#{ Blind Servant | Marcus }

[mrworldwide305dale]

❦ Wrath of the gods ❦

(Emperor Geta x reader)

❦

WARNINGS ETC.

slow burn, adopted!reader, reader is a ball of anxiety in this chapter, mentions of death, mention of past accident, very brief physical violence, period-typical misogyny, very little historical accuracy lmao, Geta is a prick, so is Caracalla, enemies to lovers

❦

There he was, standing before you in all his glory. Draped in expensive fabrics and a crown on his head, the dazzling metal reflecting the scorching hot midday sun and nearly blinding you. You had never wanted to bury yourself in the ground more than right at this very moment.

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You woke up with a headache, nothing unbearable but a nasty, barely-there feeling that lingered in the distance. Yawning, you pulled the cover off your body and made your way to the wooden cupboard containing all your clothes, except for the dirtied ones that your servants were, probably, cleaning at this very moment. Won't be a cheerful day, that's for sure, you thought to yourself. Based on the sun peeking through the wooden window covers, it was almost midday - you had overslept.

Talk about a feeling of impending doom. Little did you know what the gods had in store for you today.

Scoffing to yourself, you swiftly pulled fresh fabric on your body and with a little struggle tied a belt to your waist. Usually your ever-so-loyal servants were the ones to dress (and undress) you, but thanks to your "excessive" need for sleep, they had busied themselves with other housework. Your uncle and aunt would be waiting for you in the main hall, no, rather your aunt would be there, having prepared to shield you from the gnawing, scolding words of discipline from your uncle. "Oh leave it be, Marcus, the girl is no general. She has no need to follow such strict schedules", she would scoff at her husband.

Ah, the unbeatable and loved-by-everyone uncle of yours, Marcus Acacius. The general of the Roman army.

Regardless of your dislike towards his discipline, you were sure you wouldn't stop being grateful of his actions even after your soul roamed the ground no more. After his elder brother, your father, General Lucius, had heroically passed during one of the numerous conquests to expand the glorious empire, you had become parentless and homeless at the age of 13. Your mother had died during childbirth - a tragedy to the whole family. Marcus was then assigned the rank of General, and so forced to step into his late brother's shoes. Luckily, he felt nothing but pity for his favourite, and only, niece, and took it to his rights to legally adopt you.

And now here you were, almost eight years later, living a content life at your uncle's and aunt's manor. You did have servants, but you never really considered them as lesser beings. They were more like your only friends, with whom you could share your every thought.

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To your surprise, your dear uncle was nowhere to be found, nor was your aunt. As you roamed the house, you also noticed the absence of their servants. Weird, you thought. Usually the housekeepers were roaming around the corridors looking for anything to be taken care of, regardless of the time of day. Trying to shake off the uncanny feeling at the pit of your stomach, you made your way outside. Nobody at the courtyard, you remarked. Your second-best guess as to where everyone was hiding were the gardens. So, to the gardens you made your way with confident steps.

"Lady Y/N, good morning! Was your sleep satisfying?" you were greeted by Ilya, your most loyal servant.

"Good morning", you greeted her, and everyone else at work, with a slight hint of embarrassment in your voice. "I cannot help but wonder why I was allowed to oversleep while my uncle and aunt are out of the house..."

Ilya's face lit up from surprise. "Oh, my sincere apologies Y/N, we thought it would be best to let you get some additional rest. You know, you've been helping us too much for your own good lately."

A heartfelt laugh escaped your mouth while you jokingly shook your head. "My dear Ilya, I could spend the rest of my days here at the gardens with all of you and never be exhausted. I appreciate you letting me rest but please, next time make sure there's at least one resident awake and present." Ilya smiled at your last remark. That was your friendship - you could scold her about everything and she would always know you were not really being serious. Many a slave would sell their soul to have a bond like that.

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The scorching morning sun only burned more as the hours went by. You had been helping pick all the fruit from the beautiful luscious (as your aunt called them) trees and carry them in the kitchen in grand straw baskets. Pearls of sweat lingered on your forehead and temples, some breaking loose and travelling down your face, neck and all the way into the fabric of your tunic. You didn't mind, though, for helping with the housework had always been a passion of yours.

You were just starting to get rid of the lingering sense of doom, when one of the servants came running up to you. They stopped, panting, and pointed at the house. "My lady, I strongly advise you to go inside immediately. ...And change to a cleaner tunic."

Your gaze fixed on the house. What you saw towering over the rooftop made your stomach drop, so hard it almost hurt.

Banners.

Golden banners with embroidered leaves.

The symbol of the kings.

The emperors.

Instantly you started to internally panic, which was visible to outsiders more than you'd hoped. Ilya noticed your agitated state and, to be fair, was mentally shitting her undergarments herself.

"Y/N, we have to go now! There's no way you're presentable like this!“ she half-whispered, perhaps fearing that some royal guard was about to catch you, a high-born, doing mere housework. You looked down at your tunic which was already covered in patches of mud and sand. Silently you cursed the gods, picked up a basked of freshly-picked lemons and took off towards your house with Ilya by your side. You took a swift turn at a corner of a small shack, but something unexpected, no, something unexpected and terrifying made you abruptly stop in your tracks.

There he was, standing before you in all his glory. Draped in expensive fabrics and a crown on his head, the dazzling metal reflecting the scorching hot midday sun and nearly blinding you. You had never wanted to bury yourself in the ground more than right at this very moment.

Emperor Geta.

Staring at you, glaring down his stupidly chiseled nose.

At least you assumed the emperor before you was indeed Geta. He was quite tall, not a quality that people often associated with his elder brother, emperor Caracalla. Well, what difference would it make, you were doomed anyway.

He must have noticed the blood vanishing from your face and your expression changing from agitated to absolutely horrifyed, because his sneer, which looked like it hadn't left his face in a good while, slowly turned into a menacing smirk. You couldn't move, not an inch. Like a prey before a predator, you had been struck by the glorious aura of one of the immortal Imperatori.

You struggled to turn your gaze to Ilya and soon noticed that she and everyone else in your vicinity had their heads bowed, some even kneeling.

Right. You were surely going to die today.

Quickly you bowed your head and managed to utter out an apology, sounding quite pathetic. In the meantime, another man, looking very similar to the man you almost bumped to, appeared on his side. So I was right, this is Geta, you remarked while raising your head to see better. Caracalla really is short.

Emperor Geta's scowl-smirk soon turned, agonizingly slow, into a taunting, evil smile.

"Oh, is this all for me?" he taunted with a sincere tone, one you recognized as fake. He gestured to the basket of lemons still in your embrace. You forcibly moved your muscles and clumsily lowered the lemons to the ground. Not being able to utter a single word, your face burned partly thanks to the sun, partly because you wanted to vanish from the situation unfolding before your very eyes.

Caracalla's high-pitched, screeching giggle startled you, and you carefully eyed the elder Emperor.

Clearly he was enjoying making people feel like mice in his precence.

"We were looking for General Acacius's daughter, have you lot seen her by any chance?" he continued after his obnoxious burst of emotion. Ah, even better, you thought.

"I... I am the General's daughter", you managed to blurt out, "...adopted."

The silence following your shameful confession was then filled with Caracalla's familiar schreech-giggle, accompanied by one of Geta's - a bit deeper in tone but otherwise almost identical. You felt anger boil inside you. How dare they laugh at our faces?!

You knew exactly why they dared. They were the emperors of Rome, not just some mortal beings, like you. Not many individuals dared to question this divine course of, well, things.

"My my, you lot really look like you've been bathing in shit, don't you? Oh well, I suppose you don't even have mirrors here to reveal your sorry states to yourselves", Caracalla then barked out a sharp laugh, "And you! Not even Jupiter himself would recognize you as some high-born. And that nasty scar will surely scare away any potential courters, not that I believe you've had any", pointing at a faint scar on your neck, barely there but still visible.

Now almost shaking with frustration and the yearning of standing up to yourself, you couldn't keep quiet after hearing Caracalla's next words. He began targetting Ilya and the others behind you, having a laugh with his brother about their "dead" looks and every awful thing they would probably face during the years to come, so you cleared your throat and stepped forward.

"They may look like they've been shit on, but has lord Emperor ever noticed that he surely looks like a short cunt-"

A sharp, stinging pain made you quiet down. You instantly lifted a hand to cover your cheek and your nose, which had already began bleeding. With shocked, round eyes you looked up at emperor Geta, who in turn stared at your soul with wide manic eyes, hand still raised in the aftermath of the blow to your face.

"You could be hanged for that", he spoke calmly, a haunting coolness present in his voice. Shivers travelled down your back and cold sweat, if that could even occur in the heat, nauseatingly tickled the back of your neck. You felt blood run from your now-ruined nose down to your tunic, dotting the beige material with scarlet.

"I-I...I apologize, lord emperor." Still shocked by the sudden act of the younger ruler, you struggled to keep your eyes fixed to him. "...emperors", you quickly added, nodding towards the man you just insulted. You insulted an emperor. An emperor.

Caracalla loomed at his brother's side, eyeing you with confused, and very offended, eyes. His mouth opened and closed time and time again, as if he wanted to scream and shout every curse imaginable at you but was too appalled to do so.

You heard Geta snort and you turned your gaze back to him, fear seeping into your bones. But he only stared. Stared with that sneer on his lips, which you, in turn, stared at just a bit too long when a tongue darted out to wet them. Stop, you commanded yourself. Sadly, raising your eyes to meet his was no help to your confused state. You felt something else as well. It couldn't be excitement, could it?

Those menacing, stupidly beautiful, hazel eyes suddenly had you captured. You were absolutely horrified, adrenaline rushing through your veins.

Gods, you really were fucked.

"The General's expecting you, I suggest you hurry", the Emperor told you in a haunting, horrifying sing-sang voice. You blankly stared at the intimidatingly ...seductive (?) man in front of you, bowed absent-mindedly to both of the Emperors, separately, and off you went. Before you knew it, you were anxiously striding along a hallway inside your house with Ilya right behind you.

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"With all due respect, my lady - what were you thinking?!" Ilya whisper-shouted as you two hurriedly changed you to cleaner attire and simultaneously tried, with great effort, to stop your stubborn nosebleed. To be fair, you weren't really thinking at that moment. Nobody who really thinks their decisions through before acting them out, wouldn't see calling an emperor "a cunt" a very sensible thing to do.

"Gods...I don't know", you admitted, but then continued with frustration present in your words, "He insulted you, Ilya. He insulted all of you. I could bear him calling me hideous, but you? No, that won't do."

Ilya scoffed, even though a small smile dared to spread onto her lips.

"Well, you're still alive. That's probably the biggest blessing the gods could grant you today, so make sure to thank them thoroughly."

You nodded and sighed. The nosebleed had stopped, but there was slight bruising clearly visible on your cheek and nose. What would your uncle think? Or perhaps the Emperor himself had already gone and bragged about the incident? The only way to find out was to face both of them.

You made your way to the dining hall with hesitant steps. From the distance you could see your aunt and uncle conversing politely with Caracalla, Geta by his side, silently agreeing to whatever the topic of discussion was. When you entered the space, your aunt greeted you with a radiant smile which soon twisted into a horrified scowl upon seeing the state of your face.

"Oh my sweet girl, what has happened to your face?! Was it one of the soldiers? I swear to the gods I'll damn them to Pluto-" she began babbling while cradling your face. Your uncle Marcus looked equally as worried but stood by the Emperors's side, being their most trusted protector after all.

"It's fine, I'm fine, there's no need to worry", you hesitantly assured your aunt, grabbing her hands and moving them away from the bruises, still sensitive to touch. She was determined to know who had done this, though, and the cursing and threatening of the culprit seemed to never end. So you had to confess.

