doesn’t have to be dead for you to be grieving him, Satoru. The person we knew is dead and the reaction is all the same.” you whisper.

Satoru frowns, his hand going back and forth on your lower back. You know he hates it, when you try to talk about it. When anyone does.

“Just read a few pages. See if it’s your thing or not, okay?”

He looks into your eyes for a few seconds before nodding, pressing a swift kiss to your cheek. And when you leave to drop Tsumiki and Megumi off at school the next day, he reads the first page and promptly stops.

Grief stays the same size. Life begins to grow around it.

He thinks it’s stupid.

from y/n

you: don’t forget to bring strawberries home for froggy cake please!!

satoru: okay love. anything else?

you: that big fat ass

satoru: got it :D

you: you ruined it.

Tomorrow marks two years since Tsumiki and Megumi have been staying with you. And of course, in your ultimate corniness, you’ve convinced all three of them to make a cake with you. And because you can never say no to Tsumiki and Megumi’s suggestions, you’re making a strawberry froggy cake. Because Tsumiki wants to try to make a little frog with frosting and Megumi just wants to eat the strawberries off the cake.

He makes a mental note to drop by the store on the way home from his meeting with the higher ups and then his parents. Maybe buy some balloons or flowers or something to accompany the strawberries you asked for. He knows you said it was supposed to be a lowkey thing, just the four of you eating the cake together, but your annoyance doesn’t beat your surprised face, so he must.

Satoru stops by the coffee shop first, making it a clear point to be late to his meeting with the higher ups for a very stupid reason, and gets a sugary caramel latte. He can hear your voice in his mind - berating him for picking something so sweet - but persists anyway.

And as he leans against the counter, waiting for the cup with Satoru scribbled on the side, he takes in the shop, watching the people going around. He had never been too big on people watching, but it’s Tsumiki's favorite pass time at the park, pointing out people's silly outfits or how close and far they’re sitting away from each other.

He spots two little girls, making little beaded bracelets in the far corner while their moms both nurse a warm cup of coffee in their hands. They have their hands wrapped around the porcelain, like they’re sequestering the heat from the glass.

On the left, a young couple, nervously twiddling their fingers and cracking their knuckles as they make conversation - cheeks glazed pink and wobbly voices marking their conversation. They’re both dressed nicer than usual, clearly trying to impress each other.

And in the far corner, leaning against the chair, is Suguru Getou.

He nearly sprints to the other side of the shop when he sees him. Short hair, a man bun tucked neatly at the back with weirdly misshapen bangs and brown eyes. He can feel his heart racing, pounding even and the perspiration growing on his clenched fists as he moves closer.

And when he reaches their table, standing way too close and looking straight into his eyes, he realizes that this is not Suguru Getou. Instead, a kid that bears far too much resemblance to him. But his eyes are rounder, his nose isn’t as pointy, and he is not a murderer.

Satoru takes off and runs straight out the store, forgetting about his cup of coffee that’s getting cold in the pickup area.

Yaga and the higher-ups' voices drone out in the back, as Satoru wracks his head.

Why did he think that kid was Suguru? Suguru is dead.

And it only now occurs to him, that for all intents and purposes, he really does think he’s dead. But he knows he isn't because Satoru let him walk free. Because he had to clench his fists and swallow hard to walk away the last time he saw him.

But the man he knows is dead. Your voice is echoing in his head.

“Satoru, are you paying attention?”

“I mean, not really.”

They all pinch their noses and groan, starting the lecture he’s sure they were giving him all over again. And it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before.

We want you to take more missions, there aren’t that many special grade sorcerers available. We want you to spend more time teaching, you're not doing enough. A long list of we want, we want, we want.

And when the higher-ups trail out of the meeting, disdainful looks on their faces, he turns back to Yaga, who frowns at him. The question is on his tongue. He can’t bring himself to ask it.

Do you ever think you ask too much of me?

He understands. He tries to. That he is the strongest sorcerer, that there’s no one like him. That he may have infinity, but he knows they forget the inner parts of him aren’t untouchable. That he’s still a person, that he’s still soft.

Tsumiki’s shiny report cards make him beam with joy, fighting with Megumi keeps him up at night, and getting to hold you at night is the only thing that keeps him grounded sometimes.

That sometimes the smell of blood never leaves his nose no matter how hard he scrubs in the shower, that when he sees a boy who looks like Suguru, the wound he thought he patched over feels like it’s freshly bleeding.

But that doesn’t matter, because…

“You should be taking more missions. People are getting spread really thin.” Yaga says, clearing the dust off his desk.

…Because he’s the strongest.

As he drags his feet to the Gojo estate, he can’t help but survey the crowd as he walks there. Three girls with the same hair color as Getou, two boys with the same eye color, five people the exact same height, but none of them are Suguru Getou.

When he reaches his parents house, pulling out the long black chairs he uncomfortably sat in for hours as a kid, his mind wanders even farther when they start talking.

This time, he’s imagining. Daydreaming. What it would be like if he wasn’t the one gifted with the limitless and infinity. If jujutsu sorcery didn’t exist.

