#((flesh miriam out more in my head))

[astoldbyaja]

Primal - Ch.32 ~AU Predator (Franchise)~

Scorpion’s POV

The glass shattered around me, but it did not even leave a dent in my armor. I jumped off the hood of the car and planted my axe into the head of the first human with a weapon. I didn’t care what happened to the human in the car. Bullets hit my armor and I removed my whip and cracked it across a row of five-armed human’s, their heads flying off. I butchered, I sliced, I stabbed. Their weapons did nothing. Even when cold spray came down from the ceiling to hide heat signatures, the vehicles explosion wiped it all away.

The human warrior survived, taking cover, and shooting at his enemies. I killed warriors black and white clothing, male and females who took arms against me.

I slit throats and removed spines; no trophies were worth taking today. I was killing anything that stood between my mate and suckling.

Teleya’s POV

The shooting continued and until finally a loud explosion could be heard from below. Miles just glared at me.

“Well now the party’s really starting!” he said loudly and moved to the door. It opened and shut immediately. I sighed with relief knowing that Scorpion was here. I looked around before moving toward the door trying to get out. There was no handle, nothing I could pull. I whimpered some before hitting the door in frustration.

I placed my ear to the door trying to listen. I could hear footsteps.

“We have to evacuate!” someone said in panic.

“We have a security breach in the main hall!” another shouted. As I listened, I could hear the footsteps growing faint, and I expected silence, but the footsteps were still getting smaller and smaller. I leaned back from the door in shock. What the hell? I went in to listen again before hearing the sound of scanning. I gasped and stepped back as the door opened and there stood Miriam and Tika. They looked absolutely horrified, their clothes stained with blood, the trauma was evident on their faces. They’ve seen him, and what he can do to them.

“Please.” Miriam begged. “Please make it stop!” I stared at them feeling the adrenaline growing in me.

“Stay far away from the fighting, find the quickest exit and go!” I said moving from the room quickly.

“Teleya wait!” Tika called and I looked at her. “Miles sent all of your test results to his commanding officers. There are cameras everywhere in the building recording what goes on! Even if you manage to escape, they’ll come for you, the military, the government! They'll find you!”

 I winced at her words before turning and running down the hall. But I did not know where I was. I ran down different directions trying to find a stair well. There was a harsh ringing above me and suddenly water was pouring down from the sprinklers. But the moment it hits my skin, I grow still. Everything felt so sharp and cool on my flesh. The way it pours down my skin sent shivers through my body. I raised my hands to look at my wet palms.

What is happening to me? Rounding the corner were more people in white lab coats and suits making a run past me. I looked up and continued to move fast down the hall pushing past people who were slamming against me and themselves to get to safety. I saw a door with the stair sign, and it had a handle. I opened it and more people were running up the stairs versus running down. I was so high up it felt. The shooting and screaming were making its way up here.

Before I knew it, men with guns were coming up the stairs. I moved to open the door I came out of, but it was locked forcing me to move further up the stairs. I couldn’t be caught in the crossfire and risk getting hurt.

My feet slip on one of the steps and I fall hitting my knee hard enough I hear a crack. I scream out in pain and crawl up the stairs quickly. I press my body to the wall and pull up my gown to see my legs. I pant hard feeling the vicious throbbing forming in my knees. I cry out from the pain. But as I do, I feel that throbbing start to fade and relief just fill my body. My eyes widened as I felt nothing after a few seconds. I gently rub over my injured knee, and I feel no pain. I apply pressure even to try and force some pain, and I feel nothing. I felt better. I looked all over my legs before looking at my own stomach placing my hand over it gently.

It was my child; I just know it. I heard a loud blast and that brought my attention back up. I needed to get to Scorpion. I stood up and felt nothing but relief as I continued moving up the stairs. Once I was on another level, I moved to open the door only for another person in a black suit to run out immediately. I grabbed the door and went inside. The sprinkling system had turned off .I ran down the hall coming up to the corner, and suddenly, a hand grabs my throat. I scream as I’m pressed against another soldier. I feel his gun at my temple, and two shots has me still. My eyes widened thinking I dead, but the body that holds me falls to the ground and I turn and down at his body. I then look up and couldn’t help but smile in complete relief as I see Axel slowly lowering one of the larger guns. He was sweating and covered in cuts.

“Axel!” I cried out and ran up to him hugging him tight. I could feel it in his body was exhausted.

“Are you hurt?” he asked quickly, and I shook my head.

“No, where is Scorpion?” I asked.

“That’s its name?” he asked. Suddenly, Axel is grabbed, and I yelled as he’s thrown across the closes glass wall and it shatters. He rolls onto the ground and doesn’t move. I’m grabbed from behind and lifted off the ground.

“We need to get her to the extraction point! Go, go, go!” A large bald-headed man yelled. He was massive, and I screamed as I tried to struggle. I was surrounded by a group of soldiers. The man who had me lifted me off the ground and everyone began to turn to the other side. They made a move toward the hall, only to all freeze as the sound of heavy footsteps was rounding the corner. The water on the ground splashed heavily as a might figure began to appear through electricity.

My eyes widened, and I smiled as Scorpion’s form appeared with a sharp and vicious snarl, the same spear he had gifted to me was in his hand, and it was very red. He charged down the hallway and was met with automatic fire. It was so loud!

“SCORPION” I screamed in fear. The soldiers moved forward and the man that held me pushed me in the arms of the bald man and I was picked up yet again. Scorpion spun the spear in his fingers and immediately began to cut down each man. I had one hand freed and immediately dug my fingers into the man’s face. He yelled out in pain.

“Fucking cunt!” he yelled before tossing me into the same room he had thrown Axel. I landed on my side with a groan as I slowly rolled onto my side. Axel was still out cold, and I got on my hands and knees doing my best to crawl away. I feel a fierce hand grip my scalp and I yelled out in pain as I’m lifting it in the air. On the table closest to me, I see a scalpel. Before it’s out of reach I grab it and stab the hand that has me.

I fall to the ground and try to distance myself on the ground. The large man looked at his hand with the scalpel imbedded in it. He looked at me with a scoff before removing it from his hand and now moving to take a large knife from the belt around his hip.

“I’m going to have a lot of fun killing you.” he said taking one step before suddenly something large rips from his chest and I gasp as the form appears. The man’s eyes widen as he looks at the blade now visible wrist blade that is painted with his blood. The blade slowly slides right up his body, and he gurgles immediately as blood shoots from his mouth and the large opening in his chest.

“I’m going to have a lot of fun killing you.”

“What the fuck is that thing!”

“It’s a god damn demon!”

I hear the numerous recordings of men who have come up against Scorpion. I force myself to my feet feeling a weakened from being tossed like a rag doll.

The blade stops beneath his throat before his body is raised up in the air and tossed to the side like a piece of trash. I panted gently looking at the large form that stood before me now. Scorpion cackled lightly as he looked down at me. He slowly removed his mask so I could see the look of relief in his eyes.

“Teleya.” he said gently. I felt tears stream down my face as I let out a gentle sob and held up my arms to him. He was before me in seconds, and I sobbed with relief into his hardened chest, his arms around me protecting me, shielding me from the world. He purrs lowly to comfort me, to bring back the softness of our bodies for a brief moment. But he could not keep his guard down for long, we both knew this. We leaned back and he touched my face for a moment before letting his hand fall to my stomach. I nodded softly placing my hand over his.

“We are okay.” I said gently. His beautiful white eyes were gentle and soft. I could imagine they were filled with nothing but rage and anger as he fought his way to get to me. A gentle groan cut through our moment, and I looked down to the ground seeing Axel slowly rolling onto his back. “Axel.”

 I approached him, crouching to help him up.

“Damn who threw me?” he asked rubbing his head. I shook my head.

“We have to get out of here now.” I replied. Scorpion approached with his mask back on.

“Leave him. He will only slow us down.” he told. I looked at Scorpion stunned now.

“We cannot leave him behind.” I said. Axel looked at us both confused.

“Woah.” he said. I stood up and faced Scorpion.

“Has he not proven himself on this rescue?” I asked.

Scorpion shrilled and just looked away almost with a snort to show he was pouting.

“I could have done this without him.” he said. I gently approached him placing my hand over his arm. I didn’t want to go against him not at a time like this, but I could not leave my neighbor behind after he risked his life to help my mate get in here to save me. Scorpion looked at my pleading eyes with a shrill and a huff before looking away.

“Come.” was all he said. Axel got to his feet picking up the closest weapon to him.

“He’s got your front; I’ll guard your back.” he said. I nodded and we moved from the room. Scorpion moved with great speed, and we followed behind closely.

Anyone who surprised us from either side, was shot or cut down. We moved down the stair well, the alarm still blaring above us.

We finally made our way to the first floor. My eyes widened at the fire and bodies strewn about. There was so much red, so much blood. Also, there was so much debris falling from the high ceiling above.

“If this place takes another hit, it’s going to come down.” Axel announced. Scorpion led the way, but just as he was in front of me, a loud boom came from the right side of me and now I was shoved very hard by Scorpion. I slammed into Axel, and he caught me but not without us falling to the ground.

My brain was rattled, and my vision was blurry as I looked forward trying to see what was happening. I groaned seeing two large figures going at it. Scorpion was fighting someone. Miles. I blinked a few times noticing he had one some type of mechanical arms and legs.

“Thought you could leave without saying goodbye?” he mocked. Oh fuck.

[axratsffxivwrite]

FFXIV Write Day 4 - Reticent (Familiar Strangers)

Guard duty was hardly Miriam’s preferred choice of mission. Nonetheless, the survivors of Rabanastre needed supplies, and merchants needed a safe route west across the Estersands. It seemed with each passing moon the desert grew more dangerous, lending credence to rumors of the end of the world. 

Final Days or no, she had people to feed. Perched atop the back of a chocobo-driven cart, her light armor and loose, breathable clothes kept the worst of the sun from baking her alive. She carried a simple hunting bow in one hand, a handful of arrows in the other. 

Kemal sat across from her, his eyes fixed on their right flank as hers were their left. While she observed silently, he… talked.

“I was thinking, you know, once father’s business fully relocates back to Rabanastre, maybe we could do more partnerships with the clan, bring the coin back to the Desert Sapphire.” 

She watched. She waited. 

“I mean just ten years ago there was so much coin in Rabanastre, do you remember the bazaar? Merchants from everywhere selling their wares! Could you imagine the day we have merchants from Radz-at-Han again?” 

A fat, round harpy observed them from afar, but declined to approach. It rolled away instead.

“Oh, that’s a thought; maybe we should look outside Dalmasca. All the other merchants pulled out of trade with Thavnair when that tower appeared, and then when the whole burning skies thing started… but now that the skies no longer burn, I bet there’s good coin in it. High risk, sure, maybe they will have a third catastrophe, but if we’re partnered with the clan we’ll have blades enough to guard our wares. Do you think Kutok would take the contract?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Hm, well, maybe I’ll talk to my father and he can talk to Kutok and we can… what’s wrong with that wolf?” 

Miriam narrowed her eyes and turned her head. She spotted the beast in question at the crest of the dunes, some twenty yalms to their north. It was a twisted, hairless beast with skin the color of raw, rotting meat. Spines grew from its back in an array of sizes, from spikes no smaller than her forearm to nearly as long as the beast was tall. Long fangs and tusks crossed in front of a flat muzzle, and glowing red eyes stared out at them. Claws as long as its tusks dug into the sand as it crouched low to the ground, hunting them. 

Two more of the beasts rose from behind the sand, flanking their packmate. Miriam nocked an arrow. 

“I don’t think that’s a wolf.” She stated. 

“I’m starting to think you’re right… It doesn’t look like anything in the huntmaster’s bestiary.” He turned toward the driver. “We need to move, quickly!” 

The merchant called back an affirmative and cracked the reins. The chocobos quickened their pace, the cart bouncing on the uneven terrain. She saw Kemal reach for his bow out of the corner of her eye.