"It was Lord Emperor Geta, aunt", you shamefully admitted, staring off into the distance, or rather, the stone wall opposite you. The hall went dead silent - your aunt gasping, staring at you with wide eyes, the servants seemingly having turned to marble statues, and your uncle, oh you did not dare to look at him. Instead, you laid your eyes on the one who striked you. Geta's cold, manic eyes set onto yours and a piercing smirk revealed sharpish canines. Your breath hitched. Never had you felt so vulnerable, like a prey having been caught by a predator. The weirdly sultry look on Geta's face seemed to affect you more than you wished it would, because suddenly you could feel and hear your quickened pulse everywhere.

"What?" your uncle uttered out, eyes wide, completely baffled by the situation. You felt his gaze bore through your skull and you knew he was mad, fuming inside. Not at the alleged attacker, but you. You felt your aunt's hands, still holding yours, tighten their grip. You looked up at her, scared, but you were only met with a look of genuine concern. With a hint of anger, though - what could you expect?

"My lords, I-...words cannot describe how deeply I am sorry for this, this is absolutely inacceptable and I will make sure my daughter will be met with punishment according to the severity of her actions-" your uncle began apologizing, not even knowing what you had done. You listened calmly, or as calmly as you could, and kept your eyes in the ground in front of you. You hated it, bowing down to the rodent of a man who you had offended, but deep down you knew this was all you could do to prevent your aunt and uncle facing unbearable consequences.

"Fear not, General Acacius, there's no need for any more action. She's been punished by the divine hand, don't you think that's already enough? Surely we wouldn't want this beautiful evening to go to waste?" Hearing Geta speak made you want to throw up from all the tension and stress you had been dwelling in. At the same time you couldn't believe what your ears were receiving - he was really letting you go so easily.

Patting your uncle's shoulder with his divine hand, Geta smiled, and what a devious smile it was. You glanced at Caracalla, who in turn scowled at you, like a child who realized things wouldn't go as they had anticipated. What a brat, you thought. It was funny, since he was around the same age as you, or so you assumed.

You were pulled back to reality by your uncle demanding you to tell what you had done to deserve such punishment. "Uncle, I don't think it's relevant anymore, I mean, the situation's already over", you argued with an anxious voice. However, your arguments were no good when Geta decided to open his mouth once again.

"She called my brother a short cunt", he said and surprisingly, couldn't hold back a giggle, which resulted in him getting punched in the arm by the said short cunt. Before your uncle could get a word in, he continued with a barely composed tone, "after he had insulted her and the servants."

Was he defending you? You couldn't be sure, it might as well have been him taunting you. You hated how he made you feel weak, made your mind spin around at a rapid pace. You sunk into your thoughts and didn't really pay attention to the following conversation. Something about the upcoming dinner and the emperors' stay at your manor. Oh, right. The reason they were here the first place. After a successful conquest led by General Acacius, the emperors wanted to celebrate by paying a visit to your uncle's home, staying a fortnight. He had told you, you remembered, but alas the royal pair had decided to show up earlier than expected. That was why your day had seemingly been straight from the underworld.

And they would be staying. Too long for your liking. You doubted you were even going to make it through the dinner without dying.

Gods, did you despise him.

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A/N: okay guys, this is my first ever (proper) fanfic, I hope you like it 😩🙏🏻 Not much happening in this chapter, I know, but I'll be making a second part asap (I didn't want the first chapter to be way too long lmao) so your patience will be rewarded. Don't mind the grammar mistakes etc., English isn't my first language 🥹👍🏻

[jollmaster]

Did Charlie have an emo phase in your au?

2. Does Lucifer have an obsession with ducks?

3. What are the dynamics between the Vs?

hi again!

Charlie's phase?

• Charlie had "wow I'm a noblewoman with servants and teachers" and "eww I don't want to get married" phases

• she grew up in the XVIII century, there was no emo then lmao

• besides, the time of the main events is the second half of the 1990s: emo is already existent, but that's within mortals somewhere in California + Charlie is already 250+ years old, mature lady

Lucifer's obsession

• he collects human skulls

• yep

• Lucifer digs skulls out of the ice of Cocytus, makes bowls and cups, drinks wine from them and talks with them during the drinking

• his favorite cups are made from the skulls of Judas Iscariot, Marcus Junius Brutus and Gaius Cassius Longinus (little reference to The Divine Comedy)

and about Vs (I'll make schemes for overlords too, with them)

Valentino

• treats Vox in a cynical manner and scoffs at some of his ideas, including the idea of cyborgization and sinners' separation, but listens him attentively

• treated Velvette with disdain at first (like, "beautiful women shouldn't work with brains when she has so perfect body"), but now he respects her... in own manner, of course

• often tries to touch Vel to feel her face/body/hair with burned fingers

Vox

• considers Valentino's business (and Valentino too) as dirty, but profitable resourse, always says what he thinks right to the Val's blind face

• they're in a strange friendship-like bonds

• at first Vox thought that Velvette was too young (somewhere around twenty-five or less), but from the beginning recognized her cold mind and cold heart

• the most distant of Vs because of eastern mentality, but knows how to talk to people

Velvette

• Valentino is physically repulsive to her on every level: Vel can't even sit next to him and feels a mixed feeling of disgust, pity and condescension when Valentino touches her hair

• Valentino epitomizes her fear of being forced into prostitution (she was a model; many models have been forced into it)

• thinks that Vox is weirdo, even here, in Hell

[thetormentita]

ad astra per aspera - prœmium

Dulce et decorum est pro cor cupiditatis mori.

Pairings: Lucilla x General Marcus Acacius.

A/n: our sweet julia cannot imagine how much power she holds in her hands.

Warnings: mentions of abuse and slavery.

Rating: Mature (+16)

Tagging list: @maegelletargaryen

Whispers. No matter where she goes, where she is, she can constantly hear whispers around her.

But she is used to it.

There was a time where people just ignored her, where her father had just been a governor and they all lived far from Rome and its claws. Cherished by their parents, the four of them knew happiness even before their father fought for the Empire and his legion claimed him as Emperor. Even today she can hear their yells, see all those men swear fealty to their leader, ready to die for him if asked to. Even Gaius, her eldest brother, her protector, had offered himself willingly to serve their father.

How much she misses him.

“Domina.” It takes Hala three times to call her attention. When she turns to face her, the warmth of those dark eyes is almost soothing. “We could postpone this if you are not ready,” the woman suggests gently, her voice carrying a note of concern. She is one of the few who remains by her side, a loyal servant from her childhood.

“No” a lazy hand reaches the woman’s, caring, and a soft smile upon her lips. “Let me at least do something to be remembered of.”

The servant nods, understanding flashing in her eyes. "As you wish, Domina."

They move through the corridors of the imperial palace, footsteps echoing softly on the marble floor as they reach their destination, her own guard observing them as they pass. The only thing the late emperor left to his only daughter: her own guards among the Praetorians.

Julia knows she has to be swift, because the oncoming arrival of her brothers brings high chances of them being in the mood to make their best efforts to throw her reputation to the ground and spit on it again and again or even harm her physically, their thirst for power making them blind to kinship and honor.

As they approach the library, she takes deep breaths to steady her nerves, knowing that she could only rely on her wit and her looks to make her way out of the hell she lives. Past the door awaits Cassius Dio, consul and close friend of her late father, who quickly stands up and bows to her as she approaches him, relishing on the warm of the Greek’s hands upon hers as a part of his greetings to her. A quick look towards her companion is enough for the Syrian to stay vigilant.

“I am most honored, princess. The blood of your father runs thick on your veins.”

Julia tries her best to be nice to that man, whose eyes witnessed the chaos preceding Emperor Septimius Severus’ reign, because her instinct tells her that he is different than other politicians, perhaps even trustworthy in a world where trust is a rare commodity. His words, though flattering, carry a weight of sincerity and melancholy, both of them missing the days when Septimius had all the power in his hands.

“Our roots are important, and we must not forget our mistakes if we do not want to repeat them. Take all you need from this library, and, I beg you, make sure we all remember.”

She wants to talk. She wants to cry for help. Despite her young age, Julia Septimia feels the heavy burden of her lineage and the responsibility it entails. But as she looks into the eyes of the man before her, she finds an unexpected glimmer of hope and understanding. It is as if he sees not just the daughter of a once powerful family but a young woman burdened with a legacy that is both a gift and a curse. His gaze is kind, devoid of the judgment and expectation that have followed Julia all her life.

“Princess” Cassius licks his lips before continuing, his voice steady and reassuring, “forgive my forwardness, but I see the weight you carry on your shoulders, the silent battles you fight every day. You are not alone in this journey.” as he talks, she notices his dark eyes upon the gash on her lower lip, still fresh from the last slap of her eldest brother, his golden ring tearing the soft flesh as it had struck her. Julia feels a pang of vulnerability at that moment, a sensation she is not accustomed to allowing herself to experience, especially in the presence of someone she barely knows. “People constantly seek for somebody to put their eyes on, and it is you.” she raises her eyebrows, silent, trying to gauge what exactly he means by those words. His gaze, though intense, does not feel threatening. It is as if he is trying to reach out to her, to pierce through the walls she has meticulously built around herself. His voice carries a weight of sincerity that is hard to ignore. “I saw it, princess. At the amphitheater, the circus, the forum… You a are not your brothers, and the people knows.”

Her hands tremble slightly as he talks, and her gaze goes to the floor as she fidgets with the trim of her tunic.

“Shut up.” she finds herself hissing, her voice barely above a whisper, a mixture of vulnerability and defiance. “Shut up or you could be punished. It is treason to even think about it and you know it well.”,

His expression softens, the intensity in his eyes replaced with something akin to compassion. He steps close, reducing the space between them to mere inches. “And what is life without a little risk?” he asks gently, his voice a soothing murmur that contrasts sharply with the tension in the air. “To live in fear is no life at all. We were not born to cower under the shadow of tyranny, to silence the truth that beats within our hearts. Yes, it is a risk, perhaps the greatest we will ever take. But consider what is at stake –our freedom, our rights, the very essence of what we are.”

His words hang in the stillness, a challenge and an invitation all at once. The conviction in his gaze is unwavering, a beacon in the turmoil that surrounds them.

“You are versed in history and philosophy, speak Greek, Latin and Punic and appreciate the arts. Imagine little Fulvius growing up with his aunt by his side guiding him. No terror, no madness, only peace and prosperity.”

His left hand goes to her arm, and she flinches at the contact, not from fear, but the intensity of the moment. Her mind races, considering the weight of hi thes words. The future he paints is one of enlightenment and education, a stark contrast to the chaos that has become their reality. The very thought of little Fulvius, with his curious eyes and eager mind, much like his father, fills her with a sense of purpose she hadn’t realized she was missing. She imagines him wandering the halls of a grand library, his little fingers tracing the spines of books filled with the knowledge of ages past. His laughter, pure and untainted by the world’s harsh truths, echoing through the corridors, a beacon of hope in a time of uncertainty.

If only Gaius was here to protect his son.

“Take what you need and leave” she takes two steps back, pretending as she always does, the fragile doe surrounded by beasts ready to flay her. “I opened the doors of the home of my family to you, do not make me regret it.”

She knows well how to pretend, how to make herself look more docile and vulnerable than she truly is. This has always been her greatest defense, her ability to deceive those who would underestimate her strength and resolve. Her voice, though soft and trembling, carries an undercurrent of steel, a testament to the fire that burns within her, hidden from view but ever-present. Her eyes, while glistening with unshed tears, hold a glimmer of defiance, a silent challenge to those who dare to confront her.