That he’d have more time, be more free to do what he wanted. Make chocolate pancakes with you every morning, before the two of you walk together to drop off Megumi and Tsumiki to school. You’d work normal jobs - maybe he’d still be a teacher, a normal one - while you would do something that was entirely too impressive. Like saving lives or writing books or working at a non-profit.

You would both go to Tsumiki’s first school dance together and take so many pictures that she’d walk away all embarrassed, red in the face. He’d go to every single one of Megumi’s baseball games, you’d both be the parents that are way too decked out, way too enthusiastic about their kid.

Satoru would help you collect vinyls and when Tsumiki and Megumi were long gone and the two of you would put them on and dance in the kitchen humming. You’ll get wrinkles at the same time and your hair would gray so the two of you would look like pale-haired ghosts together.

He zones back into what his parents were saying, their bored eyes glazed on him. And he doesn’t pay attention, because it’s nothing he hasn’t heard before.

They want him to be around more, because he should know how to take over the estate. They want him to meet with other clans, so he can help them with other deals. A long list of they want, they want, they want.

And he walks out, he wonders if his parents want the life he imagined for himself, the way he wants it for Megumi and Tsumiki. If that was the life Suguru would have lived, if things were different.

When he makes it home, the sun is sinking into the sky against the house, the sky an array of golden hues. And when he pushes his key into the lock, he’s met with one smiling face and two grumpy faces.

You march over, flicking Satoru’s cheek as he moves closer to you, grabbing onto your hands.

“Those strawberries better be hidden in your pants or something.”

He feels his face pale as he remembers that in the loop of things he’s been thinking about all day, he forgot to get the strawberries for froggy cake. And the balloons and flowers and everything else he wanted to give the three of you.

“Satoru. We really wanted strawberry froggy cake.” you whine, reaching up to rest your hands on his face, squishing hard.

He reaches for your wrists, pulling them down from his face and looking down at your joined hands.

“Oh well, I’ll just go grab them with Megumi or something.”

He watches you pad back into the kitchen, not even phased by his shortcoming, as you place a hand in Tsumiki’s hair. She’s very focused on frosting her little frog in the center of the cake, her eyebrows knit in concentration. He makes his way in, leaning over the counter as he intently watches the three of you.

“What if we all go to the store and pick up strawberries?” you say, a hand resting in Megumi’s hair.

Megumi directs off of you and to Satoru, glaring at him.

“Did you seriously forget the one thing we wanted you to get?”

“Megs, don’t be mean. It’s always fun to go to the store together!” you respond.

“I’ll let you pick out anything you want, kid.” Satoru mentions.

Megumi gives him a satisfied smile, hopping off his seat to go yank his shoes on. Tsumiki follows suit and you give Satoru a glowing smile as you drag the three of them out, hands intertwined as you go to the store.

And at the end of the day, in the few minutes of peace the two of you get before the next day, Satoru’s staring at you, memorizing the curve of your nose and the shape of your eyes, and the way your hair falls against your face.

You bring a hand up, cupping the side of his face as you whisper in the dark.

“You okay, Toru?”

“What do you want from me?”

He watches you frown and pull back, your hand shaking against his face.

“Are you mad at me, Satoru?”

He brings his hand to the back of your neck, bringing you back closer. He’s resting his forehead against yours, savoring the warmth that gathers in the back of your neck on his hands.

“No. No, no. I just…I want to know what you want from me.”

He watches you scrunch your forehead, as you ponder the question.

“I mean. I’d really like it if you didn’t leave the toilet seat up all the time.”

He cracks a smile, rolling his eyes at you, as he reaches for your hand to bring your knuckles up to his lips. He leaves a soft kiss, noticing the sweet smile that spreads across your face when he does, and drops your hand.

“That’s not what I meant, Y/N.”

“I mean. I’m not sure what you mean. It’s just small things, Toru. Like we should go on walks together sometimes in the evening, I think that would be nice. And we should watch all the Harry Potter movies together, like do a marathon and not sleep in between. And I’d really like a big diamond ring, circular cut, six pronged with a golden band.”

Your hands, still resting against his face, are now meshed in with a spray of salty tears and a whimpering Satoru. You instinctively bring him forward, tucking his neck into your face as he cries into your shoulders.

His tears are coating your neck as you run your hand through the white tresses of hair, whispering against his forehead. Imploring for what’s wrong. He doesn’t respond and the tears subside after a few minutes, his frame still shaking in your hold.

“I’m not that attached to a golden wedding band, Satoru. I can do silver.”

He laughs, pulling his face away from your neck to run his hands through your hair.

“Gold is okay. I like gold.”

“What’s wrong, Satoru? Tell me.”

“Nothing. I just- that’s really all you want from me?”

“I mean, yeah. What else would I want?”

Satoru leans forward, pressing his lips against yours as he nearly cries into your face again, hanging off the ends of your lips. And you’re not sure what it means, what any of it means, but you let him - cry into your arms, hold you through the night, and make you breakfast the next morning.

In truth, Satoru cherishes the fact that everyone may ask the world of him, but all you’ve ever wanted from him are sweet, sweet nothings.

When you wake up the next morning, padding into the kitchen to make breakfast, you’re met with a box of strawberries, a sticky-note pressed on top. I love you, written in Satoru’s scribbly handwriting.

Life has grown around Satoru’s grief. And it looks like you.

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