The monsters charged, kicking up sand and dust as they careened down the dune. Miriam let her arrow fly. Despite the bouncing of the cart, her aim was true. The bolt struck the beast in the shoulder, dug deep into its tainted flesh, but it did not so much as flinch. 

The beasts were gaining. Kemal fired off his own arrow. It pierced the lead creature’s flank, dug into what should have been bone, but still it charged. Twenty yalms quickly became ten as they nocked, drew, and fired once again. Their arrows struck in the head and throat respectively. The beast charged on. The merchant screamed, the chocobos bolted, the cart bucked violently, and Miriam went flying. 

She hit the ground and rolled, pain radiating across her body. The lead beast pounced at her. She fumbled for her knife. 

A purple blur shot past her and collided with the beast instead, sending it well off course. A tangle of red and purple fury careened through the sand. The remaining two beasts peeled off, circling the field to assess this new threat. 

A chocobo, Miriam realized. An armored chocobo with feathers as purple as a plum. The beast struggled to find purchase against the bird’s barding as its claws and beak tore into its tainted flesh. Not far behind, a Viera darted past her and launched himself at another of the beasts, grasping it by the spines to grapple it in the sands.

Kemal sprang from the cart and rushed to her aid, but she brushed him off. She scrambled to retrieve her bow and her remaining arrows from the sand. 

“Beasts first,” she snapped to Kemal, “bruises later.” 

“Right.” He hurried away, arrow knocked and drawn as he moved to flank the remaining beast. 

Ignoring the protestations of her sore shoulder, Miriam nocked her own arrow and fired. 

Nearby, the chocobo tore the head off of its adversary. There was no blood, no gore, only an empty black mist as the creature dissipated into nothingness. The bird let out a triumphant cry as it rushed to aid the stranger. The Viera fought claw to claw with the snarling beast, even as it tore into his own flesh and blood splattered across the sand. 

The third beast charged toward Kemal as he repositioned, their arrows adding to the array of spines along its back. Miriam ran around, letting loose arrow after arrow into the monster’s flank. The pain drew its attention back to her as it pivoted, turning its crimson gaze on her.

She let her last arrow fly. It sunk deep into the creature’s skull, directly between the eyes. In an instant, it burst into mist, as if it had never existed in the first place. 

Miriam turned in time to see the Viera claw open the final beast’s chest and tear out the ichor that constituted its organs. It, too, burst, its remnants dissipating on the desert winds. The chocobo once more cried out in victory. 

For a moment they all paused, as the battle rush faded and they caught their breath.

Finally, she called out, “thank you! I do not know your name, but I appreciate your timely arrival.”

The Viera half-turned back to her. She felt herself lock up. He had the brown skin of a Rava, deep green eyes, a handsome face framed with shaggy black hair, and a geometric tattoo under his left eye. His black-furred ears seemed unusually short for one of his kind. His off-white traveling clothes were torn and stained with his blood, but the Bozjan medal pinned to his belt still gleamed. 

He stared back at her, his expression inscrutable. “...are you alright?” 

“You… you remind me of someone, that’s all.” She replied. “A friend, from a long time ago. I’m Miriam, by the way.” 

His eyes narrowed slightly. “...a pleasure, I’m sure.” 

Miriam frowned. Why hadn’t he offered his name? Male Viera were rare to start with, but male Viera with the stunted ears one might see in those of mixed heritage were even rarer. Plus the green eyes, the black hair… 

She held her tongue, doubt gnawing at the back of her mind. 

“Kemal,” she turned toward him, “check on the boss, make sure we’re good to move. We shouldn’t stay here.” 

Kemal hesitated. His eyes trailed from her to the wounded Viera, then back again. 

“...I don’t know that I’m comfortable leaving you alone with him.” 

“I can look after myself.” She looked past him to where the cart had come to a stop some two-dozen yalms or so down the path. “...besides, if you can’t shoot an arrow that far, then we need to send you back to train with Myrmidia.”

Kemal followed her gaze, a frown on his face. “...fine, but if he tries anything…” 

“I’ll skin him before you can.” She replied. 

Kemal offered a grunt of acknowledgement. He reluctantly turned to walk away, though she caught him glancing back in her direction every few steps. 

Overprotective dolt. 

With a sigh, she turned back toward the Viera. He had turned away to fuss over his chocobo. Gentle hands coaxed open the bird’s wings, examining the feathers for any signs of damage. In return, the chocobo wiggled its tail and summoned up a swell of restorative aether that washed over the man’s wounds, staunching the bleeding. 

Miriam smiled, despite herself. “Well, I was about to offer my own magic, but it seems you two are more than capable of looking after each other.” 

The Viera paused. He turned to look at her, then his chocobo, then back at her.

“Exodus and I have been partners for years, it only makes sense.” He paused. “Are you alright? I saw that fall, it looked rough.” 

She shrugged. “I’ll be sore, but it’s little more than bruises.” 

“Good,” he smiled, seeming genuinely relieved. “I am glad to hear it.” 

She couldn’t help but be struck by that smile. That familiar, yet oh-so-handsome smile. He felt familiar, safe, and she couldn’t help but be drawn to it. She pushed the feeling down, locked it away deep in her chest, and reminded herself that there was a good chance this man was simply a stranger on the road. 

He cleared his throat. “I should ask… is your friend always so protective, or does he really think I’d hurt you after I went through all that effort to save you?” 

“Kemal’s… like that.” Miriam shrugged. “He means well, he’s a good man. Just somewhat…” 

“Territorial?” 

“Hmm… that would imply he has territory.” 

The Viera chuckled. “...fair.” 

An awkward quiet lingered for a moment too long as uncertainty built in Miriam’s chest. If he was who she thought he was, then all she wanted to do was wrap him up in the tightest hug and weep tears of joy for his overdue return. Her heart longed for her old friend’s arrival, and yet… doubt lingered in her mind. If this truly was him, why would he try to hide it? Why would he not just say as much? Furthermore, why the Bozjan medal? Last she heard word of her friend, he was adventuring in Eorzea, though it had been too long since his last letter…

Without thinking, she blurted out, “you should come with us.” 

“Hm?” 

“Come with us. You can clearly handle yourself, but if more of those beasts appear, strength in numbers will do us some good.” 

His eyes glanced past her, then returned to meet her gaze again. 

“You are bound for Rabanastre?” 

“We are.” 

His expression remained impassive as he considered the notion. A slight frown toyed at the corner of his mouth. 

“...I will come with you until we have full view of the city. Then I must return to my hunt. The skies no longer burn over Ilsabard, but the blasphemies born during the Final Days need to be culled.” 

Her shoulders slumped slightly, but she maintained an even expression. “I understand, though I must ask you to come with us to the city so our acting Huntmaster can properly repay you.” 

He shook his head. “I don’t need payment. I was hunting them anyway, if anything you helped me by keeping them occupied.” 

“You’re certain?” 

The Viera hesitated. “I… I appreciate your offer, but I would not be welcome in the city. Better to keep my distance.” 

Not welcome? Well, that would certainly explain his reluctance to identify himself, but why wouldn’t he be welcome? It didn’t add up. Her friend was but a child when he left. Maybe this was a stranger…

“If you say so…” She shifted. “...still, you are welcome to accompany us the rest of the way. Come, you should introduce yourself to the boss…” 

She turned to guide him back toward the cart where Kemal and the merchant fussed over the draught birds. Though she couldn’t shake that feeling of familiarity, that sensation of warmth that crawled from her heart and through her body, the chill of doubt held fast. She locked those feelings away, resigned herself not to act on them until she had some hint of his true identity. 

If it was him, surely he had reason to hide. 

It only took a few moments to right the cart and steady the chocobos. Exodus’s confidence gave the draughts their own back, and before long they were on the road once more, plus one. Miriam resumed her post across from Kemal, while the Viera rode alongside on his own vibrant bird. 

She couldn’t help but glance to him every so often. Her heart ached with longing. Even if that wasn’t her friend, he reminded her of him. Loneliness gnawed at her. Kemal was fine and all, but he was little more than a trusted colleague to her. 

He caught her staring at the Viera more than a few times as the cart rolled along. By the fourth time he simply sighed, resigned, and turned his gaze outward to scan for threats. 

Despite the longing, despite the pain, Miriam kept her thoughts to herself. Perhaps it was better not to say anything after all.

…right? 

[felassan]

assorted thoughts on DA: Absolution -

IMDB from a month ago was right

it looks good, I'm excited

stacked voice cast

diverse voice cast & characters

Cassandra my beloved

I hope there will be a Season 2

Qwydion 🥺 Vashoth?

the fact that it's been built in close collaboration with BioWare’s creative team (including head writers and lead creative directors), and that it was a big passion project for the show creator, who spent weeks immersed in DA lore to prepare and said they want to make something fans could be proud of.. 👌

"PS: if you’ve read this far, see you on Dragon Age Day. Or maybe sooner" hellooo what does THIS mean 👁️ you have the attention of each one of my many Pride demon eyeballs. another Absolution trailer, episode one or something of Absolution dropping early as a preview, or something like Absolution character profiles or behind-the-scenes/making of reels on or before DA Day? or something for DA:D?

Lords of Fortune once again prominent, again I'm guessing they have a role to play in DA:D

Evariste Lemarque is the latest minor character to ascend in DA's time-honored tradition of Ascended Extras. he was a neat side NPC, I'm looking forwards to seeing his expanded backstory/characterization etc, I love it when DA side characters get some spotlight & fleshing out tbh. he makes sense as a group leader given his history leading the Watcher's Reach refugees. given his appearance in the scene with Cass and Leli and the fact that he can be recruited in DAI as an Inquisition Agent, I guess he is the group's Inquisition contact and that the group are being sent on this quest on behalf of/at the behest of the Inquisition (or Inquisition remnants timeperiod depending). it reminds me a bit of Bull's Charger's, Sutherland's Company, Vaea and co, and the adventuring group questing on behalf of the Inquisition in Genetivi Dies in the End. like a show about an Inquisition War Table mission :) very cool!! the world feels more alive and dynamic when we have the sense that lots of things are happening in the background off-screen around the games

3 fighters, 2 mages and Miriam/a thief, sounds like the classic DA and RPG party with a team leader setup.

the Cass and Leli scene reads like the Inquisition briefing our group on their assigned quest

Miriam's childhood looks like what Fenris' must have been like :( I wonder if the other child in the flashback is her sibling. I wonder if something happened to the other child at the hands of the woman who enslaved Miriam or because of Rezaren, contributing to Miriam's trauma :(

I am once again wondering if, given the heist and thieves plotline, some ideas and aspects from Joplin (with its "spies and heists, secret heroes nobody knows about" vision) were rolled into Absolution. I am also once again thinking about the Magrallen. so our latest macguffin is an extremely dangerous likely Tevinter magical artifact fuelled by blood magic, while the Magrallen was a Tevinter magical device also powered by blood magic which dates back to ancient times, the time of the Dreamers. Titus was using the Magrallen to augment his power, with the intent of restoring Tevinter's greatness using his augmented Dreamer powers to do mind control and brainwashing. he talked about how the ancient Dreamers commanded the fade, "mages sculpting dreams. Dreams sculpting reality". Rezaren also seems to want to build some kind of new, better, grand future for Tevinter regardless of the cost, albeit one that's more righteous and better for everyone involved not just those in power (and the question posed then is: is it ok to fix Tevinter, and create a better future for everyone in it from all parts of the society, if the cost of that is mindcontrolling everyone or whatever else? reminds me a bit of the questions posed by the Control and Synthesis endings in ME). maybe the Circulum Infinitus is a small, mobile/portable version of the Magrallen? it presumably does something similar or adjacent at least. blood magic (and Rezaren appears to be a blood mage) already allows for mind control. With a portable macguffin that boosts blood magic powers, a blood mage could probably mind control many, many people, maybe even a nation or the whole magocracy (all those in power in Tevinter)

the hooded figure with many eyes is tied to the Pride Demon I'm sure

seen a few folks wonder if the horned silhouette is Iron Bull, I don't think this is the case, I think it's the dragon skull/dead dragon from 0:12 in the Absolution teaser trailer

maybe Rezaren and possibly also Tassia are the children of the woman who enslaved Miriam before? Rezaren and the woman's hairstyles and clothes look kind of similar, and that could explain why he's (if it's him) the man at the heart of Miriam's misery. and isn't the flaming sword symbol on Tassia's hammer a version of the Templar symbol? the Imperial Templar Order falls under the authority of the Magisters and the Tevinter Circle of Magi. so for Tassia, as she's dutiful and hardworking, as a dutiful Imperial Templar that could be why she's aiding Rezaren, and her character's personal conflict will be about how much she's willing to stand by and let happen for 'the good of Tevinter', and where exactly she draws the line. if they're siblings, she'd be a non-magic scion of a noble magic house (if Rezaren being born into privilege is anything to go by), and therefore perhaps feel duty-bound to contribute towards the greatness of her house and country in her own, non-magical way, in lieu of being a mage herself.