The only thing the consul does is to bow respectfully, masking his skepticism, before she turns and goes to the door, her movements graceful yet determined. The consul watches her, a flicker of doubt crossing his face as he contemplates the true extent of her power, the strength hidden beneath her serene exterior. She pauses at the threshold, casting a lingering look over her shoulder, one that speaks volumes without a word being uttered. She gives herself a moment before leaving him alone, calling the attention of one of the servants waiting nearby. With a subtle gesture, she instructs the servant to bring refreshments for the consul, an action that carries an undercurrent of command and assurance that does not go unnoticed to Cassius.

…

The absence of the sweet Julia Septimia is clearly noted, quick and silent murmurs begin to run along the box as the ludus keep going to distract the population and its rulers.

“Maybe the lad is unwell. You know how much she cares for him.”

Lucilla’s eyes go to the empty space behind the emperors, who clearly are busy with their amusement, leaving any worry aside. They had always carried their sister with them to any kind of spectacule, a silent reminding of the sanctity of family, of the strenght that seems to beneath the remaining children of Septimius Severus, and rarely had shown themselves without her if they have had the chance.

“Allow me to not believe it.” she mumbles, her hand searching his as her eyes remain fixed on that empty space.

If only she had been the one chosen by Septimius.

“Allow me to wonder why you worry that much about her, dear.”

She knows. She has been in that place, the dutiful sister of a madman, exhibited like a prize for the eyes of Rome to look up to.

She was allowed to marry and escape. Julia is not. There had been a number of men who had asked for her hand, ones for love, others for power and gold, and every single one of them had ended sent to the confines of the Empire or dead or just vanished from earth. For a moment she wonders what would have been of her if it weren’t for her general.

“I know what it feels like.” she mumbles, only for him to hear, her voice barely rising above the whispers of the elite that surround them.

[deathmimedream]

The Murderdolls Muse Box:

The muses:

New:

Ghost/demon verse:

1. Zenead (Z, Zed, zen, zennie ) @alastors-radioshow Alastor’s water ghoul servant, usually the one sent on errands topside, he’s rather good at glamours, so it’s rare to see him wear the same disguise twice unless it’s a favorite.

Born albino to a small water ghoul tribe, they were all enslaved by Astaroth, later to become the band, hellraisers. Later, Zen was the only survivor of his family’s massacre at Astaroth’s hands.

Instead of horns in his unglamoured form, he has bone ridges along the sides of his head, and long, silky white hair, with gold-green eyes. Usually looking serious, it’s said his laughter sounds like rain striking a glass wind chime.

Though most ghouls are called by a name relative to an element, Zen has been named after a former priest who held blind loyalty to the demon prince. Zen has of late, become rather rebellious.

He once tended the water garden, his master’s meals, and was once the keyboardist for the Hellraiser’s band Astaroth was lead singer for.

Now he’s helping keep Al’s studio tidy, running errands, and anything else his new master requires of him.

He has hydromancy, and water manipulation, but it’s harder for him, as he’s adapted to his icy home. Ice is more his forte.

Zen’s photo at end of post

2. thanks to a mutual who got me into the Ghost project, I am adding another muse:

Papa Emeritus III (Terzo)

I’m hoping to do him justice. But you can still ask for him, just keep in mind I’m still getting through the lore. So forgive me a few mistakes as I ease into this new muse. I’m playing him as pre- and post death (alive via spell) so let me know which version you like when you request him. (Post death photo pictured)

3: Cardinal Copia/ Papa Emeritus IV.

Both versions available. Multiple timelines available. I shall do my best with trying my hand at this sweet little papa, who I have also fallen for. (I’m looking at you, @alastors-radioshow this is your fault! Lol)

4. Oracle (Quintessnce ghoul)

He’s a seer, summoned by Abbot Marcus Vitel, to a small, quiet abbey in Tuscany.

The abbot had wanted healer, to aid in caring for the local villagers (who had converted to worshiping Lucifer) when they became ill or injured.

Instead, he got a young, unstable seer.

Very unstable, it seemed.

He had visions, and they were helpful, but often vague, confusing, or sometimes eerily accurate.

All well and good, except the visions caused Oracle to pass out for their duration, and wake up with splitting migraines, some lasting days, and often a bloody nose or tears.

The visions appeared at irregular times, which meant Marcus was constantly at his ghoul’s side to make sure he wasn’t falling and hurting himself, or…after one incident, dropping out of a tree on someone either.

The lavender-haired ghoul tends to travel with his master, but tends to stray from public events.

Apparently too many humans around can trip a vision.

Aside from his foremost ability, Oracle can heal, not mental damage, but physical. He sadly, cannot heal himself of injury, however.

He can teleport, but longer distances can trigger a strong vision, and wears him out for some time.

His face bears three claw marks, from his left cheek to just over the bridge of his nose, and his right eye is missing. The marks were present upon summoning, he lost the eye when defending Marcus from an angry village outsider.

It was the only time Oracle had unglamoured of his own will in public.

Thankfully, the villagers were sympathetic, and saw Oracle as a ‘dark Angel ‘ sent by Lucifer to save Marcus from death.

Though Oracle has Marcus, he is the only ghoul at the small abbey, and still rather lonely.

(Oracle has recently discovered his beloved ‘father’, Marcus, has been Kit trafficking topside with kidnapped ghoul children. He would summon them and hand them to lesser clergy wanting ‘docile and naturally loyal’ ghouls. He’s pretty messed up over it)

#update! @iomadachd ‘s Cowbell has EATEN Marcus in one storyline.

Photo

5. :C A L I B E R : H Y D E:

A return of one of my oldest muses, remade for a new setting once more!

8’5” of impure, frightening muscle, claws, teeth, and power, he’s quite a mystery.

Is he some sort of Ghoul? A demon? A genetic mystery of humanity? All three?

He’s not one to talk much on it.

Despite his outer unglamoured appearance, Caliber is a very gentle giant, well, unless he has reason to be angry.

(He likes to cook, and comfort over fight, really)

He can utilize infernal magics easily, as well as the separate elements, but he’s best at fire, and Earth.

He’s well versed in combat of multiple styles, and no one is certain how old he is, but it’s rumored he appeared during the earliest years of the Church’s founding, and has ‘protected the faith when, and where needed’ for possibly centuries.

He hasn’t stayed in one place long, usually moving to where he is needed. To avoid trouble, he’s sometimes traveled with other clergy and pretended to be a ghoul, or actually clergy.

Other times he will vanish for decades, and be merely a fairy tale.

There’s as many rumors as stories about him too::

Other rumors include:

:He’s the child of Lucifer and a ghouleh he fancied several centuries ago.

: he was a ghoul summoned by the oldest papa of the church, and bound to the faith, rather than a single person

: he’s just a realllly fucking big, old as hell, ghoul

: he’s a tamed cryptid

: he IS Lucifer in disguise

:he’s a child of Lillith and a ghoul

:a fallen Angel

There’s sooo many. sometimes he will entertain himself and let you believe one or more are correct.

But he’s certainly not what you think.

Photo: glamoured, and unglamoured (add bat wings)

6: O M E G A

(I am once AGAIN blaming @alastors-radioshow for ANOTHER Ghost muse!)

Say hello to another gentle giant, Terzo’s most fan-lusted after Quintessence ghoul, Omega!

He’s sometimes overprotective of his papa, and worries a lot about him and his band mates.

Laid back, and gentle until you really upset him, Omega is sort of a big brother/protective surrogate dad type to both Terzo, and the other ghouls.

He just wants everyone safe and happy, yeah?

Holy shit there’s more!

7: Cinque

8: Lucifer Morningstar

9: Viencenzio Camilo Imperator

10, 11, and 12: coffeshop random ghouls:

13: Cardinal Shoia:

::::14,15,1617:::

I am adding:

Swisstopher (Copia’s wild and crazy multighoul)

Rain (Copia’s sweet and gentle water ghoul)

Mountain: (Copia’s earth ghoul, the sweetest and kindest of giants)

Cumulus: (Copia’s Air ghoulette, everyone’s big sister and den mama)

::: HAZBIN HOTEL::::

Remington Lafayette: male. A stag style demon with stunted bat wings, one antler is broken, the other a double spike. albino and rarely speaks. He’s petite and frail, looking closer to 15, when he’s actually about 19. Part of a cult that worshipped Alastor, killed running from an angry mob with tracking dogs. He’s ACE, and will not do anything except platonic.

::Multiveresal::

1. Dream.

A childlike redhead with milk pale skin, ears hidden in his hair, and tail rarely seen. His usual attire is a motley of teal, green, purple and black for his midnight circus performance clothing. Chirps, purrs, and trills like a vocal Maine coon, But often talks in third person. Human speech isn’t his native language. He’s light on his feet, and an aerialist, seemingly sweetly innocent.

He’s been occasionally been noticed devouring people in a feral, brutal manner, but often will avoid most people stronger than himself.

Dream is mainly Hazbin, but like the rest of the hellish midnight Circus, is multiverse.

2. Arkady Villisonne

A tall,slim figure in dashing attire that resembles a gothic ringmaster of sorts.

Hair to his waist, white as snow and eyes like black pits in his head, his abilities as a demon make all but another demon see him as their ideal partner.

Be it in love, or crime, he’s always just what you’re looking for.

Often mistaken for a mere vampire, Arkady is in fact an incubus, hence the visual representation he portrays to most. But! He’s ACE. No interest in sexual relations at all.

Years of research and hard work have made him able to chose when and where the circus travels, but it cost him his wings and horns. His tail is usually hidden, wrapped around his waist, and he controls the veil of magic protecting his circus.

If he realllly likes you, you’ll never leave the grounds.

3. Bacardi:

Another incubus, this one with rainbow hair, and all the charm his sibling, Arkady lacks.

He dresses mainly like a fairy tale Prince, and is the circus sword swallower, and knife thrower.

His performance gear makes him look less princely and more like an androgynous masked Venetian jester.

He’s actually big on consent, forming relationships prior to romance, and very much a Prince Charming.

Photos:

two of Zenead(albino water ghoul) Tiny little Remi! (Hazbin mini deer demon with wings)

[pipelinelaserraygun]

MUST 🙉 HEAR❣️

Wise 🦉👑 Owls BUILD their Foundations upon the 🪨��️ Rock of Ages, who cannot be uprooted.

God is NOT a 🧥 turncoat.

Stop 🛑 FLYING 🦯🦮 blind.

Stop 🛑 FLYING 🦯🦮 blind.

Servants of the devil 👺👺should NEVER be 💺 sitting comfortably, on Oscar night or any other time of day/eve.

☎️🦇 Call for BACKUP 👊🏾❣️

You need special ♿ access to approach the 🕎 Giver.

🕎✝️🛐 THROUGH Jesus, 👑👰🏻 we gain access to the Father of Lights.

Mrs. Christ: YOU ⚖️ have a right to Legal representation.

[ssatxr-archive]

@loveleftbehind​

~~

“...Humans really just fuck anything that moves huh?”

[ssatxr-archive]

ethereallyloved

Arguing with a small child like that was probably pointless. Terra already had made up her mind and wasn’t about to let go! She had caught him and therefore she was the one in charge here!

“ Mama Kwitty is nicer…you’re loud…raaawr! ”

More growling! Yep, she indeed had declared him her rival now! It was her mission to defeat him!

Marcus gives yet another scoff, rolling his eyes only a little. Well, that was certainly an improvement! At the growl, he raised an eyebrow. “I can play the loud game...if you can growl properly.” His voice was teasing, but not in his usual tone. It seemed much more toned down, much friendlier. He didn’t have the heart to be actually mean to the child.

“Tell you what, I’ll teach you and we truce. Deal?”

@ssatxr

Cont.

Terra tilted her head to the side at the question but soon understood what he meant! She just pointed behind her and Nimat was indeed nearby, albeit talking to a small gremlin...they were most likely haggling about prices. At least that gave Terra time to play!

So without hesitation she just waddled up to him and began to cling to his leg!

" My Kwitty! I caught you! "

[apinchofm]

An Offer From A Gentleman

AU: Marcus and Phoebe

Phoebe meets Marcus at a ball. The problem is, she isn't supposed to be there. This leads them down a long road to each other.

Phoebe froze upon seeing Marcus. He was just as handsome as he was two years ago. Even more so when defending her against Benjamin Fuchs' advances.

Marcus smiled, seeing her in her new uniform, "Hello, Phoebe. I do hope that my aunt doesn't drive you mad."

"No problem. It was sort of my fault for getting you fired." Marcus said, "Even if Benjamin is a prick."

"Um, no. My Lady is very generous and kind," Phoebe said, quickly bowing. "Thank you, again."

Freyja walked by, "Language, my boy. Phoebe, we need to go to the modistes."

Phoebe smiled at Marcus, "Good day, Mr de Clermont."

"Marcus, please." She shook her head with a smile.

He said the same thing two years ago in a ballroom she shouldn't have been in.

....

"Phoebe!"

Marcus had been spending more and more time around her. He liked her kind and frank nature. Not to mention she was witty, beautiful.

"Mr de Clermont." She greeted with a smile.

"Please call me Marcus," Marcus insisted, "I was wondering if you would like to go for a walk with me. I, um, asked my aunt and she said it would be okay."

"I wouldn't want to-"

"I want to show you some of my proper art. Not my sketches." Marcus said.

"Your sketches are brilliant." Phoebe insisted.

"As are yours. And my studio is away from prying eyes, so you needn't worry about your reputation. There is also a garden." He knew that she loved flowers.

"You will not relent, will you?"

"No," Marcus smirked and she smiled with a fond eye roll.

...

The more time they spent together, the more they fell for each other. They sketched, read and walked together. She was the most honest woman he had met, once he brought her out of her shell.

Marcus, however, still couldn't get the woman he had met at Freyja's ball and his vow to her. But he was in love with another woman now.

"Would you be my mistress?" Marcus proposed and she removed her hands from his.

"No. What do you think I-," She scoffed and shook her head,

"I love you." Marcus said, "But I don't know if we could marry. I don't want to lose you,"

"I am a virgin!" Phoebe blurted out. Marcus froze. God, he was an idiot.

"I must return to your aunt's, Mr de Clermont," Phoebe said, colder than her usual tone.

....

Marcus draped across down on the chaise in his aunt's drawing-room. His father was visiting today, as the children wanted to play with Phoebe.

"What is the matter?" Matthew asked.

"If you wanted to marry from another class, I wouldn't object. Neither would Diana and your mother made me promise to allow you your happiness." Matthew said a sincere smile on his face.

"Thank you, father." Marcus' eyes shifted to the garden, seeing the twins playing blind man's bluff with Phoebe.

Matthew smiled, "She is so good with the children, isn't she?" but noticed Marcus' face fall in realisation.

"I have been an utter fool," Marcus muttered. He stood quickly and ran out into the garden.

"Phoebe, may I speak with you? It is important." Marcus demanded, grabbing her hand.

"Of course." He took her to a private part of the house, where they often met away from prying eyes.

"What is the matter?" Phoebe asked.

"We have met,"

"I-I don't know what you mean."

"My aunt's masquerade ball. It was you." Marcus said, "We danced and chatted all night and then you ran away. And all this time you didn't say a word. Why?"

"Because I'm not just a servant." Phoebe said tearfully, "I am a bastard. My father is Lord Edward Taylor."

Marcus nodded. He had remembered the rumours but didn't care too much for them.

"Why are you a maid?" It wasn't that he was against paid employment, but most children - bastards and legitimate - were always provided for.

"After he died, my stepmother and sister denied me everything that my father had left for me. and when she found out I got your attention." Phoebe explained, "She kicked me out and so, I entered paid employment."

"Do you still... love me?" Marcus asked. If she did not, he would let her go. It would hurt like hell, but he always respected her.

"I do. Which is why I could not be your mistress. I couldn't bear our children growing up with the shame that I did," Phoebe explained.

"I am so sorry. I was a fool." Marcus apologised. He was surprised she didn't utterly despise him.

"Phoebe. Will you be my wife?" Marcus asked and her eyes widened.

"Don't be cruel."

"I am not. Be my wife."

Phoebe shook her head, "You could have anyone-"

"Yes. And I want you. I want the girl I met in a ballroom who has had my heart since. The girl I have been painting and sketching. The woman who adores my aunt and my younger siblings." Marcus said, grasping her hands, "I want her to be my wife. Please?"

Phoebe giggled at the last 'please;. He looked so sincere, "Will we still sketch together?"

"Yes. Will I be able to finally paint you, as your husband?" Marcus asked and she nodded. He had been begging for months. He kissed her gently.

"Yes!" They pulled away from each other and saw the twins, Jack, Freyja, Diana and Matthew watching.

"You also get them too. I hope it doesn't put you off," Marcus joked.

"Never," Phoebe replied.

[magpie-to-the-morning]

WIP Update

Because I like to keep track of things somewhere lol. Now with links thanks to my hype-woman in residence @keeper0fthestars

Recently completed

Sundress Season P3 - Frankie x Reader

Come Back to Me Prequel - Highwayman!Din x Reader

In from the Cold - Whiskey x F!Bartender

Rough Draft

In from the Cold Part Two - Whiskey x F!Bartender

Untitled - Oberyn x F!Knight x Ellaria

Come Back to Me Series - Highwayman!Din x Reader

Very Rough Draft

Insatiable - wolf shifter Santi x Frankie x Reader

Sundress Season P4/Snowed In - Frankie x Reader

Untitled - Whiskey x Reader at a Fetish Flea Market

Basically in the Notes and Moodboard Stage

Pull the Blinds P4 - Javi x Reader

Sirena - Pero x F!Mermaid

All the Fuss - Javi x Reader x Freckles

Balm - Servant of Namaah Marcus x Reader

Touch - Din Djarin x Reader

Will Probably Only Exist in My Brain

Javi x Reader X-Files AU

Actually converting any of the Mae RP threads to fic (My OC in the world of The Mandalorian)

[amai-no-ura]

Burnt Lion-Snake Journal: I

So, before I dive into my journal. I'd love to introduce myself first.

My name is Marcus (it's my English name, since my language is Thai, it's impossible to transcribe my name with Latin alphabet but in IPA it's /tɤj˥˨/ anyway, just call me Mark). I'm a fourth year undergrad currently struggle to get myself out of toxic environment.

It's not always too awful, but lately it has been almost downright hell. My family lives in two separate houses, one with me, my aunt and grandparents, another with my mum and stepfather. The thing is, my house is full of bedridden people.

Two of my grandparents are currently bedridden, one has been bedridden recently, a side effect of operation, and he will likely get better soon. Another person is my grandmother, she has been bedridden for months now. My aunt is almost-crippled. She can walk and do things, but due to spinal injury and loads of chronic medical conditions (diabetes, blood pressure, heart disease, side effects of spinal injury), she can't work and basically has to stay home 24/7.

The thing is, I can't go anywhere too. And I'm stuck here with all of them.

I have to take care of them, even if I loathe doing it. I have to be emotional punching bag for everyone. You, see, in my culture, the youngest person has to be 'filial' and 'grateful' to the elders. But that is just not who I am. I cannot give blind respect to anyone. My grandfather is a loser who cannot accomplish anything in life only to abuse his daughters and cheat on his wife as well as being a miserable gambler. My grandmother is a delusional woman who thinks she is SO important and LOVED by her friends. She orders everyone around, cannot stand a slightest disobedience. And has that odd way of thinking children are parents' obligatory servants (slaves). My aunt is slightly better, but she is still one of the most infuriating, holier-than-thou kind of person ever. My aunt treats every interaction as powerplay and she will do everything to stay on top.

My mother is the worst, by far, she thinks she is the smartest and most misunderstood person in the room. Talking to her is like walking around the eggshell. She is very sensitive and everyone has to agree with her for her to feel safe. She loves organizing everything and assume what is 'best' for everyone (even if it's not).

On a typology note my grandfather is ESTP 9w8, my grandmother ESTJ 3w2, my aunt ESFP 8w9. My mum is ESFJ 3w2. And me ESTJ 1w2.

Now imagine having to take care of all of them while being bombarded by emotional drama 24/7. I can't complain too, because complaining = being irredeemably evil. Asserting my own wants and needs mean I am being selfish. Everything I do will be either criticized or reflected as who I am (E.g. being irredeemable, being a waste of the world). Many times my aunt (who raises me) said she should have murdered me when I was infant if she knew I'd grow up to be 'irredeemable bastard' and 'selfish bitch without empathy'. Then she'd link my sexuality (as slightly effeminate gay) as a problem, linking me to the 'slut, prostituting' stereotype. She said I'm not better than those drug-addicts - trash.

She, the very person who raises me, thought I was a monster.

My grandmother will order me and I either have to cater to her every whim for faces drama. She cannot understand why I wouldn't want to be wiping her shit or kowtowing to her will. She can't understand why I am not being grateful for the opportunity to 'return the favor'. My mum will not stand me asserting myself. Oh, not to mention, she'd never wipe her parent's shit under the pampers, but can't stand if I would feel bad about it.

I have no one by my side. Not a single soul will stand with me. My aunt will never side with me, that's for sure. My own parents thought I was a monster. I can't confide in anyone. My aunt views being emotional or needing support as a weakness (typical 8w9 thing). She will never listen to me, because she will judge me faster than I can ever say anything. Either as 'you are wrong and evil, get the fuck out of my sight' or 'wimpy shithole'). My mum, duh, she will use my words against me later. Friends? I have none. Maybe only one guy I can count as a friend. But while he does support me emotionally, it's my issue and not his. So, it feels wrong to impose upon him.

I am alone in a world where everyone will turn their fangs against me.

I have ambitions. I want to go to Canada and build my own fishing company. Then I will use the resources to support every communities who need it. the ethnic groups who have to fight for their inherent rights, the migrants who are displaced from their war-torn homeland, the people who have no place to return to. The water, the sea, the forest that have been in pain and suffering from our greed. I want to build a place for all of them. I know, deep down, that I have enough capacity to accomplish it. I'm very confident I can find a way to claw my way up and accomplish my dream. But right now, I cannot see a way out.

All I can see is a morning of pampers, shit, medicines, grimy bodies then chores and hospital in the afternoon and a fight in the evening before I sleep. I can't even work on my projects and assignments. I have lost all my drive. The day after tomorrow, I have a big presentation and this Friday I have to hand in my final draft of Thesis. But I still can't muster energy to do a single thing. My mind is blocked. I can't think of the ideas I usually do. I can't muster up energy to do anything.

But you know what is worse? I lost all my ambitions.

Personally, I love fighting and I'm quite good at it, albeit been out of practice for 3 years now. I love the feeling of just me and the opponent. Now, all I can think of is to just quickly graduate and escape this place forever. Maybe living in a rundown apartment, spending my day in illegal fighting rings (which exist in my country, ranging from friendly match to brutal fights in a pit with people gambling). Fight, eat, sleep, fight, eat, sleep. Forgetting all that I used to want. Or maybe wandering about, doing nothing and just live. I cannot see a way out and I can't think of it as well.