it threw me for a loop a bit that Matt Mercer isn't voicing the character that looks like Matt Mercer hh

with the way Rezaren sees himself, and the prideful notion he has that he should be the one to build a better Tevinter.. he sounds like precisely the kind of person who would be susceptible to a Pride demon. haha we in danger

what could Hira's secret be? maybe she is a blood mage, that learned the power in order to help her crusade? with her crusade against Tevinter, I wonder if she has crossed paths with Dorian, Mae and the Lucerni

the most powerful man in Tevinter: the Archon? the Black Divine? Rezaren? I wonder if our group are stealing the Circulum from Rezaren or if both they and Rezaren are opposing forces both trying to steal it at the same time from the most powerful man in Tevinter.

[battymuses]

Mary Meets Miriam (Part 2/?)

As the two conversed about movies and plays and musicals, time seemed to fly by. The man called to repair the door was soon there. “Hhh. Shit,” Mary grimaced as she heard the knock on what remained of her door. She wasn’t looking forward to being seen by someone else. She doubted whoever this was would be as respectful as Miriam had been. But it had to be done. With a sigh, Mary hopped down from the couch and headed off to address the situation. While Miriam stayed on the couch, she could hear Mary conversing with the man. All seemed normal until… “Hey, yer that Baby Doll kid!” “Mary Dahl,” the blonde corrected. “And I’m not a kid.” “Right, right,” the man waved it off. “Yer just some kind of dwarf. I forgot.” Mary bristled. At least he didn’t go for the m-slur… But this was still going to suck. “Can we please just get back to my door?” “Yeah, yeah. In a minute. Hey, can I get your autograph?” The blonde’s eye twitched. “With how you’re talking to me? No.” “How I’m talkin’ to ya? The fuck are you talkin’ about?” The conversation was interrupted with the sound of intentionally loud footsteps. “Disrespectfully,” Miriam responded firmly, arms crossed and glaring daggers at the man. “I highly suggest you leave this woman alone and do your job.” Mary looked over to Miriam with wide eyes. She couldn’t believe someone was defending her for once. It was a good thing she let the redhead stay… “Oh, please. She’s a has-been! What do I gotta respect?” “We are not having this conversation.” Miriam spoke through gritted teeth. “Drop it and do your job.” The man scoffed. “Or what?” “Or you’ll see what I did to that door happen to your skull.” The man raised his brows and looked at the door. “Yer bluffin’. No way you did that.” Miriam stepped closer, scowling at the other. “Try me.” “You think you can intimidate me, bitch?” WHACK! A right hook to the face caused the man to stumble and yell out. “Ow! Bitch!” he hissed, rubbing his cheek. “Oh, darn. You called my bluff. I can’t go full force on you if I want you to fix the door.” Miriam grabbed the man by the front of his shirt and yanked him up. “The only reason I didn’t break your nose was to avoid blood on her floor.” The man glared at her… but stayed silent. “...Good.” She let the man go and turned to Mary. “He won’t give you any more trouble.” Mary simply nodded, face pale and hand to her chest. Miriam’s face softened to worry and she guided Mary back to the living room. --- “Keep it together… Keep it together…” Mary repeated through shallow shaky breaths. She clasped her head, unkempt fingernails digging into the flesh of her scalp. Miriam watched as the blonde shook in place, tears pricking at her eyes. The poor woman seemed on the verge of a breakdown and she really didn’t want that to happen. Of all the skills Miriam had, handling a mental breakdown was not one of them. “Shit! Shit! Shit!” Mary chanted, nails digging further into her head. “It’s happening again! Because I let someone see me! It’ll never end! They’ll never treat me right! It’ll be like this until I die! When will I die?! How long will this body last?!” Oh… this breakdown was happening. “Mary,” Miriam spoke firmly, trying to grab the woman’s attention. She didn’t know what she was going to do, but she had to try something. “I’m here. It’s okay. I know it doesn’t feel that way, but it’s okay. I need you to breathe for me. Breathe for me, okay?” Mary turned her gaze to Miriam, eyes focusing on the redhead and ending her thousand yard stare. There was someone here. There was someone here… But she wasn’t judging her. This one was okay. For now. Just this one time. It would be back to normal soon. Breathe. Breathe. “Slowly through your nose, remember?” Miriam pointed out as the blonde’s breaths were still quick and shallow. “Then out through pursed lips. Iiinnnn… and ouuuuuut…” It took a few tries, but the blonde’s breaths became more steady. “You’re doing great, Mary! Keep it up!” Miriam encouraged. “Maybe sit down now? Let yourself rest a bit.” Mary nodded a bit shakily and made her way back onto the couch, Miriam joining her soon after. “Yeah… You’re gonna be okay, alright?” Miriam sighed, partially asking Mary, rather than informing. Mary sniffed as the tears came rolling. “Y-yeah… I just need to get the feelings out of me. I can breathe now… It’ll pass.” Miriam was worried about the tears, but took Mary’s word for it. She was a grown woman. She knew her own mental state better than someone else would. “Okay,” the redhead nodded, leaning over to grab a tissue and hand it to Mary. “Than you,” the blonde hiccuped and wiped her eyes. “No problem,” Miriam assured and relaxed back into the sofa, folding her hands on her stomach. “Take all the time you need.” “Oh, I will,” Mary managed to laugh ever so slightly. “It’s my apartment and I’ll cry if I want to.” Miriam couldn’t help but snicker at that.

[mothmanriley]

I genuinely forgot how much consuming certain pieces of media helps to rationalize the scarier parts of DID. in honor of being able to name the horrors, here's a list of guys I gotta watch out for (all of them have been extremely very present the past week or so):

- eye guy. classic, he's been around since I was a Babey, big fan of Jonathan Sims for a obviousreasons and I'm not unentirely convinced he ain't part of Jon's subsystem.

- (also. Jonathan. Lord Of Evil. I love you man but you're terrifying, and also weirdly normal??? and I do not know how you have so much power within the system? you cant say its bc you've been around the longest bc moth's (i?) been here longer & theyre just a lil guy. although I appreciate the fact that you're helpful. although although how do you have relationship drama with a person who also lives in our head. why. we share a body what do you MEAN you're exes. one of the few 'in the know' that fronts pretty often. vibes of a man haunted.)

- the recordkeeper/the archive - again. love them. I liked being around them more when they were just a fictive of my tes self insert oc & not a constant observer perpetually and constantly in the background making me feel like I'm Always Being Watched.

- The Static Man, who I have never had a pleasant interaction with. I cannot express how genuinely, actually terrified of him I am. he has no shape, he has no voice, only TV static. if he's around it's very, very bad.

- the ever-shifting mound of flesh and blood that isn't even a person, she's just a memory thinly veiled bc if I think about too much I start thinking I'm Dead, so I turned her into a Creature and put her in The Ocean

- THE HIVE. twitch chat, if you will. they're a lot of eyes & I get the feeling they're individuals but there's wayy to many of them so they're just the guys watching me. the audience. separate from the eye guy, bc that's just Jon in a bad mood, but similar in ... function?? purpose?

- Miriam, who is spooky in that she is the first one from the inside to come to the outside and *have feelings* about it. that's not supposed to happen. the inside people stay inside. she also seems to be a big part of the audience? when they start freaking out she's the only one who can really calm them down.

- MOTH !!!!! I AM SCARY AND HOLD POWER BEYOND COMPREHENSION < jon takes care of me >:] < spooky bc They Know Things. and are relatively unaffected by this knowledge. how is this 12 y/o more chill about our past than me

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

8th August >> Mass Readings (Except USA)

Saint Dominic, Priest 

on

Tuesday, Eighteenth Week in Ordinary Time.

Tuesday, Eighteenth Week in Ordinary Time

(Liturgical Colour: White: A (1))

(Readings for the feria (Tuesday))

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Tuesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading Numbers 12:1-13 'How have you dared to speak against my servant Moses?'

Miriam, and Aaron too, spoke against Moses in connexion with the Cushite woman he had taken. (For he had married a Cushite woman.) They said, ‘Has the Lord spoken to Moses only? Has he not spoken to us too?’

The Lord heard this. Now Moses was the most humble of men, the humblest man on earth. Suddenly, the Lord said to Moses and Aaron and Miriam, ‘Come, all three of you, to the Tent of Meeting.’ They went, all three of them, and the Lord came down in a pillar of cloud and stood at the entrance of the Tent. He called Aaron and Miriam and they both came forward. The Lord said, ‘Listen now to my words: If any man among you is a prophet I make myself known to him in a vision, I speak to him in a dream. Not so with my servant Moses: he is at home in my house; I speak with him face to face, plainly and not in riddles, and he sees the form of the Lord. How then have you dared to speak against my servant Moses?’

The anger of the Lord blazed out against them. He departed, and as soon as the cloud withdrew from the Tent, there was Miriam a leper, white as snow! Aaron turned to look at her; she had become a leper. Aaron said to Moses: ‘Help me, my lord! Do not punish us for a sin committed in folly of which we are guilty. I entreat you, do not let her be like a monster, coming from its mother’s womb with flesh half corrupted.’

Moses cried to the Lord, ‘O God,’ he said ‘please heal her, I beg you!’

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 50(51):3-7,12-13

R/ Have mercy on us, Lord, for we have sinned.

Have mercy on me, God, in your kindness. In your compassion blot out my offence. O wash me more and more from my guilt and cleanse me from my sin.

R/ Have mercy on us, Lord, for we have sinned.

My offences truly I know them; my sin is always before me Against you, you alone, have I sinned; what is evil in your sight I have done.

R/ Have mercy on us, Lord, for we have sinned.

That you may be justified when you give sentence and be without reproach when you judge, O see, in guilt I was born, a sinner was I conceived.

R/ Have mercy on us, Lord, for we have sinned.

A pure heart create for me, O God, put a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me away from your presence, nor deprive me of your holy spirit.

R/ Have mercy on us, Lord, for we have sinned.

Gospel Acclamation John 8:12

Alleluia, alleluia! I am the light of the world, says the Lord; anyone who follows me will have the light of life. Alleluia!

Or: John 1:49

Alleluia, alleluia! Rabbi, you are the Son of God, you are the King of Israel. Alleluia!

Gospel Matthew 14:22-36 Jesus walks on the water.

Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side while he would send the crowds away. After sending the crowds away he went up into the hills by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, while the boat, by now far out on the lake, was battling with a heavy sea, for there was a head-wind. In the fourth watch of the night he went towards them, walking on the lake, and when the disciples saw him walking on the lake they were terrified. ‘It is a ghost’ they said, and cried out in fear. But at once Jesus called out to them, saying, ‘Courage! It is I! Do not be afraid.’ It was Peter who answered. ‘Lord,’ he said ‘if it is you, tell me to come to you across the water.’ ‘Come’ said Jesus. Then Peter got out of the boat and started walking towards Jesus across the water, but as soon as he felt the force of the wind, he took fright and began to sink. ‘Lord! Save me!’ he cried. Jesus put out his hand at once and held him. ‘Man of little faith,’ he said ‘why did you doubt?’ And as they got into the boat the wind dropped. The men in the boat bowed down before him and said, ‘Truly, you are the Son of God.’