I used to be careful and elaborate, so I don't get in trouble (typical Snake). I used to evade and play around problems but now, if anyone challenges me, I'd just do it. I don't have the energy to evade and subvert anymore. Today, my aunt and I had a fight, she threatened to expose my bad behaviors to my mum (in order to make my mum canceled my trip south for thesis fieldwork), normally I'd back off or dance around it. This time I just told her blankly, "go on, do it." So she did, and I was chastised (which is not what my aunt intended). But even if my mum got mad and tried to cancel my trip, I'd go anyway. If she threatened to cut my stipend and study fees (which she almost did many times), I'd just ... let her do it. I will gladly drop out and escape. Because all I can think of now is 'whatever'. It's not me, at all.

Work wise, my thesis adviser can't give me any creative advice at all. My thesis is about Community Planning in Action. So I have to be there, in the ethnic community and facilitate the entire project, alone. I'm hit with pandemic and can't go there. There is nothing he can advise me except 'try your best!' It's not exactly the actual problem, since I can and will worm my way to get things done and perfectly even on my own. But the feeling that no one can and will stand by my side and provide some practical advice. I don't need encouragement, I need reassurance.

And I'm not being arrogant here, too. I just say it as I see it. I literally can't rely on anyone but myself. Emotionally and practically.

And it gets old sometimes.

I'll try to get myself up to do my job. I have two very big assignments, and I doubt having 'troubled and toxic' environment will help me in any way. After all, all I've learned is no one cares about you unless you are 1. useful 2. effective. I'm being ineffective, so any excuse will be met with retribution.

PS. With me gaining like 20 kg of weight in a year of pandemic also doesn't help me be motivated too...

[whumpy-daydreams]

  Interrogation

 Masterpost

The mission should have been easy. In, kill, out. There was a system of unused tunnels under the house which opened into a cellar, and there were only two security guards and a few servants who went home at night.

    There was one catch: no guns. Not even for defence. Marcus wouldn’t compromise.

    Rowena always felt safer with a gun even if she very rarely used it, and as she reached the cellar trap door she pushed down the pang of unease that came with an empty holster. She pushed it open and peeked through. Empty.

    Silently she finished the climb out, but just as she was about to turn to close the trap door something hard came in contact with her head. Behind her, waiting for her, were three burly men with guns.

Before they had the chance to fire Rowena dove forwards, latching her legs around one man’s neck and grappling with him for his gun. Someone else grabbed her from behind, yanking down her shoulders and punching her in the stomach until she fell to the floor.

There was just time to see the butt of a gun coming towards her before darkness took over her vision.

Painful throbbing greeted Rowena as she tried to lift her head. She was tied to a chair in a room lit by a single bare bulb hanging from a low ceiling, and directly in front of her was a steel reinforced wooden door.

She wasn’t waiting long before someone entered. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realised he was one of the people who had ambushed her. Heavily built, clad in black security guard uniform, with a stern face that gave away no emotion. His name was probably Simon or James or something generic.

“What’s your name?” His voice matched his appearance - rough but not emotional. Rowena knew better than to answer.

“What is your name?” he repeated. Pain stung Rowena’s already pounding head as he backhanded her. “Answer my questions and this will be easy. What’s your name?” When it was clear she wasn’t going to tell him he left the room. 

So that's what was going to happen. An interrogation. She thought back to what Marcus had taught them about resisting interrupting and torture. Stay silent, don't bother trying not to scream, don't accept anything from them, assume the worst, death before betrayal.

These people were definitely quick to go down the torture route. The man quickly returned with a large jug, hose, and cloth and wasted no time in drenching Rowena with freezing cold water. She didn't suppress her grasp at the temperature.

"Who sent you?" It took all her effort to not say something snarky in return. "Okay." He nodded, making a sad expression. 

The chair was tipped back to the floor so Rowena was lying on her back, and although she couldn't see it, she could hear the jug being filled with water. 

"Who do you work for?" She glared up at him. Suddenly a cloth was clamped over her mouth and nose, and there was only a second try and get a breath before water began to slowly trickle onto it. 

Despite holding her breath she could feel water begin to trickle down her nose, and before long she had run out of air anyway. 

The water burnt as she breathed some in, unable to cough it back up without inhaling even more. For two minutes she forced herself not to gasp for breath, but eventually the cloth was released and she twisted herself to the side, reaching and coughing up water.

"Let's try again, shall we?" 

The process seemed to go on forever. Questions asked, no response, and then water poured over her until she felt like she was drowning. But still she refused to say anything. Finally, he left pulling the chair upright again.

At first she hoped she might be able to sleep, until the sound of immensely loud dentist drills blared out at her. The noise was painful to the ear and deafening, pounding through her chest and rattling the water that still sat in her lungs.

A moment later she was blinded as well as deafened. Floodlights above the door turned on and were so bright that with her eyes closed Rowena could see the light orange and reds of her eyelids.

It must’ve been that they wanted to sleep, as when the guard entered his hair was freshly washed and styled and his clothes seemed to be cleaner or neater than before. The noise and lights were turned off. 

“Hello. Ready to talk to me yet?”

Rowena looked at him tiredly.

“Who do you work for?” She didn’t answer and he walked past her to a table Rowena had noticed the previous day while being waterboarded. Humming accompanied the sound of metal tools being picked up and put down again. Probably for show and to instill fear more than anything else.

Finally he faced her again holding a blowtorch.

“I don’t want to do this anymore than you. Who do you work for?” Rowena couldn’t help but snort a laugh, but it died as the blowtorch produced a roaring blue flame. Her breath shook as she watched it move towards her right shin.

The pain was unbearable. Synthetic fabric melted and burnt and mingled with frying skin. Rowena threw her head back and screamed. Fingers turned white as they gripped the chair and her toes curled in on themselves. Hot tears fell fast and soon she had no breath left to scream with - mouth open in silent agony.

Finally the flame was removed. Rowena slumped, gasping in racking sobs as she felt her brain begin to shut down. A hand gripped her face and forced it to look upwards. 

“This can all end. Just tell me who sent you.” Anger took over every other emotion.

“F-fuck you…” her voice was barely audible, but it was audible enough. The man put on headphones to block out her screams as he began on the other leg.

The day ended when Rowena passed out from the pain, fading in and out of consciousness as salt water was splashed to wash away the blood and liquid body fat which ran down her legs.

She thought perhaps they would let her sleep, but alas she was wrong. The drill noises were back as were the floodlights, and she let herself cry freely through the night as her sanity began to collapse. When they finally turned off she didn’t look up. A finger tipped her head up, and Rowena found herself looking at a familiar face.

Marcus smiled at her. 

“Good. Glad to know you won’t betray me.”

[five-miles-over]

‘Aftermath’ Part 7: Wait for It

Summary: Disdain of the emperor is now rising again in the streets of Rome. Meanwhile, Commodus’s first day of the games brings back triggering memories and dark thoughts.

Warning: Violence, angst

Word Count: 2,631

Read Part 1: The Impossible Dream here

Read Part 2: Proud of Your Boy here

Read Part 3: Point of No Return here

Read Part 4: Look Down here

Read Part 5: Beneath a Moonless Sky here

Read Part 6: These Palace Walls here

“That’s the problem with young men like you. No restraint upon your tongues…or on your swords for that matter.”

Senator Julius smirked at his colleague Senator Gaius’s remark. Gaius had never been one to appreciate a jest with a vulgar double-meaning, but still did it to seem like a man in public.

General Petronius shook his head. “He’s going to do it - he’s made plans to announce it at the games and no one seems to be doing anything about it.”

“The Senate has done much to gain the support of the people. Especially after the death of Senator and late Consul Gracchus, may he rest in peace.” Gaius lectured, “We hammered the letter addressed to the Caesar in the public square. With our collective pleas, we begged him to show us mercy and bestow kindness upon the Senate of Rome.”

“Keep making your jests, Senators,” Petronius answered, disgusted with the two elder men. “The people do not understand the value of elocution as well as we do. All they know is…fear and wonder. Wasn’t it your friend Gracchus who said that the heart of Rome lies not in the marble of the Senate, but in the heart of the Colosseum? That is what his Highness takes advantage of. It is how he whisks the common man from under our noses.”

“And the army, too,” Julius chuckled. “What have you to complain about, General? Does Caesar not pay you handsomely enough?” The general was beyond offended by this.

“He pays me well, but in not the way I would desire” He spat, not caring in that moment about the repercussions of his tone. “I am complaining because I do not wish to tarnish the legacy that the great Caesar Marcus Aurelius has brought to Rome.”

“And the General who became a slave…who rose from his ashes into a gladiator who could defy an emperor, Maximus Decimus Meridus,” Petronius added with a theatric flair. “The two of them gave their lives for Rome, and now that very Rome is to pay for the life of this man sitting on the throne now!”

“And I suppose you wish to follow in his footsteps,” Gaius sneered. “Or do you wish to survive? Last I recall, you have an unwed sister and two small children at home. I shudder to think what may happen if their breadwinner goes gallivanting behind a metaphysical quest for a Republic.”

Petronius continued to assert himself. “If not us, who will? Our venerated Lady Lucilla was once there to stop him from carrying out such a dastardly action. And now…the duties fall upon us to bring back the Rome that once was.”

Senator Gaius clicked his tongue. “With your way of words, you could have been extremely political. What a pity you had to follow in your father’s footsteps.”

“I prefer to fight my battles in a straightforward manner. A general talks with his weapons more than with his tongue, Senators.”

“Yes, but anyone can be killed with weapons,” Julius retorted. “Only a fool can be killed by his own tongue.”

“I should say so, coming from a man who may soon find himself out of a livelihood very soon and is still making jokes like a street jester.”

Just as the angry young general was about to leave, Gaius grabbed Petronius’s arm. “It does not bode well for a man like you to behave like this in public,” he whispered hotly. “For our own safety, we must remain quiet until we have the power to act. You must trust Fate for the time being, General”

The young man hissed, “I have no faith in the same fate that brought such an emperor back to life from the realm of Tartarus.”

“Meet us tonight in the Forum, and I will guide you to my house. There, we shall set our next move.”

—————————————————————————————————————

The golden sun gleamed upon the city of Rome. In the early hours of morning, it was truly a heavenly sight to behold - it was as if the entire city was bathed in an ethereal light, with the warm glow emanating from every marble structure.

A divine Father…that is what the sun truly is, Emperor Commodus mused to himself, standing from his balcony. For the first day of the reinstated games, he wore a brand new set of dark grey and black armor coupled with golden ornamentation.

It shows light equally upon the buildings as well as upon the grass and the flowers. Regardless of the obstacles it faces, the Sun continues to illuminate the world and shower light, just like a father showering unconditional love upon his children.

And so I shall be like the Sun - brilliant, courageous, and devoted to his children. I shall rise every morning and shower love upon all of my people as the Sun bestows light.

“Uncle?” Lucius called meekly. “Yes, Lucius?”

“Is all of this violence necessary in the name of entertainment?” Commodus was taken aback by the boy’s query. “Lucius, it does not serve you well to question such a tradition. Ever since the reign of Emperor Augustus, gladiatorial games have been held to entertain the masses. They will make you courageous in the face of battle.”

Lowering his tone to a whisper, the emperor knelt down to the boy’s level. “Many Caesars, including those from our ancestor Emperor Claudius have used the games as a way of keeping the people of Rome happy. And these games…these games are being held to honor the legacy of your grandfather. He was a great emperor whom I swore to honor when he named me his successor.”

“I see, Uncle.” Lucius replied, not wishing to ask more about the late Caesar. His mother had told him many things before she was sent away from Rome, including the conspiracy that his uncle, of all people, killed his grandfather through suffocation. Lucius was intelligent enough not to directly ask the emperor about this, but it lingered in the back of his mind. His uncle could kill for the throne, granted his last battle nearly cost the emperor his life, but it would be logical to suspect the emperor was capable of committing another such heinous act.