Having made the crossing, they came to land at Gennesaret. When the local people recognised him they spread the news through the whole neighbourhood and took all that were sick to him, begging him just to let them touch the fringe of his cloak. And all those who touched it were completely cured.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

------------------------------

Saint Dominic, Priest 

(Liturgical Colour: White: A (1))

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Tuesday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First Reading 1 Corinthians 2:1-10 The wisdom that God predestined to be for our glory.

Brothers, when I came to you, it was not with any show of oratory or philosophy, but simply to tell you what God had guaranteed. During my stay with you, the only knowledge I claimed to have was about Jesus, and only about him as the crucified Christ. Far from relying on any power of my own, I came among you in great ‘fear and trembling’ and in my speeches and the sermons that I gave, there were none of the arguments that belong to philosophy; only a demonstration of the power of the Spirit. And I did this so that your faith should not depend on human philosophy but on the power of God.

But still we have a wisdom to offer those who have reached maturity: not a philosophy of our age, it is true, still less of the masters of our age, which are coming to their end. The hidden wisdom of God which we teach in our mysteries is the wisdom that God predestined to be for our glory before the ages began. It is a wisdom that none of the masters of this age have ever known, or they would not have crucified the Lord of Glory; we teach what scripture calls: the things that no eye has seen and no ear has heard, things beyond the mind of man, all that God has prepared for those who love him. These are the very things that God has revealed to us through the Spirit.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 95(96):1-3,7-8,10

R/ Proclaim the wonders of the Lord among all the peoples.

O sing a new song to the Lord, sing to the Lord all the earth. O sing to the Lord, bless his name.

R/ Proclaim the wonders of the Lord among all the peoples.

Proclaim his help day by day, tell among the nations his glory and his wonders among all the peoples.

R/ Proclaim the wonders of the Lord among all the peoples.

Give the Lord, you families of peoples, give the Lord glory and power; give the Lord the glory of his name.

R/ Proclaim the wonders of the Lord among all the peoples.

Proclaim to the nations: ‘God is king.’ The world he made firm in its place; he will judge the peoples in fairness.

R/ Proclaim the wonders of the Lord among all the peoples.

Gospel Acclamation John 8:12

Alleluia, alleluia! I am the light of the world, says the Lord; anyone who follows me will have the light of life. Alleluia!

Gospel Luke 9:57-62 'I will follow you wherever you go'.

As Jesus and his disciples travelled along they met a man on the road who said to him, ‘I will follow you wherever you go.’ Jesus answered, ‘Foxes have holes and the birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.’

Another to whom he said, ‘Follow me’, replied, ‘Let me go and bury my father first.’ But he answered, ‘Leave the dead to bury their dead; your duty is to go and spread the news of the kingdom of God.’ Another said, ‘I will follow you, sir, but first let me go and say goodbye to my people at home.’ Jesus said to him, ‘Once the hand is laid on the plough, no one who looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[myristicisms]

How pathetic a creature she must appear. Sat so prim and proper, nearly cowering before a man who has yet to give her a reason to act in such a way. Instinct was one hell of a thing, often her meetings with Doflamingo were never a simple one on one, the air with which he carried himself with had always been overwhelming, suffocating in a way she admired far too greatly for a woman of her stature; Should the man find it in his whims, a tanned hand could easily reach over and crush the delicate cartilage within her throat and yet that thought scares her far less than the idea of disappointing the blonde. Praise and validation were not things she saw herself above, Miriam was still human regardless of the many many people of her past saying otherwise and thus much like anyone else, she craved to be told she was enough.

( You'll never be good enough. You're just vermin. )

Another mouth to feed and a waste of oxygen should she not prove her worth to the king stood before her, grinning down at her with seemingly no concern in the world. She knows he's yet to speak to her, to answer the question that's tumbled past her lips and yet there's a pounding in her skull, a voice whispering his disappointment in her choices, in what's led to her sat atop such a lavish seat in a dress she has no business wearing simply because this safety is unnatural for common scum. For years her very existence relied solely on fighting, pristine nails now well manicured and rounded once bloodied and jagged with the effort of clawing her way through life, an ever constant struggle to show why she deserved her title and why she had earned the right to continue living.

Flesh giving way beneath the edge of her blade had been a sensation Miriam had been all too familiar with, the warm ichor of viscera and blood staining the pallid hue of her flesh something she hadn't ever thought herself able to wash away and yet the battle ready maiden had softened some during her stay in Dressrosa, she's grown comfortable and that too left her uneasy. Combat was not nearly as common nor brutal anymore, now that she's not left to her own devices and certainly not when Miriam no longer has to keep an eye out for silver and ebony when in the throes of battle. She has long since accepted the life she'd been used to is behind her for now, though there is always the ever present fear of overstepping, of saying something to anger someone worth more than herself and landing herself right back into the streets, back at square one despite being capable of protecting herself now.

( He's not here to watch my back anymore. I'll be completely alone. ) And that's just what it was that made her far more terrified than the idea of death itself; Loneliness often meant death in her youth, the other kids out on the street that were not lucky enough, not in the same way Miriam had been, wound up in far worse of scenarios than she ever came close to, ( men do not simply give you something unless they expect something in return, don't accept anything unless you know what it's for, got it Miri? ) The familiar voice rings loudly, a buzzing in her skull that digs its claws deep within her sternum and scrapes until it digs a shallow trench to settle comfortably, painfully.

A soft exhale breaks her calm façade, the mask she wore of a carefree warrior cracking just slightly while her intense gaze flickers to something different, flitting past her captain to linger upon the scenery behind him ( albeit with great difficulty ) only to swiftly focus upon the way with which his lips curve around his voice. Doflamingo's questions hanging heavy within her already full mind and while she loathed being spoken to in rhetoricals, this one had caught her interest quite keenly. How many had the great king allowed so closely within his circle? Certainly a select group of people and yet even still Miriam could not wrap her head around the idea she had earned a place at his dinner table, not yet when she's hardly had the chance to do so. “ I... Suppose not, I apologize for the curiosity. ” Her soft voice finally breaks through, hesitation evident within the tone while her gaze lingers upon the shimmering colors within what little light reflects off of his strings.

There's the butterfly again.

Always that damned butterfly.

“ However. ” Blunt nails once again begin the familiar feeling of digging into flesh, close to snapping through the protective barrier and rending into firm muscle. It's instinctive in a sense, a habit she's maintained since she was just a sickly child sobbing for the young boy who protected her as best he could to come back only for her tears to land upon filthy floors and silence to follow suit. She was small then and she's small now, no matter how strong Miriam is she'll never be more than the pathetic lamb she's always been, never the bold ram she fought so hard to resemble. “ I'm afraid old ways of living are lingering a bit too much within my mind. It's... Very new to me, being treated as as more than just dirt upon the ground. ”

ੈ✩ ｡˚  ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎delicate  fabric  and  intricate  frills  drape  over  polished  leather,  pristine  and  gleaming,  polished to shine, enough to hide the less - than - savoury affairs.  pale  skin  pressed  against  the  rich,  black  material  would  almost  glow  beneath  the  sun’s  rays,  were  it  not  for  the  towering  figure  perched sentinel,  his  silhouette  blotting  out  the  light.  fragments  of  sunlight  sneak  between  the  fluttering  feathers  of  his  lavish  coat,  scattering  faint  hues  of  pink  around  the  dimly  lit  office.  they  dance  around  him  like  halos,  tracing  his  form,  though  any  divine  illusion  fades  under  the  weight  of  his  red-tinted  lenses,  so  dark  they  eclipse  the  eyes  beneath.  if  not  for  those  impenetrable  shades,  the  king  might  have  worn  the  heavenly  moniker  with  which  the  navy  had  christened  him  —  but  heavenly  was  a  misnomer,  a  falsehood.  demon  was  closer,  though  even  that  fell  short  of  the  truth:  god  was  his  true  identity,  and  gods  need  not  concern  themselves  with  the  titles  mortals  bestowed  upon  them.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎she  feels  the  weight  of  the  gift  in  her  hands,  its  elegance  almost  suffocating  in  its  grandeur,  and  her  mind,  so  quick  to  latch  onto  insecurities,  immediately  whispers  the  truth  she  already  knows:  she  hasn’t  earned  this.  his  generosity  seems  beyond  comprehension,  a  mercy  she  isn’t  worthy  of,  but  he  needn’t  say  it  aloud.  he  watches  her  silently,  knowing  her  unease  —  after  all,  his  little  butterfly  still  had  time  to  prove  herself,  time  to  show  she  was  more  than  just  a  fleeting,  delicate  thing  caught  in  his  web.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎even  as  a  child,  doflamingo  had  found  no  joy  in  the  creatures  others  admired.  where  children  would  marvel  at  the  intricacies  of  insects,  his  interest  had  always  been  cold,  distant.  rosinante,  on  the  other  hand,  had  reveled  in  them,  happily  flipping  through  the  most  detailed  volumes  of  books  that  berri  could  buy,  eager  to  study  the  small things.  doffy never  cared  to  pick  them  up;  they  were  inconsequential,  their  lives  as  fleeting  as  his  attention  span.  butterflies,  in  particular,  didn’t  live  long.  he  vaguely  recalled  that  when  caught  in  a  net,  even  the  gentlest  touch  could  end  their  short  lives.  he  wondered,  fleetingly,  whether  his  threads  could  do  the  same.  the  sunflower  fields  were  full  of  them  this  time  of  year,  drifting  too  close  to  his  reach  as  though  seeking  to  be  ensnared.  he  had  caught  one  effortlessly,  his  strings  weaving  into  its  wings,  holding  them  in  place  as  he  fixed  it  into  a  desirable  position.  it  was  likely  s t i l l a l i v e  when  he  gave  it  to  her,  though  she  wouldn’t  know  the  difference.  its  silent  struggle  had  been  known  only  to  him,  irrelevant  and  unspoken.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎❛❛  do  you  know  how  many  members  are  in  my  crew ?  ❜❜  he  asks,  his  voice  devoid  of  mockery,  though  the  question  itself  could  have  seemed  condescending  if  spoken  by  another.  yet  from  the  king,  it  was  a  calm,  inquisitive  tone,  almost  as  if  he  were  eager  to  impart  knowledge  rather  than  test  her.  there  is  no  change of tone  to  his  words,  only  a  steady,  unwavering  certainty.  ❛❛  so  few  sit  at  my  table…  share  meals  with  me,  sleep  within  such  proximity.  ❜❜  as  he  speaks,  his  hand  rises  with  deliberate  grace,  his  eyes  no  longer  on  her  as  invisible  strings  shimmer  momentarily  —  pink,  blue,  green,  red,  and  white,  each  glinting  in  the  faint  light  before  vanishing  into  the  ether  once  more.  his  hand  squeezes  shut,  and  a  subtle  twitch  in  the  hand  resting  on  his  thigh  signals  control  over  the  unseen  threads.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎❛❛  those  that  do  are  my  family,  close  to  blood  but  not  quite.  *   his  tone  softens,  yet  there  is  a  chilling  finality  in  the  words.  he  reflects  on  the  truth  of  his  blood,  a  love  he  still  held,  unconditional  even  now.  his  family  had  erred,  fallen  into  disgrace,  but  he  forgave  them.  he  put  them  out  of  their  misery,  a  mercy  only  he  could  grant,  and  in  doing  so,  they  could  no  longer  betray  him.  some  might  call  such  thoughts  twisted,  but  doflamingo  had  never  concerned  himself  with  the  judgments  of  others.  *  do  I  need  a  reason  to  give  such  gifts ?  ❜❜  his  hand  opens  slowly,  revealing  a  brilliant butterfly,  its  wings  spun  from  threads,  glittering  beneath  the  muted  sky.  it  flutters  feebly,  as  if  attempting  to  leave  his  palm,  but  the  invisible  threads  bind  it  in  place.  his  gaze  returns  to  her,  sharp  and  penetrating,  a  grin  tugging  at  his  lips  as  if  he  could  see  straight  through  her.