“Now, finish your breakfast,” Commodus instructed, smoothing the boy’s dusky, golden hair. “Our chariot will take us to the Colosseum at noon, and I expect that you will be prompt.”

Lucius nodded, and Commodus watched as his nephew ran off. He loved the boy dearly, but there was something…strange about the dear prince. Whenever Commodus wanted to approach him, he always flinched like a sparrow being approached by a hawk. In the place of love, there was fear in Lucius’s eyes. It reminded Commodus too much of his own sister. The more he ruminated about it, he could even see Lucilla’s face in Lucius.

He loved the boy dearly, but…the betrayal by his own sister was unforgettable, to say the least. It stung him more than the most sharpest of daggers. Even before his duel with Maximus, he’d already felt as if he’d lost his greatest weapon. In a blind fit of rage, he threatened the life of the very boy whom he hoped to shower with paternal affection. Commodus never failed to regret bringing his nephew into the stakes of politics. Though it was Lucilla who’d committed the mistake of revealing confidential information to Lucius, Commodus took it upon himself to blame for putting Lucius’s life in danger. From the moment he first stood up from his bed, barely recovered from his injuries, Commodus swore to protect his dear nephew - even at the cost of his own life.

And, the emperor promised himself that he would do the same, should the gods bless him with sons and daughters of his own.

———————————————————————————————————-

“Caesar! Caesar! Caesar!”

With the majestic stride of a lion, Emperor Commodus felt as powerful as the feline king of the jungle when he entered the Colosseum and waved to the citizens. His triumph over Maximus had appeared to have reaped its fruit. The crowd loved him, and even embraced him. He watched as his servants threw loaves of bread into the crowd. Perhaps it was not him who was fighting in the arena this time, but Commodus felt the victory he never had a chance to feel on that fateful day.  

The announcer, wearing a blonde wig, ascended the steps to the podium. He declared, “On the first day of the reinstated games, his Highness is pleased to present yet another piece of history. Honoring the great triumphs of the Commander Publius Cornelius Dolabella during the Roman-Gallic wars, the Battle of Lake Vadimo will be re-enacted before you today. But before the emperor can let the battle commence, there is a special announcement he would be delighted to deliver.”

“Thank you, Cassius,” Commodus politely acknowledged the announcer. “People of Rome, it brings me immense pleasure to be in the presence of you all. As your emperor, I consider it my foremost duty above all else to make sure that my citizens are satisfied with my reign.

In the name of satisfying my subjects, it is my executive decision to formally announce the dissolution of the Roman Senate. From tomorrow, the citizens will be encouraged to take their grievances to my palace directly. My doors shall remain open for each and every citizen, and I shall give each and every concern of theirs due attention.

’Tis time for Rome to enter a New Age. One in which power is out of the hands of dry, old men who inadequately represent the people whom they are supposed to give a voice to, and an age in which an empire is ruled by an emperor. I thank you all for your love and support, and it is my ardent wish that you enjoy the games today.”

For a moment, it was as if the gods made time stop for Commodus’s words to echo through the Colosseum. Silence prevailed through the arena before scattered applause morphed into furious claps, mainly from the commoners. Despite the acclamation from the plebeians, it was the artificial smiles of the Senators that instantly attracted the attention of Emperor Commodus. It baffled him how not a single one of them protested their dissolution. And then it came to him - they were already plotting against him. He had been too transparent with his disdain for them, and now they were already planning to take revenge.

This was not his first time fighting this particular battle. When Commodus told the Senate he was using the grain reserves to pay for those very games, they reacted with silence. They reacted with deadly, lethal silence that only paved the way for a grand scheme to depose him. Granted it failed ultimately, but it still cost him everything he knew and cherished.

Not wishing to repeat his mistake, the emperor forced himself to maintain his jovial manner and suppress his resurfacing paranoia. Casting an affectionate glance towards Lucius and the empty throne that used to seat Lucilla, Commodus gestured for the games to begin.

The bloodshed, as always, managed to take Commodus’s mind off of the political trauma he’d endured for too long. Bloodied chariots, fallen hounds, and even spears to the chest elicited laughter and childlike glee from the emperor. Many of the intellectuals would scorn an emperor who took so much pleasure in the games, citing his father’s stoic ideals, but in Commodus’s mind it was his way of honoring the traditions of Rome. Moreover, it was a rare feeling of multifaceted control that Commodus never seemed to feel often. Seated above all in the Imperial Box with the ability to grant life or death with the mere movement of his thumb, it was a powerful sensation indeed.

And to add to his good mood, there were no rude surprises today. Just as history had written, the Romans won the Battle of Lake Vadimo, while the Gallics were brutally defeated.

——————————————————————————————————————-

The moment the large doors closed behind the emperor, the laurel crown announced its place on the floor with a loud clang.  

“Wine,” the emperor ordered, immediately being delivered an urn of dark scarlet liquid and a goblet. Commodus poured himself a drink and gulped it down. Closing his eyes, he let out a painful sigh from both the gravity of the day’s events and the alcohol taking its toll. It was for Rome, he told himself. I needed to save Rome from the politicians.

“Commodus, the Senate has its uses.”

Could he be hallucinating again? “L-Lucilla?” He stammered, looking up to her with wide, naive eyes.

“Brother,” Lucilla narrowed her eyes. “We both know father would not have wanted this for Rome.”

“Father is dead, Lucilla,” Commodus dismissed, pouring another serving of wine.

“Come now, Commodus. We both know you feel otherwise.”

“Why should it bother you what I feel? You and Father were the experts at putting up facades, pretending to care for me. I was the one so foolish as to believe your love for me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Commodus. There’s always been a Senate.”

“Rome has changed since the days of the Republic, dear sister. An empire needs an emperor, nothing less.”

Lucilla’s nostrils flared at his impudence. “Even Death has been unable to teach you a lesson. All your life, you’ve been stubborn, clinging to those dreams you fabricated as a boy. You turned every one of your friends and allies against you because you refused to accept things.”

Enraged with her, he threw his goblet onto the floor, staining the marble with red droplets. His upper lip quivered while his eyelids struggled to hold back hot tears. “YOU LEFT ME! You left me when I needed you the most and I paid for it with my life!”

“No one left you, Commodus,” she harshly reprimanded him. You sent them away to satisfy your insatiable ego. Soon you’ll be left with no one but your own mind for company. It will do you good to remember me then.”

Growling like a wounded animal, he furiously lunged towards her only to fall from his chair. When his eyes rose from the floor, she disappeared. It was only his mind playing tricks; Lucilla was truly gone.

A young, startled slave rushed in, holding a tray of food. “Sire, is there something you need?”

“No, go away,” the emperor dismissed him, trying to stand up. He had given in to a hallucination, and now he was caught in a rather compromising position by a servant.

“Are you sure, Highness? I heard- “ the servant rambled, only to be cut off suddenly.

“Actually…I’d like you to fight me.” Commodus demanded the slave.

“I-I-I don’t have a weapon, Your Highness.”

“There’s a knife on your platter, near the cheese. Use it.”

“Sire, it is no-”

“That was not a request, slave. Pick up your knife and fight me.”

Obedient to his master, the slave put down his platter and grasped the kitchen knife tightly. Commodus held a naked sword and led the slave into the hall, launching the first attack. For a servant, he was surprisingly good at stalling the emperor, blocking and dodging many of Commodus’s blows. Alas, it was only a matter of fatigue and timing before the servant was unable to maintain his momentum. The emperor backed the servant into a wall, swiftly letting his blade enter the servant’s stomach again…and again…and again.

Tiny droplets of blood from the crumpled corpse blemishing his face, Commodus looked around slowly as he sheathed his dirtied sword. The halls were empty, except for a pair of emotionless blue eyes that had seen too much.

[pamphletstoinspire]

Story about Saint Polycarp, Bishop And Martyr - Feast Day - January 26th - Latin Calendar

The Martyrdom of St. Polycarp by St. Alphonsus di Liguori

St. Polycarp was a disciple of the Apostle St. John, and was born about the seventieth year of the Christian era. He was a Christian from his infancy, and on account of his extraordinary piety was greatly beloved by the apostles, his teachers. St. Irenaeus, Bishop of Lyons, writes that he had had the good fortune, when young, to know our saint, who was then far advanced in years, and remark show strongly impressed on his mind were the instructions which he had received from him, and with what delight he remembered having heard him recount his conversations with St. John and others who had seen the Redeemer.

St. Polycarp was consecrated Bishop of Smyrna by St. John himself before this apostle's banishment to the Island of Patmos. It is looked upon as certain that our saint was the angel, or Bishop of Smyrna, commended by the Lord in the Apocalypse: And to the angel of the church of Smyrna write . . . I know thy tribulation and thy poverty; but thou art rich. . . . Be thou faithful unto death, and I will give thee the crown of life (Apoc. ii. 9).

Our saint governed the church of Smyrna seventy years, according to Fleury (Hist. eccl. l. 3, n. 48), with so much prudence and approbation that he was regarded as the principal of the Asiatic bishops, on account of the great veneration in which he was held. When eighty years of age, he went to Rome to consult with Pope Anicetus on some points of discipline, particularly regarding the time at which Easter should be celebrated. St. Polycarp's delay in Rome was very useful to the faithful, as it afforded him an opportunity of confuting the heresies of that period. Meeting the heresiarch Marcion, who inquired of the holy bishop whether he knew him; “Yes,” answered the saint, ” I know thee to be the first-born of the devil.”

On his return to Asia, he suffered much in the persecution which the Emperor Marcus Aurelius raised against the Church, and which was particularly felt at Smyrna, where the proconsul, Statius Quadratus, was exercising the most barbarous cruelty against the faithful. Amongst other acts of persecution, he caused twelve Christians, who were brought from Philadelphia, to be devoured by wild beasts. Excited by this bloodshed, the pagans were loud in their demands for the slaughter of the Christians, particularly of Polycarp, who failed not on his part to encourage his flock to the most heroic proofs of constancy, in suffering torments and death for Jesus Christ. Notwithstanding the continual clamor raised against him, the saint wished to remain in the city for the discharge of his pastoral duties, but was obliged, by the importunity of the faithful, to retire to a house without the city, where, during his stay, he occupied the entire night and day in holy prayer.

After a short time, however, he was discovered. Three days previouly to his arrest, he saw in a vision his pillow in flames, from which he knew that the martyrdom reserved for him was that of fire, and, turning to his companions, told them that he would be burned alive. The Christians, aware that the soldiers were in pursuit of him, removed him to another house; but a young servant, overawed by the fear of torture, revealed the place of his concealment. The saint was informed of this, but refused to retreat any farther, saying, with holy resignation: “The will of God be done.” Full of heroic zeal, he offered himself to God as a victim destined for his honor, besought him to accept the sacrifice of his life, and joyfully delivered himself up to his pursuers. He received them into his house, ordered them a handsome supper, and desired only some time for prayer, which being granted, he was for two hours absorbed in meditation.

The captain and the soldiers were filled with confusion at the sight of the venerable bishop; and unwillingly executing their commission, departed with him at break of day. As the journey to Smyrna was long, they set him on an ass, and were conducting him to the city, when they met on the road two superior officers, called Herod and Nicetas, who took him into their chariot, and endeavored to persuade him to obey the imperial edict, saying, among other things: “What harm is there in sacrificing to the gods in order to save your life?” The saint answered with fortitude that he would rather suffer every torture, even death itself, than consent to what they advised. Upon this resolute answer they turned away in anger, regarding him as a man lost through his obstinacy, and pushed him from the chariot with such violence that his leg was bruised, or, according to Fleury, broken by the fall.

The saint nevertheless, with undisturbed tranquillity of mind, proceeded to the amphitheatre, where he was about to sacrifice his life. Upon entering it he heard a voice from heaven, saying: “Be courageous, Polycarp; act manfully.” He was presented to the proconsul, who endeavored to shake his resolution, saying: “Polycarp, thou art old, and should free thyself from torments which thou hast not strength to bear; swear, therefore, by the fortune of Caesar, and exclaim with the people, ‘Be the impious exterminated!'” The saint immediately replied: “Yes! be the impious exterminated–but by the impious I mean the idolaters.” The proconsul, thinking that he had gained him over, said: “Now blaspheme Jesus Christ, and I will discharge thee.” The saint rejoined: “I have served Jesus Christ these fourscore and six years; he never did me harm, but much good; how can I blaspheme him? How can I blaspheme my Creator and my Saviour, who is also my judge, and who justly punishes those who deny him?” The tyrant, still continuing to tempt him to deny Jesus Christ, Polycarp replied that he was a Christian, and considered it a glory to die for Christ.

The proconsul threatened him with wild beasts. “Call for them quickly,” replied the saint; “I cannot change from good to evil; the beasts will help me to pass from mortal suffering to the glory of heaven.” “Then,” said the tyrant, “thou shalt be burned alive.” The saint answered: “Thy fire only lasts a. moment; there is another fire which is eternal, and of that I am afraid. Why dost thou delay to execute thy threats?” This he said with so much intrepidity, that the tyrant himself was struck with admiration; he ordered, however, a crier to make public proclamation that Polycarp had avowed himself a Christian; whereupon the entire multitude of pagans cried out: “Let this destroyer of our gods die!” The public shows having terminated, it was resolved that he should be burned alive, instead of being devoured by wild beasts.

The pile was prepared by the pagans, and also by the Jews, who were particularly active in offering themselves as executioners. Polycarp put off his garments, and seeing they were about to fasten him to the stake, said: “Leave aside these nails: He who gives me fortitude to undergo this fire, will enable me to stand Still without them.” They therefore contented themselves with tying his hands behind his back, and placed him upon the pile, whence raising his eyes to heaven, the saint prayed after the following manner:

“I bless Thee, O God, for having vouchsafed to make me a partaker in the Passion of Jesus Christ Thy Son, by rendering me worthy to offer myself as a sacrifice for Thy honor, that I may be enabled to praise Thee in heaven, and to bless Thee for all eternity.”

The pile was set on fire, yet the flames did not touch the body of the saint, but formed, as it were, an arch around him, while his flesh exhaled a most fragrant odor. The pagans, exasperated to see that the fire had no effect, transfixed him with a spear, and such a quantity of blood issued from the wound as extinguished the flames.

Thus did St. Polycarp terminate his triumph, as is recorded in the celebrated epistle of the Church of Smyrna, which may be seen in “Ruinart's Collection of the Acts of the Martyrs.” His martyrdom took place about the year 160. (1,2)

Practical Reflections by Fr. Francis Xavier Weninger

“For eighty-six years have I served Christ, and He has done me no wrong : how can I, then, deny or insult Him now?” This is an answer worthy to be written in golden letters. Impress it deeply upon your heart, remembering God Himself asks: ” O, my people what have I done to thee, or in what have I molested thee? Answer thou me.”

What canst thou answer, whilst thy conscience convinces thee of the truth that God never did thee an injury, but, on the contrary conferred on thee countless benefits for body and soul? How canst thou, then, have the heart to offend Him, and that so often and grievously? What astonishing iniquity and damnable ingratitude it is to offend maliciously so great a benefactor! Were a man, to whom you have done much good, to repay you by repeated insults, what would you say? “Oh!” you would cry, “how have I deserved this from him? For all my benefits I receive nothing but injuries at his hands. How despicable is his ingratitude!” But tell me, what has God deserved at thy hands? Has He done thee less good than thou didst to that man? Oh! weep bitterly over thy ingratitude, and resolve not to continue in it. Do not in future offend thy greatest benefactor, but love and praise Him for His benefits. Answer the evil spirit, when he tempts thee to sin: “My God has done me no injury, but only good: how can I, then, offend Him?”

St. Polycarp did not fear the fire of the tyrant, which could burn only for a time, and then had an end; but he feared the fire which is prepared for the wicked and burns forever. Think often of the inextinguishable fire of hell, and, through fear of that God who can punish thee with it, abstain from sin. Certainly you would not sin for any gain or pleasure, if you were sure that, after sin,”your hand would have to burn in a fire, were it but for a quarter of an hour. How blind and foolhardy, then, is it not to sin on account of some momentary pleasure or gain, when you must expect eternal fire on that account. Such are the thoughts of St. Augustine, who wrote: “Hell fire will not be like an earthly fire. Yet, were you forced to put your hand in earthly fire, you would do all that was demanded by him who threatens you. God threatens you with eternal fire, and will you not do good? Will you not avoid sin?” 

[ssatxr-archive]

“Gay people are real. Exhibit A: Marcus.”

Incoherent grumbling.

[thebloodychampion]

My Muses + Children

I will include all muses, since some can adopt children.

I personally never want children. So my muses ≠ the mun

Archer Hawke: Loves children and wants them. However he doesn’t think he is a good father, but the moment he has them, he is devoted and would do anything for them. But ti takes some time for him to open up to the idea of having children. Be it natural or through adoption.

Cyrion Hawke: Is technically like Archer, but he also knows that his living situation wouldn’t allow for a safe enviroment for children.

Dreag Hawke: Not really into having them. It might be the fact that he has Elgar’nan inside of him which can affect is decision. Also he kind of already ‘raised’ two children in Bella and Marcus from his mentor.

Lia Tabris: If she can have children (tainted), she would be well probably the cool mum and wouldn’t like sit at home and cook for them. She will go hunting with them, showing them tricks and tipps. She is also probably one of the few muses who would do things until she gets the babies.

Than Mahariel: Same with Lia, he is tainted and cannot have children naturally. However if he can through another universe, he wouldn’t want them anyway. He doesn’t see himself as the father type.

Sethius Amladaris: Not exactly the father type, but has in total including his children from the past around 9 children. Yeah that many. But he is not really the type to do things with his children. It is more like collect them all.

Elgan Lavellan: She doesn’t know if she wants them or not. She is still young and has not found the right person as of yet.

Diran Lavellan: Not really into having them. Just doesn’t go with his lifestyle.

Hjarrandr: He had a child with someone but that child was killed with that someone. So and well he wants children.

Lucius Veridio: Not sure yet, he seems liek someone who wouldn’t want them because he travels a lot around and would just leave them in Tevinter at some house with an elven servant to raise them. So no, no children for him.

Etienne DeLechanger: Not the type for children.

Nicolas Belmond: He has a total of four children but wouldn’t well consider himself as the father type or parent type. He never really raised his children.

Malcolm Hawke: Well the father of Archer, Cyrion and Dreag. He sees himself as a father figure and likes being a father. But he also is aware of his age and wouldn’t want more children. If he gets someone pregnant, he will stay of course and love the child.

Tomey Surana: Tainted, but might want children later in her life.

Lyon Amell: Not sure if he is a father type at all. But he might want them. But he also enjoys his life on the road a bit too much, so he isn’t sure yet.

Solona Amell: Same with Tomey, Lia and Than. She has the tainted and lived most of her life in the circle, so she doesn’t really see herself as a mum per se.

Talar Adaar: Might want children, might not want them. He isn’t sure at all. Although he would probably raise them like his parents raised him. Away from any cruelity since they would probably look a bit different anyway.

Herah Adaar: Not really the type for children.

Jerker: Surprisingly he has children, but they are like decendants anyway. But he would probably not want anymore. he isn’t the fatherly type.

Irius Sparatus: Not sure if he has time for them anyway. So no children in his life.

Karnesh: Physically not able to get children but might adopt them if he ever like lives a quiet life. Cannot see himself having children when he works for the Shadow Broker.

Clavius Tarxis: Wouldn’t want children and Irelius is too unstable to have them. He does however have a daughter with 10 years. But he never raised her and gave her to an asari couple.

Renius Sparatus: Is not the fatherly type but has two children (Irius and Torana) and two more. He cares for his children and only wants the best for them. However don’t expect him to colour out books or roughplay. He isn’t for that.

Torana Sparatus: Is actually unable to have children due to a work accident. She can get pregnant, but it is a high risk pregnancy. As she calls it, her uterus likes to kill whatever is inside of it.

Jurdon Madadh: He is an over 1000 year old krogan, he is bound to have children. He likes them, but he isn’t like wanting many of them. A few are enough for him. He is also technically a grandfather as well.

Ganar Drealav: Never wants them. Although he does like children and even raised one but he would never want one of his own.

Raik Cagar: Has a few, but mostly to keep the krogan population up. She isn’t a mum type and loves her job as a doctor too much to give it up to raise children. In the Andromeda AU, she has children with Nakmor Drack.

Haral Nyras: He has despite his genetic disease around four children. But they are all adults except his youngest child. Which he has with Lisell, so they aren’t a turian at all. This includes Tachyus and Yandra.

Oswin Shepard: Not sure. She might not want them at all, since she is always on the go and would never have the patience for a child.

Noah Shepard: Maybe if he has a quiet live and stops being a commander and spectre. He might settle down and have children.

Maron Hinom: Is not interest in children and finds them quiet annoying.

Shaela’Riel Vas Tonbay: Isn’t really interested in them.

Lorik Qui’in: Same as Irius, his work might not allow him the freetime to raise a child properly.

Marius Nyras: Not the type for children and he is also unable to have them. They might also be scared for life if they ever catch their parents doing something naughty.

Tayus Draxas: Doesn’t want children.

Andrew Ryder: Maybe once he is a bit older. He thinks being 22 is a bit too young and especially in a new galaxy. In a few years maybe.

Macen Barro: Not really the type for children and he doesn’t think Avitus is the type either. They are more the type of cool uncles than parents.

SAM: He is an artificial intelligence, he would constantly question the intelligence of his children and would only get them through adoption.

Yaora V’Loar: She is just what 300+. she is far too young for that right now. But maybe later in life with the right partner. Although she does have a thread in discord where she is pregnant.

Tachyus Nyras: Will never have children.

Yandra Nyras: Might want them later on in life, but she is content right now.

Quentius Zuris: Isn’t the type for children and also is legally blind so no way he can care for someone small.

Urdnot Wreav: Might already have them but only to keep the krogan population up.

Adrien Victus: He is a father, but lost his son in the Reaper War. Right now he doesn’t want any children.

Moony: Nope. Also cannot have them at all.

Danny Fernandez: Nope. Since it involves for one having sex and two having to deal with someone that screams and poops.

Belle Instance: Maybe later, although she might be the worst mum ever if she had children.

Pamina Instance: She is freaking 16 (or younger depending on the timeline). She might want them later.

Fenrir Greyback: Would say no, if he didn’t already have Pamina. He does care for her but would probably never win ‘Dad of the year’ award.