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎❛❛  do  you  need  a  reason  for  being  allowed  a  seat  beside  me ?  ❜❜ 

[sunnychoir]

SUNNYCHOIR’S RP PLOTTING CHEAT-SHEET

Want new-and-exciting plots for your character? Long to reach out to more of your followers, but don’t know where to start? Fear not! Fill out this form and give your RP partners both present and future all the of juicy jumping off points they need to help you get your characters acquainted.

Be sure to tag the players whose characters YOU want more cues to interact with, and repost, don’t reblog! Feel free to add or remove sections as you see fit. Template here.

Mun name: Andy OOC Contact: Tumblr IM’s, askbox, or discord!

Who the heck is my muse anyway:

Miriam Price. Evil southern belle, psychic witch, roller derby champ, big meanie, wild child, former golden child of the Price family, and the polar opposite of a mom friend

Points of interest:

bioluminescent eyes (like this, but bright turquoise)

all kinds of magic. Hexes, telekinesis, pyrokinesis, a touch of hypnotism (see here for how that works), mediumship,

heavy accent, unlike her brother who went through speech therapy to make it all but disappear 

Huge sweet tooth

Can and will butt in and make rude ass comments, has no respect for anyone who doesn’t stick up for themselves 

What they’ve been up to recently:

roller skating 

staying out all night, and spending the next day hungover, rinse and repeat

pretending that she doesn’t miss Marion now that he’s keeping his distance (as per her request, btw)

Friday Night Majohng with the coven

Just driving around in her pickup truck to pass the time

Where to find them:

roller rink

clubs/bars/especially ones specifically lgbt+ or just for wlw

really anywhere out and about, Miriam rarely spends time at home

Current plan:

to leave town forever, but for now she’s content to keep doing what she’s always done: complain about things are and expect everything else to change instead

Desired interactions:

FRIENDSHIP (Miriam is..picky though, so good luck)

or really any relationship where Miriam gets called out on her bullshit

i’m actually a picky shipper but...i would not mind some gals being pals 

FOUND FAMILY

AND MOST IMPORTANTLY...ENEMIES 

Offered interactions:

flawed relationships, Miriam is...not the ideal date

gimme ur lady muses, Miriam is extroverted, very chatty when she feels like it, and while she’s a real nasty bully she’ll still look out for her fellow ladies

^^^ which means ur lady muse being harassed? Don’t mind if she steps in

pasted this from Marion’s version of this post but horror/supernatural themes? Got you covered. Your muse a paranormal investigator? Enthusiast? The twins are pretty well-known in the southeast, so feel free to have your muse know who they are!!

Current open post/s:

literally any post tagged #on stage ❤ | ic can count as an open if you’d like, so long as it’s not clearly for a specific muse. (i.e: closed starter,Miriam is specifically talking to a muse) Go wild, my friends.

Seriously idc that we’ve never interacted before slap urself right on my ic posts

Anything else?:

feel free to make dashcom on stuff, I love it

even if i followed you ages ago, i’ll definitely still take a greeter if you do them!

I do both online and face-to-face roleplay on this blog, if you only do one or the other I’m still game either way.

I can struggle with plotting rp’s out, THEN actually rp-ing it. I do like discussing how it goes, and then using that as a backdrop for current interaction!

one-liners/asks usually will get answered to way faster than para threads

my time zone is eastern time! I live in Ohio

discord is open for mutuals!

[darling-i-read-it]

Su-Zakana

2x08 

Hannibal Lecter x reader x Will Graham 

Hannibal Re-Write Series Masterlist

Word Count: 3.6k 

Warnings: spoilers for hannibal, murder, mental health problems, insinuations to smut, murder, dead bodies, manipulation 

Author’s Note: This took so long and it is super long and I am very tired but I really hope you guys enjoy!!!

I used some direct quotes from the script so some things may seem familiar 

Official Episode Summary :Will helps investigate the case of a woman's body found inside of a horse; Alana worries about Will's intentions toward Hannibal; Will and Hannibal rush to protect a witness they believe to be in danger.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director 

Tag List (is always open!) : @llperfectsymmetryll​ @ericacactus​ @vlightning95​

(not my gif) (this was one of those episodes where i’m like WILL IS PRETTY ALL GIFS OF WILL) 

“Where are you off to?” you asked, looking up at Will. You were amazed at how compused he had been since arriving back from jail. You weren’t going to lie, it was attractive. But also semi worrying. Ever since he had sent someone to kill Hannibal he had been this way. Maybe it was just because he was more sure of himself now. Either way, you liked this Will more than the one who seemed to be breaking at every touch.

“Fishing.”

“It’s snowing,” you pointed out.

“Ice fishing.” 

“Are you going alone? Should I come?” 

“No, I’m going with Jack.” You scoffed and Will smiled. It was nice to see some things would never change and your distaste for Jack Crawford was one of those things.

“Alright, have fun then. Be safe!” 

“I’m a good fisher Y/N,” Will promised. You shrugged.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t tell you to be safe.”

-

You sat at Hannibal’s dinner table. It was odd to be back here. Sitting beside Will, across from Jack, near Hannibal. It reminded you of the times before your boyfriend was wrongly put in jail but then again, mostly everything did these days.

Hannibal placed the fish down on the table and you were happy to see the pieces of it and know Will had caught it.

“Truite saumonee au bleau with vegetables and broth, served with hollandaise sauce on the side. Beautiful fish Will,” Hannibal started to dish up each plate and place them in front of everyone. Will gave a strained smile.

“It was my turn to provide the meat,” he quipped and you chuckled a bit at that. Jack gave you a look but you couldn’t care less what he thought.

‘More flavorful and firm than farmed specimens. I find the trout to be a very Nietzsche-an fish. Trials of hsi wild existence find their way into the flavor of the flesh.” Hannibal sat down. “I hope ‘providing the meat’ doesn’t mean you still harbor doubts about what I serve at my table.” 

“No doubts, Dr. Lecter. Only the wounds ew dealt to each other before we got to the truth,” Jack explained. 

“Speak for yourself Jack,” you said, cutting harshly into the fish on your plate. Hannibal had to admit how distinguished you and Will looked beside each other once more. Like all was right in the world. 

“Which is why we need to move past apologies and forgiveness. Chilton has many victims besides the dead,” Hannibal countered. “We will absorb this experience and it will change us. We are all Nietzsche-ian fish in that regard.” 

“Makes us tastier,” Will said and you couldn’t help but smile. Funnier then he had been before. Hannibal and you shared a secret glance. 

“None of our actions were personal,” Jack said.

“I tried to have Hannibal killed. Isn’t personal?” Will inquired. You wanted to tell him that he was on fire tonight but bit your tongue. 

“No because you did not succeed,” you said, pointing a fork at Hannibal. “Clearly.”

“You thought I was a killer,” Hannibal said.

“I don’t blame Miriam Lass for shooting Frederick Chilton. I wanted to kill him myself.” Jack looked away from the three of you. The situation itself was so odd to him. He didn’t understand where you stood with the boys and how the boys stood with themselves. 

“Greatest crime now would be to walk away from what we’ve shared and suffered. In many ways, we need each other. We’re the only ones who will know what this feels like,” Hannibal said simply. Will took a bite of the dish.

“This fish is delicious.” 

You snuck a smile

-

Jack got up and left before you and Will. You glanced out the window behind where Hannibal usually sat. It was snowing steadily. You heard the door shut, Jack had been gone. You turned back, your hair falling on your back. Will and Hannibal walked inside the dining room.

“It’s snowing,” you whispered. They both smiled but the smile was different. Will smiled at you because he had seen this bit of you. The part excited by the snow. He smiled at a piece of you he knew. Hannibal smiled because he felt like you never showed this piece of you. 

“Looks like it,” Will said. “We should go soon.” You nodded and moved away from the windows.

“Yes we should. It’s getting late.”

“Actually I was hoping to run something by the two of you” Hannibal said. You raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes?” Will asked, back stiffening. 

“If you are pursuing working with Jack perhaps,” Hannibal said which made you narrow your eyes. You hadn’t talked with Will about that yet. “I was hoping to have Y/N come with us.” 

Will looked at Hannibal hard. He tried to figure out this angle. To an untrained eye it was likely because Hannibal wanted to spend time with you. To Will, he wondered if you coming along was to keep both of them in check. Perhaps it was something entirely different.

“I would love to. Especially if Will decides too.” Hannibal nodded.

“Then it’s settled.” 

-

In the car you looked over at Will as he drove back to your home. The snow was coming harder but you could only tell by the headlights.

“Are you really going to go back to working with Jack?” 

“I don’t know.” You looked out the window, not being able to look at him.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea.” Will nodded.

“I know you don’t.” He glanced at you. “You’ve always been against it. But I can handle it now. It might even help me.” 

“But if it breaks you…” you trailed off.

“It won’t.” He grabbed your hand and squeezed it. You nodded.

-

You sat at your desk, fiddling with your pen when the appointment came in. Margot Verger. She was a pretty thing, someone you could probably be friends with. She approached you with a sense of cool confidence.

“Verger?” You nodded. 

“Right on time. He’ll come when he’s ready,” you promised. She nodded and sat at one of the chairs. You watched her for just a moment before she caught you. What an interesting lady.

-

Alana stood across from you. She had come to Hannibal's office to see you while Margot was in.

“Can I help you Miss. Bloom?” She had a stiff back and you could tell whatever she wanted to talk about was not something you wanted to hear about. You had been distant from her since Will tried to kill Hannibal. 

“I’ve been talking with Hannibal,” she said simply and the way she said it made you wonder what the talking insured. “I want to know how Will is.” She paused and you didn’t answer her, looking up at her from your desk chair. “I want to know if he’ll hurt Hannibal again.” 

You paused a second longer as you studied her. 

“Are you and Hannibal...sleeping together?” you asked, laughing a bit. She looked straight at you. You felt semi betrayed. You couldn’t tell by who. 

“Is he safe?” 

“I don’t know Alana.” Your voice was cold, calculated. “Is he?” 

The door opened and Hannibal stepped out. He raised an eyebrow at the two of you. You hadn’t slept together but you thought there was something there, something unspoken. Something with Will, something different. You must have been wrong. 

“Hello Alana,” Hannibal said. You stood up. 

“I have to go home,” you said simply. Hannibal shook his head.

“I was hoping to speak with you alone. Can you excuse us?” Alana then seemed semi betrayed by the both of you. Served her right. You nodded and grabbed your jacket, showing him that you weren’t going to be staying long. You walked into the office and Hannibal shut the door right in Alana's face. 

You stepped in further and walked to your regular seat on his desk. You leaned against it, following him as he walked in.

“Yes?” you asked, a touch of annoyance in your voice. You knew it was unfounded but you ignored it for the moment.

“Do you know why Will tried to kill me?” Hannibal asked. A tough memory for both of you but you ignored the emotions.

“Because he thinks you're the Ripper,” you stated dumbly. Hannibal walked over to you and leaned against the desk beside you. His hand landed on yours but neither of you addressed it. 

“It wasn’t to avenge Beverly Katz’s death. It was to prevent yours. He was protecting you. The only way he felt he had left in him.” You thought about this a moment. You looked down at the floor and nodded.

“I’m afraid he’s opened a door in himself that won't’ close again,” you muttered and looked over at Hannibal. “And knowing I had a hand in opening it makes my stomach churn.” Hannibal smiled weakly. 