[capeshifters]

all muses

All muses shortly

italics - pc   bold- canon   normal -oc

some muses might have verse specific ships or they are not shippable at all

DRAGON AGE 

Nedra Surana //  mage elf warden- hof | multiship | pansexual | FC: Lindsey Stirling

Narya Lavellan // dalish inquisitor |Single ship with @thebloodychampion​ in her main verse, other verse open  | heterosexual | FC: Emile De Ravin

Merlyn Lavellan // Narya’s cousin, archer and hunter | multiship- | homosexual | FC: Eddie Redmayne (inquisitor verse available)

Litriel Lavellan // mage, necromancer and dreamer, also Narya’s cousin and Merlyn’ sister | multiship | heterosexual| FC: Alina Kovelenko

Nova Lavellan //dalish Inquisitor, has a very bad eyesight, necromancer, dreamer and uses wisps to see. loves dragons |  multiship |heterosexual | FC: Lauren De Graaf

Lesi  Aras //the master of smith work. Has her won shop, very inspired by Dagna | multiship | heterosexual | FC: Isabela Moner

Rin Ril Seraya //born to be female, works as a body guard of an Orlesian Lord. Disguised |multiship |undecided | FC: Winona Ryder

Aila Synelis// young elf, has a two years old girl, waitress,sweet but too trusting |multiship | heterosexual | FC: Dasha Sidorchuck

Armando Fiorenci // ex first enchanter o the circle in Dairsmuid, Rivain. Escaped death. jolly and a good mage. mage rights supporter.| multiship | pansexual | FC: Sam Elliott

Francesca Fiorenci // Armando’s sister, made tranquil. Whereabouts unknown  | multiship | heterosexual | FC: Oona Chaplin

Kai Kresge // magekiller, from tevinter |multishp| pansexual | FC: Ian Bohen

Kaisa Kresge// Kai’s little sister, mage and healer and herbalist, blind.| multiship |heterosexual | FC: Elise Aarnik

Sherborne Guyader “Guy” // professor of history and arts at the university of Orlais. born in Antiva | multiship | bisexual fc: Eoin bailey

Anna Alerion // mage ,dalish, slave, servant. Now Marquis tool for his twisted desires. Secretly when able she plots to free elves.- | multiship |bisexual

Regina le Bail // ex slave, run away from tevinter, mage but uses spear to fight, companion with a wolf | multiship | heterosexual | FC: Maia Mitchell

Alan Bearhold //avvar warrior, hunter, tall man, grumpy , protects his little sister |multiship |pansexual | FC: Manu Bennett

Valerie Bearhold// mage, talks to spirits, healer, herbalist, skilled. - | multiship |heterosexual | FC: Rachel Weisz

Millicent Cadash // Inquisitor, badass rogue, thief, spy, dwarf and what else.| multiship |  heterosexual | FC: Amy Manson

Devon Trevelyan // mage. from Ostwick Circle, born as a bastard son to a servant of Trevelyan family. Skilled mage, flirty but good mannered. | multiship |pansexual | FC: Richard Madden

Bella Lupus // Dragon Age - Tevinter mage, black mage, small woman, good at magic- multiship-heterosexual

Marcus Lupus // Bella’s little brother, warrior, has prosthetic arm and leg | multiship | bisexual | FC: Matthew Daddario

Janus Lupus // Bella’s and Marcus father, magister, master and killed by his brother.|single ship with @thebloodychampion​ |homosexual | FC: Luke Evans

Alceon Lupus // middle brother , brother of Janus, evil and mean magister. |no ship | bisexual | FC: Ansom Mount

Adrian Lupus // youngest brother, magister at the seat, divorced, likes elves | multiship.| pansexual |FC: Tom Pricone

Luca Lupus//Adrian’s son, rogue, likes training and solitude | multiship |pansexual | Fc: Adian Gillen

Gigi Trevelyan (Auriel// mercenary and Inquisitor - burns scars on her hands and feet - assassin || multiship |heterosexual | FC: Sarah Bolger

Rufus Trevelyan //  ex- templar , Gigi’s uncle - mage friendly- never too old for fun | multishipo | pansexual | FC:Rufus Sewell

Adam Hawke // Hawke, shy dork, loves his dog more than people- | multiship | bisexual | FC: Garrett Hedlund

Anders//he feather mage merged with spirit, not so mage rights obessed- loves cats | single M!Hawke ship with   @thebloodychampion​ (other muses okay to ship) | pansexual | FC: David Garrett

Dorian // the sassy one From house of Pavus- the lost son- the failure | multiship | homosexual | FC: David Gandy

Hampus Luck // archer and companion , noble but hides it, a flirt | multiship |pansexual | FC: Jamie Dornan

Appius Trius  “The Architect”// High Priest of Urthemiel, a bit dork, but lovable, magister from the ancient times | single ship verse with @thebloodychampion​ other verse open |  pansexual | Fc: Hugh Dancy

Hay // slave from the ancient times - traveled through a rift |selective ship | heterosexual | FC: Hera Hilmar

Nellie Cousland // hero of ferelden, badass redhead |multiship | heterosexual | FC: Rose Leslie

Jacob Rivera//  pirate, thief, treasure hunter | multiship |bisexual | FC: Jarod Joseph

Albany Perdue // non binary, young magister , better than you- | multiship | undecided | FC: ErikaLinder

Lisetta Walgan // chasind scout/hunter - wild and untamed| multishp |pansexual | FC: Karen Gillan

Lilah Bearhold //  Lady of The Skies- goddess/avvaar/ - immortal | selective ship| bisexual | Fc: Julie Kennedy/Rachel Ward(old)

Mario Albergotti lamberto De Villacorta // rogue, noble, mercenary |bisexual |Pentaghast Blood |likes dragons | FC: Matthew Mcnulty

Vixten Adaar // Inquisitor - ex-mercenary | has a twin sister |mage |pansexual | kind giant | FC: Mahesh Jadu

Veran Adaar // Vixten’s twin sister | rogue |bisexual

Seranna Trevelyan - Inquisitor and templar | fears magic | bisexual | andrastian | FC: Michelle Alves

OTHER FANDOMS 

Quiet // Metal Gear Solid V // sniper and bad ass, does not talk- |multiship |bisexual | FC: Game face/Stefanie Joosten

Diana // Marvel DCEU // Wonder Woman, badass but sweet        | multiship | heterosexual | FC: Gal Gadot

Mei // Overwatch// climatologist, blogger, Overwatch agent | multiship | bisexual | FC: Game Face

Catwoman //Marvel // Selina Kyle, the catwoman  |multiship |heterosexual | FC:Camren Bicondova

Belle/Lacey //OUAT/Disney// Belle from both Ouat and Disney and Lacey from Ouat | multiship | heterosexual | Emilie de Ravin, Cartoon face, Emma Watson

Red//OUAT-// Red from the series Once Upon A time - werewolf | multiship | bisexual | FC: Meghan Ory

Nagini Nabila // Harry Potter // Voldemorts’ Snake with a canon divergent story, reborn |  multiship | pansexual | FC: Nathalie Emmanuel (young)/ Angela Bassett (old)

Augustus Rookwood//Harry Potter// Death Eater, Prisoner in Azkaban, a bit of coward |  multiship | bisexual | FC: Tom Payne

Neville Longbottom//Harry Potter// student, later professor, not married yet | multiship | heterosexual | FC: Matthew Lewis

Ailla Longstar // Star Wars // twilek, bad ass pilot, spy | multiship | pansexual | FC: Milla Jovovich

Zara Andromedra // Star Wars //  mandalorian warrior, arms for hire, skilled fighter , bounty hunter | multiship | bisexual | FC: Cladia Black

Lilo Young // works in the ministry of magic | FC:Nyakim Gatwech |  - Harry Potter

Lassie Young // ministry worker , lilos brother |homosexual| FC: Jordan Bolger |  - Harry Potter

Simon Wolfe // Deathh Eater | bi, homoromantic |FC: Alec Secreanu |  - Harry Potter

Salvia Pepper // werewolf | heterosexual | FC: Natalia Ramos - Harry Potter

Gilda Gloomsdale // vampire , not dragonborn but can be // FC: Aiyana Lewis - Skyrim

MASS EFFECT

Nedra Shepard//Shepard , biotic, paragon, earthborn, war hero-| multiship | pansexual | FC: Emily Browning

Nigel Shepard// Nedra’s twin, more evil and drunkard and a gambler |multiship| bisexual | FC: Eddie Redmayne

Nolus and Tunar Abgius // smuggler brothers even if one is a turian and other a krogan | multiship.|  Nolus is bisexual | Tunar is homosexual | Nolus FC: Brandt Daugherty | Tunar Fc: Aleksander Skarsgard

Lisell Avequa// Asari assassin, Has a adopted son Han.|multiship- |heterosexual | FC: Tracy Ifeachor/Danai Gurira

Jirida Avequa//Lisell’s grandma, a bit crazy old asari |no ship- |bisexual | FC: Whoopi Goldberg

Nyx Avequa// an asari consort at Citadel-, not using biotics, kind |single ship |heterosexual | FC: Yaya De Costa

Han Xanis Vas Astra-//LIsell’s adopted son, quarian. Good in tech |- multiship |bisexual | FC: Logan Lerman

Vivia Bonisis // pink turian but good C-sec cyber crime detective - | single ship with @thebloodychampion | heterosexual | FC: Penelope Mitchell

Camilea -// pretty and deadly turian Blue Sun assassin |-multiship | pansexual | FC: Cara Delvigne

Salla Ryder //-  female Ryder , biotic | multiship. |bisexual | FC: Emma Watson

Garrus // the one we love. does a lot of calibrating |multiship| bisexual | FC: Andrew Garfield

Liara// the blue doctor and Shadowbroker | multiship |bisexual | FC: Yara Shadhidi

Drack // the old grumpy grandpa | multiship |heterosexual | Fc: Jeff Bridges

PeeBee // the joyful and happy asari explorer|multiship-|pansexual | FC:Senait Gidey

Avitus Rix// turian pathfinder, loves Mason  |single ship  with @thebloodychampion Mason | homosexual | FC: Charlie Hunnam

Tibesius Suldonis  // a hastatim unit leader, gay , married to a woman, manipulated by his friend and ex lover Cosna |  Single ship with @thebloodychampion | homosexual | FC: Nathan Fillion

Quitilia Suldonis // sweet, Serlio’s and Silia’s mother, dead  by Cosna | no ship | heterosexual | FC:Bridget Regan

Lucius Suldonis // the youngest sibling, model  turian, bit of playboy, skilled pilot | multiship | pansexual | FC: Tyler Hoechlin

Serlio Salvilus // Actually son of Cosna’s brother Caius . good in politics, future turian councilor  | multiship |  bisexual | FC: Josh Bowman

Silia Salvilus-//blind. Serlio’s little sister, had many hardships, works in Citadel , not daughter of Cosna, but born from a relationship her mother had with Haral Nyras. | multiship| heterosexual| FC: Lyndsy Fonseca

Cosna Salvilus // the evil mastermind, took his brother’s life and played him -|no ship-|bisexual | FC: Christian Bale

Caius Salvilus // got in an accident and was in coma and memory loss for decades. Real father of Serlio | multiship | bisexual | FC: Christian Bale

Tokol // pink, hanar and definitely not someone you should trust | no ship| asexual | Fc: game face

Anaya Kiuk // a young drell assassin, suffers from deadly illness , works for Tokol- | multiship | bisexual | FC: Naomi Scott

Sunip Molane // a salaria assassin, scientist , works for Tokol |multiship |demisexual | Fc: Allyson Hannigan

Bono Baffabar-//batarian mercenary and assassin, works for Tokol -| multiship | bisexual | FC: Jake Gyllenhaal

Luc Laxius// turian business woman, mother of twins | no ship-heterosexual | FC: Meryl Streep

Maxius Kryik // son of Nihlus Kryik, C-sec officer  |multiship |pansexual | FC: Sebastian Stan

Titus Faion // thief and turian, disguises as a male | multishp- heterosexual | FC: Charlize Theron

Tasha Tissel // ex asari assassin, now a doctor  | single ship with @thebloodychampion  | heterosexual | Fc: Chrishell Stubbs

Magnar Shepard // the viking, tall and blond, gets the job done-  | multiship | pansexual | FC: Chris Hemsworth

Camephilia  Octatus// Camilea’s little sister, young, raised on Omega | no ship, single ship in the future times  with @thebloodychampion |  heterosexual | fc: Anna von Klinski