“I don’t believe you were truly the one at fault.” 

You shared a long look and then you got up.

“I hope Alana has fun tonight,” you said slowly. “I know I will,” you told him as you opened the door to the office. 

Despite the fact that you were only able to see Hannibals face for a moment you knew that your comment had hurt him. You were beginning to understand that Hannibal didn’t want to be Alanas. He wanted to be Wills. He wanted to be yours. He wanted to be part of the two of you and telling him, so blatantly, that he wasn’t was a power move. 

You passed Alana and were no longer bitter.

She was being used.

-

You stood at the stables beside Jack. Will was inside one of the doors, doing his thing. You and Jack were alone outside.

“I’m annoyed that he’s here,” you said. “For the record.” Jack nodded.

“I’m annoyed you’re here. I suppose no one got what they wanted.” You looked over at Jack. How oblivious that man was. 

Will stepped out.

“It’s a coffin birth. Decomposition builds up gasses within and putrefied the body and pushes the dead fetus out of its mother’s corpse. It’s really more of a prolapse than a birth,” he explained.

“Not to whoever did this,” Jack said. 

“Whoever did this knew the horse. Knew she was dying because her foal was born dead. Knew Sarah Craber. He’s familiar with the stables. He knew when he wouldn’t get caught. He works here or maybe used to. He has medical knowledge of animals, but isn’t a veterinarian. He considers himself a healer.” 

“How is he healing?” Jack asked. 

“Sarah Craber was reborn. And a mother and her child are finally on the same side of life. This wasn’t a murder.” Will looked over at the two of you and away from the corpse. “This was grief.” 

-

“Peter Bernardone?” Jack called. You stepped inside a small place, filled with metal cages containing small wild animals. Will walked closely beside you. The fact that you were there did leave him with a certain level of comfort. He was surprised how that made him feel.

A wild looking man was in the house, scrambling around. He wouldn't focus on you or Jack or Will. Instead he focused on the animals and the things around him. 

“You don't seem curious who we are,” Jack pointed out.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Agent Jack Crawford. FBI. This is Will and Y/N Graham. We’d like to ask you about someone you might have had contact with when you worked at Blackbriar Stables. Sarah Craber. Her body was found recently in very unusual circumstances,” Jack explained. 

“I heard.” 

“There was a bird in her chest. Did you hear about that?” Will questioned. 

“Is the bird alive?” Peter asked. Will looked taken aback and curious. 

“Yes,” he answered. 

“Who’s taking care of it?” Peter asked. 

“How well did you know Sarah Craber?” Jack asked and you thought that was rather rude. 

“I didn’t know her.” He was so skittish, his mind in so many different places. 

“Would you mind looking at a photograph for me?” Peter shook his head and then turned around, murmuring something to his animals.

“I know who she is, I just didn’t know her.” 

“Just to be sure,” Jack said. He handed Peter the photo. Will watched him closely, as did you. Peter glanced wildly around and when he did look at the picture it was very briefly.

“Peter, you had a head injury when you worked at the stables,” you said gently. Jack looked annoyed that you were speaking. 

“I was kicked by a horse,” Peter explained. 

“It’s an atypical motor response. Peter’s ability to look and touch can only happen as separate events,” you explained a bit. 

“Aggravated by stress, isn’t it?” Will asked. He nodded, surprised the two of you had gotten it so on the nose.

“Are you feeling stressed?” Jack asked. 

“I’m worried about the bird,” Peter explained.

“A woman is dead, Mr. Bernardoen. And you’re worried about a bird,” Jack said bluntly.

“I’m sad for her, I’m sad for the horse. But I can’t help them. I can help the bird.”

-

Therapy for Will was still hard for you. You didn’t like it. You didn't’ like not knowing what was going on in the room beside you, if Will was being hurt, if Hannibal was being hurt. You were usually told about it after but sometimes things were left out or forgotten.

Will sat on your desk and you looked at him.

“If I wasn’t doing this as an official session then I would let you come in,” he said gently.

‘I don't’ want to invade your privacy like that,” you explained. “I just wish I knew he wasn’t hurting you.”

“Do you think he’s going to hurt me?” he asked. You shook your head.

“I think you might hurt him.”

“Are you worried about that?” Will asked. You shrugged. 

“I don’t know.”

Hannibal opened the door.

-

After Will talked to Peter some more alone he came up to you. He was stiff, like something was bothering him. 

“I’m getting Alana to talk to the social service man assigned to Peter,” Will stated. You nodded.

“I’m sure that’ll help something.” You paused. “Why?” 

“Because someone wronged that man as much as I was wronged,” Will explained, voice barely audible. “I want to see him held accountable.” You nodded. “I want you there while Alana does it. Hannibal and Jack will be there too but I want you there.” 

You couldn’t tell if he wanted you there to witness it or to be a crutch. Either way you nodded.

“Anything you want.” 

-

You sat in the back seat, Hannibal driving and Will in the passenger seat. The night was dark as you drove to the stables.

“You look like a man who has suffered an irrevocable loss,” Hannibal pointed out.

“I’m trying to prevent one,” Will explained. 

“Do you think if you save Peter Bernardone, you can save yourself?” Hannibal asked.

“Save myself from who, Dr. Lecter?” Will asked.

“From who you perceive me to be.” 

“I’m afraid I need to be saved from who you perceive me to be. And for the record, I’m not the only one who sees you that way,” Will said. 

“Ah yes. Because you share in his beliefs don’t you Y/N?” Hannibal asked, looking in the rearview mirror at your face.

“Yes I do. Well truthfully I dont’ think Will’s ever been wrong about anything so I have to believe him. It’s my code,” you said simply. 

“Even with all you know me to be?” Hannibal asked. He was referring to the nights you spent together.

“After all Alana Bloom and I know you to be,” you quipped. Hannibal smiled a bit. He deserved that one. 

“Everytime you think about it, it stings, doesn't it? Wondering if I could be right about Will.” He was talking to both of you at this point. “Many troublesome behaviors strike when we are uncertain of ourselves. Peter Bernardone lies in the same darkness that holds you Will.” Will looked straight ahead.

“I’m alone in that darkness,” Will said. 

“You’re not alone, Will. I’m standing beside you. Y/N stands closer,” Hannibal said and you nodded.

“He has you there.”

-

Will walked beside you and Hannibal into the stables where Peter waited. You were the first to see him as you were the first in the stables piece where he was. You were all silent however until Will spoke.

“Peter...is your social worker inside that horse?” Peter nodded. You almost scoffed at the absurdity of the question.

“We are hardwired to see human beings everywhere. Every animal. Every life. We’re all human,” Peter explained but he looked disheveled, bad. 

“Every God is personified,” Hannibal stated simply. 

“He couldn’t see that. He forfeited his humanity. I forfeited mine. I used to have a horrible fear of hurting anything. He helped me get over that. Feels so abnormal.”

“An abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal behavior,” you whispered. 

“He deserves to die,” Peter said. 

“But he didn’t deserve to kill him,” Will stated. You felt his heart then. You wondered perhaps if Will could feel your emotions how easily you could feel his. “I want you to come with me, Peter.” 

Peter stood and allowed Will to lead him away. You gave Will and look, a look of worry. Will gave you a look of comfort back. He was in control. He was okay. You stayed with Hannibal.

“Happy I suggested you tag along?” Hannibal questioned. You both walked over to the sheep that were there and started to pet them a bit. 

“Actually, yes. I want to see what Will goes through.”

“Always his savior.” You glanced at Hannibal.

“Is Alana yours?” He chuckled but thought about it for a moment.

“Curiously enough I think you might also be my savior as well. In a way, differently than Will.” You were satisfied with that answer and you had to be because the horse started to move. The stitches ripped open and the social worker you had seen talk to Alana stepped out. 

“Mr. Ingram,” Hannibal said, stepping away from the sheep. Ingrahm stood up. “Might want to crawl back in there, if you know what’s good for you.” You scoffed and nodded. Hannibal stepped aside and Will held up his gun to the man. You wanted to swat it away from him. For a moment you recognized the ease he held while he pointed the gun, the almost attractiveness he held. 

“Officer, I’m the victim here,” Ingram said. He got on his knees and Will pointed the gun at his head.

“I’m not an officer. I’m a friend of Peter’s.” You walked up to Will but didn’t touch him. You and Hannibal shared a look.

“Peter’s confused.” 

You had been raising a hand before Ingram said then. You dropped it just as quickly as you had raised that. You had heard those words spoken to you about Will countless times. All three of you realized that.

“I’m not,” Will said sternly. “Pick up the hammer.”

“Will,” Hannibal said.

“Pick it up.”

“It won't’ feel the same, Will. it won’t feel like killing me,” Hannibal said. 

“It doesn’t have to. I know what it will feel like. It’ll feel good,” Will said. You watched his face. A focus came over him that you barely recognized. 

“You did the best anyone could do for Peter, but don't do this for him. Not for Mr. Ingram’s victims or their many friends and relatives who would love to see him dead. If you’re going to do this Will…” he paused, “You have to do it for yourself.” 

“Please don’t,” Ingram whispered. 

“Shut up,” you muttered. 

“This is not the reckoning you promised yourself, Will.” 

Will was so close to pulling the trigger. You could see his finger shaking. The trigger clicked but it didn’t hit. Hannibal took the gun swiftly from Will’s grasp and put his hand on the back of Will’s head. 

  “With all my knowledge and intrusion, I could never entirely predict you. I can feed the caterpillar, whisper through the chrysalis, but what hatches follows its own nature and is beyond me,” Hannibal whispered. He let your boyfriend go and you walked over, grabbing Will’s arms as he stumbled into your embrace. Hannibal watched the two of you, Will still shaking from adrenaline. 

He watched as you brought a hand up and grabbed Hannibal, hugging him too. 

Finally you pulled away from both of them and looked at the social worker.

“What do we do with this guy now?”

2x09

[ivorydreamersworld]

Trafalgar Law x OC: Demon Eyes Ch 3

“Did you know the medicine was making you sicker?” Law stood imposing in the doorway. If he could burst into flames she would imagine he would have.

“I had a feeling.” Her smile was unnerving to Law and split her face. “Fuck” she gasped and covered her face. “I knew it.” She whispered.

Bepo and Law exchanged a look. “What’s going on?”

Sena looked at Law with more emotion than he’d ever seen from her when she wasn’t reading a book.

“My sister. She was doing so good, so healthy and didn’t need medicine. She seemed to be getting better and everything. I was so excited that she might… she might get to have a life…” she trailed off staring off in the middle distance, “we went to a check-up. There was a new doctor, Dr. Ether, there. We were told a new medicine was created, that her health was just a high before the fall. You know, how right before people die, they get a burst of energy.”

She stopped talking.

She turned her head to look at Law. Her eyes shined with tears and her forehead crinkled with the effort, he assumed, of not crying in front of strangers.

“You’ll need to stay still a few days. I gave you an operation.” Sena watched him as he spoke. Her hand traced her cheek, then arm and lay flat on her chest that was covered with a blanket. She shivered hard and nodded.

“Bepo watch over her. Let me know if anything happens. I’m going to check out that doctor she mentioned.” Bepo nodded to his captain and turned his attention back to the sickbay door. Law noticed he seemed to grow attached to the girl. They had spent a lot of time together this week.

“She’ll be okay.”

The first place he stopped was Sena’s neighbor. A woman opened the door while yelling, “Max I’m telling you that girl’s gonna end up-” She snapped her jaw shut upon seeing him on her doorstep. He couldn’t fight the small smirk it brought to his face.

“Miri you daft bat who-” A man he could only presume to be Max stopped just in sight of him. “What business do you have here?” Max stood up straighter despite being severely hunched over.

“Where’s the doctor Sena visits?” The old couple exchanged a look. Silent words seem to be exchanged. Law was becoming impatient.

“S’true innit?” Miriam said. She was holding his gaze steady. He raised an eyebrow. “Come in.”

She practically snatched him inside. The home smelled strongly of age, mildew, and dead flowers. He stood in the middle of the kitchen not inclined to take a seat.

“Knew something was off,” Max spoke first, pulling a drag off an old wooden pipe.

“Not inside Max!” Miriam snapped, knocking the pipe out of the old man’s hand. “Few years ago a new doctor came into town. Sponsored to come out he says.”

“His office is just off the town square. Never sat right with me. Previous doc just up and vanished, not to mention that accident last year.” Max finished. Law nodded and turned to be off. “Is Sena okay?”

Law stopped in the doorway and glanced over his shoulder. He was curious about the accident, but right now he wanted medical answers. “She’s stable.”

As Law walked the snow-covered streets he was reminded of another time and another place. The snow was fresh. Barely any footprints covered the surface. The town was quiet. If he focused hard enough he could almost smell the rot of flesh. He shuddered, attempting to shake the memory.

Law found his feet easily bringing him to the front door of a clinic. He entered without knocking. A woman at the front desk meekly squeaked that he needed an appointment as he made his way to the back. An older man sat at the desk scribbling scripts. “Do you have an appointment?”

The man looked up then froze. He clasped his hand in front of his mouth. “What could the Surgeon of Death possibly need here?” He seemed calm. Confident.

“Just some questions about a patient of yours I’m treating.” He spoke nonchalantly as he glanced at the books in the room. “She seems to be on some strange medicine that’s attacking her liver and blood. Almost as if it’s advancing her disease.” His hand gripped Kikoku as he turned to face the man. He now stood directly in front of the doctor only separated by a couple of feet of the wooden desk.

“Ah, Sena. What a shame. She has an advanced stage of the disease, reacts badly with any medicine now, and along with stress from her sister’s then best friend’s recent passing.” Law watched the doctor’s face carefully.

“Two deaths in such a short time?” The doctor smiled in false sympathy.

“A shame. Her sister succumbed to the disease early. The best friend was involved in an accident just last year.” The doctor kept his face neutral. Law couldn’t shake the look in the man’s eyes though. This man was sadistic and it seeped out of his every pore. Disturbed.

“Right. A shame.” Law wanted to push more, but had a feeling he wouldn’t be getting any more information than that. With a curt nod he wandered back out the way he came with the eerie feeling he was being watched.

Bepo stayed by Sena’s bedside. Her heart rate remained steady, but something felt off. The smell of roses filled his nostrils to the point it felt like it was burning him. When her eyes began to leak a pink hue he began to panic. He took up the small Den Den Mushi. “Captain. Sena’s eyes are leaking pink.”

“Push 1cc of the cloudy liquid on the side table into the IV. I’ll be back soon.” Bepo heard Law curse just before the connection was cut. He hoped it was only agitation and not an ambush. Bepo had a feeling that they stumbled into something bigger than a doctor with a God Complex.

Law arrived a short time later to Bepo’s relief. Penguin and Shachi had come by and Bepo instructed them to take care of the cleaning and food tonight so Law and Bepo could focus on Sena. They were curious about her, but Bepo told them she was too sick.

Bepo watched as Law took out his stethoscope and listened intently. Then he checked the monitors and added another 2 ccs to the IV. Law quickly became engrossed in what he was doing and Bepo decided it was best to leave him to it. He would find out what was wrong and help her. Bepo hated to admit it but he’d grown pretty attached to the strange girl who owned way too many books.

Speaking of which, he needed to take back the handful of books he borrowed from her. He recruited Shachi and Penguin for the job. There ended up being many more books than anticipated. “Bepo, how do you borrow this many books?” whined Shachi as they neared Sena’s home.

“Sorry!” Beopo cried, earning a chorus of two saying “weak” at various levels of anguish or irritation.

“Fire!” Someone far ahead screamed. The smell of smoke was piercing and Bepo wondered how he hadn’t noticed it before they got so close. What lay before them was horrific. The two-story home Bepo had spent most of his time on this island in was engulfed in tall flames that licked at the surrounding buildings. There was panic and crying. Miriam and Max, we’re being forcibly pulled from their home. 

“You don’t want to die of smoke inhalation!” A young man and woman that looked a lot like Jasper and the small girl berated them as they went. A couple of others had started pulling what hoses and buckets they could but the fire raged bright and angry. Bepo nearly dropped the books in his arms.

“What a shame, that must have been a nice house,” Shachi commented. “So where do these books go?”

Bepo shook his head. “They’re coming back to the sub.”

“What do you mean?” Penguin asked, tilting his head back to see a bit of the chaos around them from under his hat.

“Unless you want to add them to the blaze. We won’t be returning them.” The two men at his sides stared slack-jawed at the fire now. Silence fell over them. With nothing they could do but watch as the fire burned itself out they stood watching the scene tight-lipped. 

“No one should have to lose a home like this,” Penguin said. The flames had gotten too hot to touch and surrounding villagers fought to keep the homes close by wet enough not to catch as well. Bepo saw Miriam and Max stumble over to them. Miriam grabbed his arm pleadingly, “Get her out of here.”

“Captain.” Bepo caught Law just as he exited the sickbay. He looked grim and smelled of smoke. “How is she?”

Law sighed, “She’s stable. Her blood is trying to crystalize. I need to analyze the chemical makeup of the medicine she has been taking… I might need more samples.”

Bepo shook his head, “Captain. There was a fire.” Law looked at him unfazed. “Someone burned Sena’s house down to nothing. There’s nothing.”

Law’s jaw set. He nodded stiffly. “Keep an eye on her.” Beop nodded entering the sickbay.

“Captain.” Shachi intercepted him in the hall before Law could enter his room. He stopped and turned to the two men clad in boiler suits. “We checked out the warehouse near the doctor’s office as you asked.” Law nodded for them to continue. “We didn’t attempt to go inside, but it was heavily guarded by guys that didn’t look native to the island.”

Law thanked them. He anticipated some retaliation but this was extreme. It only made him that much more curious as he snatched up his coat and set off to town.

The sun had set long ago. The chilling cold of the North did little to phase him. The skies were clear and as long as the snow held off he would have no problems getting in and out. Behind the doctor’s office was a warehouse generally reserved for port side activity. While it was odd to have it near the middle of town it could be brushed off as a small town that needed reserves with few shipments.

Or he assumed that was the narrative they banked on at least. From the look of the building, it was very new.

The guys were right. As he approached he kept to the shadows. There were at least two guards by each entrance and another two making rounds of the perimeter. Overkill in his mind. He began to wonder if the town knew any of this existed. They had to.

The best course of action would be to be stealthy. There were too many to comfortably take out solo, or without more unwanted attention to his crew. The guards were obviously at ease in this small town. As he got closer he saw cards and flasks. He was lucky.

Slipping by was too easy. The inside held crates piled high. Some were labeled as equipment or supplies but as he made it further in he saw a familiar name scrawled in ink on paper tacked to the side.

JOKER.

SMILE.

V. IV

Law circled the crate then glanced around for an open one. Instead, he found a small desk in the corner with a light still shining. There was a microscope, tubes, flasks, and other typical lab equipment. He frowned at the lack of care and cleanliness.

What caught his eye though was the bottles. They looked the same as the ones that littered Sena’s home. He picked one up carefully. In perfect print was a name he didn’t recognize.

Ever D. Rose.

He quirked an eyebrow. Was that someone’s name? Was this a different script?

Law wished he could scoop up the lot of papers in front of him to read carefully back at the Polar Tang. It would be too dangerous, things had already escalated dramatically at the smallest provocation. There could be so much information here. These guys were obviously either very out of practice or paranoid.

Maybe both.

Law skimmed a few papers and pocketed the bottle labeled ‘Ever’ and another labeled ‘Sena.’ Just in time too as the creak of a door sounded and alerted him to another person’s approach.

When Sena opened her eyes again her chest felt lighter. “Am I dead?” She mumbled, earning a chuckle from someone in the room.

“No, unfortunately, you’re going to live a long life foregoing any external factors.” Sena’s eyes landed on Law. He had dark circles under his eyes and he looked a bit worse for wear.

“How long was I out?”

“Not too long.” He said. He held something cold to her chest and listened intently. It hurt to keep her eyes open long.

“Your eyes will always be red and your tears will be tinted with blood-like substance but otherwise you’re healthy.” Law stepped back. He watched her carefully sit up. She looked around then down at her hands. They opened and closed thoughtfully.

“Why?” Sena looked at him. He couldn’t really say. It was simply a whim. Or maybe a small part of guilt for getting her house burned down.

“Don’t get too thankful, while you were out I did some looking into your doctor.” Sena cocked her head to the side. He watched wisps of hair slowly fall to the side.

Just then Bepo burst in, “Captain!” He paused looking at Sena. “You’re awake!” He nearly cried and hugged her. Law watched her stiffen under the contact but forcibly relax.

“Bepo… why do you smell like smoke?” The mink gave a look at his captain. He then sighed and took her hands in his paws.

“I’m so sorry Sena. Some bad men burned your house to the ground.” Law watched her face carefully.

“We know you’ve been through a lot, but we need to get going soon.” She blinked at both of them. “I would like to keep an eye on you for longer, but I understand if you would rather stay here.”

Sena nodded. She lay back on the bed slowly. Her hair splayed out over the pillow in a halo. Eyebrows knitted in concentration… or maybe she was holding back more tears. “We’d love to have you with us… but only if you want.” Bepo added because he knew Law would never be so warm. “You can also meet the rest of the crew. We tried to salvage what we could of your home.” Bepo fell silent again. Sena said nothing nor did she look at either of them but she held tight to Bepo’s paw. That was all Law needed.

“We plan to leave tomorrow morning. If you do go out, take Bepo with you.” And he left her to think.

[tickle-bugs]

Cut From Marble

Summary: Jaskier knows almost nothing about his scary monster-slaying companion, and he’s determined to change that. 

This is so self-indulgent but I loved the Witcher games and when the show came out I fell back into it so hard. Have a few tropes that make me soft all stacked up in a trenchcoat, pretending to be a fic. I’m still working on getting Jaskier and Geralt’s voice right (trying to blend game!Geralt into show Geralt just a little bit). If you have any (constructive) criticism or feedback I’d appreciate it :D

Enjoy <3

Geralt of Rivia was, without a doubt, the best thing that had happened to Jaskier since he slept with a foreign queen and got to sing a song about it. Granted, her guards chased him out of her lands and forbade him from returning, but it still happened and no one could take that from him.

Geralt though, he was...interesting. Jaskier had met every kind of man that the Continent had to offer, but never one like him. Quiet by choice and deadly by nature. He was a myth in the flesh. Jaskier had already written a song for Geralt yet he felt compelled to write more.

“Are you a siren?”

“What?”

“Nevermind.”

They’d stopped at a rather nice inn for a well-deserved hot meal.  This was the third inn they’d stopped at since dawn that morning because Geralt was being a little particular about their lodgings. He’d said the innkeeper at The Weeping Wench was a prick, and simply grunted at the Grey Lion Inn, so Jaskier and his aching feet were really hoping that The Sweet Crow would be their final stop.

“Is this establishment to your standards, Your Grace?” Jaskier curtsied. A few heads turned at the title, but quickly looked away upon seeing Geralt’s glaring face.

“Shut up.” He sat at the nearest table and a young blonde ran up to them, eager for their orders. As soon as Geralt growled his answer, she ran off to pass it on.

In all fairness, Geralt was right. The innkeeper of The Weeping Wench tried to stab Jaskier as he left (Geralt broke his hand faster than anything Jaskier had ever seen) and The Grey Lion was infested with criminals and killer rats, or so Jaskier heard from one of the prostitutes in that village. It wasn’t that he was ungrateful, he simply loved annoying Geralt.

“So, my grumpy companion, what’s next for us?” Jaskier leaned back to give their waitress room to put down their bowls of stew. 

“There’s a dire wolf killing sheep in a farmer’s village nearby.”

“That is what predators do. They hunt. Isn’t there anything more...exciting?” Jaskier huffed, fiddling with his fingers.

“The farmers say it’s the size of a bear.” Geralt took a long sip of his ale.

“Buried the lead there, didn’t you? That is exciting.” Jaskier rolled his eyes before waving at their waitress. 

“Sweetheart!” Jaskier called, and the blonde came quickly back to their table.

“What’s your name?”

“Miriam, sir.”

“Miriam, I would be ever so grateful if you could give us your two finest rooms,” Jaskier said, taking a large spoonful of stew. The moan that came out of his mouth sent color rushing to Miriam’s cheeks. Geralt kicked him under the table.

“What? It’s good!” He ate another spoonful, quietly this time. Miriam looked at Geralt nervously for a moment.

“I would love to give you both rooms, but–”

“Love, I have been on the road for ages. My legs ache and if my ass doesn’t touch a bed in the next hour, it might just fall off. If you’re worried about Giggles over here, he won’t be a problem.” Jaskier gestured at Geralt and he attempted a smile. It was more of a grimace than anything. Jaskier gently pulled Miriam closer.

“Consider this extra persuasion,” he whispered with a wink, placing a handful of coins into her hands. Miriam ran off, looking over her shoulder to smile before disappearing upstairs. 

“This dire wolf problem sounds interesting. Are you going to keep it as a pet?” 

“What?” Geralt fixed him with one of his patented no-nonsense stares.

“Wolves are just bigger, wilder dogs. I’m sure you could tame one. Name it Fluffy or something.” Jaskier folded his hands and rested his chin on them.

“There’s a world of a difference between wolves and dogs. Dogs bark, wolves bite.” He punctuated his sentence with a long sip. 

“Killing it seems a bit cruel, don’t you think?” Jaskier dragged a finger across the table, running over a split in the wood that looked unmistakably like a gash from a dagger.

“It’d be crueler to let the villagers go after it and die trying.” Geralt finished his ale and started working at the stew, clearly satisfied by the taste. Jaskier smiled.

“Told you it was good.”

“Shut up.”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“You should have let her speak.”

Geralt and Jaskier stood in their room (singular) staring at their bed (also singular). The room was lovely, for all it was worth. Jaskier wanted to jump into the large bed with its red woven blankets just as much as he wanted to jump into the steaming wooden tub in the corner. 

“Miriam!”

“Yes?” Miriam poked her head into the room before entering.

“What exactly do you think Geralt and I are?”

“Companions, sir.”

“In the carnal sense? There’s only one bed.”

“This is the only room we had left. I tried to tell you earlier,” she said with a shrug, then disappeared down the hall. Jaskier sighed and shook his head.

“Fate, you are a cruel and mischievous mistress,” he murmured, and gently shut the door. This was going to be a long night.

Almost an hour later, they’d reached some sort of peace. Jaskier was lounging on the bed, skimming a book given to him by a scholar he’d met on his travels—though currently he wasn’t so much reading as he was staring at Geralt.

The Witcher had let Jaskier bathe first, leaving the tub for himself. His eyes were closed and his head rested against the edge of the wooden basin. His lips were slightly parted and his loose hair was occasionally disturbed by his steady breaths. He looked at peace, which was unexpected but certainly welcomed. Jaskier didn’t know his face could do that. Then again, he realized, there was a lot he didn’t know.

What better to do than make a list?

Fact #1 about Geralt: he loved lavender. He apparently was partial to other scents, but Jaskier had never seen him so calm. The entire room smelled of lavender and chamomile thanks to the various salts he’d thrown in the bath. Jaskier had been convinced that Geralt didn’t know what he was doing, that he was simply tossing in random oils and salts after a sniff and a grunt of approval. But now, after the scents had had time to strengthen, Jaskier considered himself wrong. He’d been doing that more and more recently. 

Fact #2 about Geralt: he had little to no regard for his own life. The scars on the Witcher’s body had sent shivers down Jaskier’s spine—not out of disgust, but out of sheer curiosity. How could someone come so close to death again and again only to be left with the physical reminders? Did they hurt? Or had he been sliced so much that he simply stopped feeling it?

“You’re staring,” Geralt hummed, his eyes fluttering open. He shifted a bit in the bath to better see the bard.

“I’m just thinking.”

“About?”

“I know almost nothing about you.”

“And this bothers you?”

“You’ve saved my life, can’t I know a little about yours?” 

Geralt was silent for a long moment.

“What do you want to know?” He murmured, not accusatory, but carefully neutral. Jaskier knew the topic was touchy—he could see it in the way that Geralt’s shoulders tensed and the way his spine straightened—but he had to know more.

If only he knew what to ask. It was like asking a god about their escapades—you’d die long before they were able to recount the first fraction of their life. Further still, the likelihood of Geralt actually sharing a story without shutting down was very slim. Jaskier didn’t have much to work with, but he was determined to try.

“You’re not a very good conversationalist. Ironic, considering how much you talk,” Geralt chuckled, rising from the tub. Jaskier nearly stopped breathing.

In the same way that stone could be carved into softness, Geralt’s battle-worn form was the perfect illusion. His muscles were taught, immovable, yet his skin was soft, supple. He was a dancer in Death’s concerto—always tense, waiting for the next strike to further a performance with no end in sight. On the days when it got exhausting, Geralt was more human than ever. 

No mutation could erase the tiredness in his eyes or the way he stared longingly at the horizon, watching the setting sun as if he wanted to push it back up into the sky. 

Jaskier purposefully avoided his eyes while Geralt took his sweet time toweling off and getting dressed. He bothered to tug on his pants before drifting over to the bed and flopping down on his bare back, eyes once again fluttering shut. His sigh was almost palpable.

“Your scars,” Jaskier said finally, “do they bother you?”

“They’re a part of me now. I don’t give them much thought.”

“You should!” Jaskier said with a little too much force. Geralt fixed him with a strange look.

“There’s an entire story etched there, into your skin. Every battle and encounter is another thread in the tapestry that is you. It’s exquisite. May I?” Jaskier’s fingers hovered over Geralt’s chest. Geralt grunted, which Jaskier understood to mean yes. He gently traced over a large raised scar.

“Pitchfork,” Geralt rumbled, and Jaskier whistled lowly.

“How’d that happen?”

“Riot in Rivia.”

Fact #3: Geralt was timeless. He’d done so much in his lifetime that he’d give even the most devoted historian a run for his money. Jaskier wondered if anyone had tried to catalogue the Complete Chronicles of the White Wolf. Maybe he would be the one to try.

“And this one?” Jaskier pressed on a hellish claw mark across Geralt’s stomach, near his side. Geralt flinched, grabbing the bard’s hand with impossible reflex.

“A nekker. That’s enough for tonight.” Geralt began to rise, and Jaskier was still trying to piece together exactly what had happened, because things had become so fragile in a matter of mere seconds. He could sense that a good thing was coming to an end but he wasn’t quite ready to surrender the moment. 

Had that been a smile upon the witcher’s face?

“Wait,” Jaskier said quickly, stalling like a man on the executioner’s block, “Your hair. You can’t possibly go to sleep with it looking like that.” 

Geralt ran a hand through his hair which was loose from the bath. He looked equally startled and self-conscious, and while Jaskier wanted to comment on how adorable it was, he opted to live another day.

“What’s wrong with it? I don’t have time to preen like you.”

“I’m going to ignore that and do something nice for you. Sit.” Jaskier rustled in the bedside table for a comb and brush, then slid to sit behind Geralt on the bed. 

“If I touch your hair, are you going to throw me?”

“Maybe,” Geralt replied, and Jaskier had come to recognize Geralt’s smirks by sound alone. 

“There is some mischief in you after all. I may corrupt you yet.” Jaskier ran his fingers through Geralt’s hair, pulling the soft mane into sections and gently dragging the comb through. 

“I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting. If this is the path I must trudge, I welcome my sentence, give to you my penance, Garrotter, jury and judge,” Jaskier sang quietly, brushing and combing as he went. At one point, his hand brushed against Geralt’s neck in an attempt to grasp some stubborn baby hairs, and the witcher nearly leapt into the air. It was at that moment that everything clicked.

Fact #4: Somehow, Geralt was ticklish. It shouldn’t be possible, with how the legends and even Geralt himself described his kind, but it was happening. An untameable mischief rose in Jaskier’s soul and for the life of him, he couldn’t keep the smile off of his face.

“I’m nearly done,” Jaskier said, keeping his voice purposefully even, “I just missed a spot right here-” 

And then, Jaskier flew. Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s hand and threw both of them to the side, landing upon a very disoriented bard with catlike agility. 

“I thought we agreed not to throw me?” Jaskier huffed, not entirely upset that Geralt was on top of him. He was upset, however, that his nice brush work had gone out the window. 

“I said maybe. Maybe I wouldn’t throw you. What were you plotting?” Geralt raised an elegant eyebrow.

“Nothing,” Jaskier said, far too quick to be convincing. Geralt simply stared, his silver hair hanging down and brushing Jaskier’s pinkening cheeks.

“Please, either come closer or get off of me. You’re quite heavy and this is getting less fun by the second.” Jaskier gently shoved at Geralt’s shoulders, refusing to meet the Witcher’s eyes. Sure, they’d flirted back and forth—at least, Jaskier had flirted. With Geralt, it was a little harder to tell. This was different, though. This intentional closeness was fragile and Jaskier was finding it harder to breathe. Especially when he could see the faint freckles on Geralt’s cheeks.

“You’re a horrible liar.”

“I disagree. I’m widely known for my way with words-” Jaskier was cut off by his own squeak as Geralt poked his stomach. 

“You say so much-”

“Geralt, no. I will never lend you another bath salt-”

“But your body quickly betrays you,” Geralt finished, dragging one finger down Jaskier’s stomach. A single giggle slipped from the bard’s mouth.

“Fine, I’m ticklish. Proud of yourself? I’m not the only one, though, am I?” Jaskier pushed himself up on his elbows, raising an eyebrow. It took Geralt a moment to catch his meaning.

“I’m not, if that’s what you’re implying.” Geralt leaned back, still pinning Jaskier to the mattress.

“Now who’s the horrible liar?” Jaskier sat up, leaning his back against the headboard. Geralt sat on his thighs like a bag of bricks, but Jaskier didn’t mind. He was having far too much fun trying to poke Geralt, who had suddenly become very defensive. Every time a hand reached for his sides or his neck, he batted it away.

“If you’re not ticklish, why are you so adamant on fighting me? Would it not be easier to let me poke you and prove your point?” Jaskier smirked when Geralt caught both of his wrists.

“Jaskier-” 

“The tables have turned, Witcher,” Jaskier whispered in Geralt’s ear, his hands finally nestling into Geralt’s sides. In hindsight, Geralt probably let it happen, but the moment was far too sweet for Jaskier to care. 

“This is honestly adorable.” Jaskier tweaked Geralt’s nose and snickered at the scandalized expression on his face. 

“Shut up,” Geralt grumbled, followed by a few low, humming chuckles as Jaskier’s fingers skated up to his ribs. He really should have put on a shirt. 

“I wish that you weren’t so afraid to laugh,” Jaskier sighed, pressing his fingers in a little more. A startled giggle—an actual, honest giggle—fell from Geralt’s lips and he squirmed a bit, nose crinkled, as he fought to keep his arms pressed to his sides. 

“And, there it is!” Jaskier beamed, tickling as much as Geralt’s stubborn arms would allow. All it took was a quick vibration of his fingers and the dam broke. 

Geralt’s laugh would be the death of him. It was so clear and gentle, as if he were afraid to let the sound pierce the air. It had such a genuine sweetness to it, like the pureness of a summer wine. Jaskier, a man intimately acquainted with vices, could sense the coming of a new (and thankfully, harmless) addiction.

“I didn’t peg you for the ticklish type—or the giggling type, for that matter—but I am not at all disappointed.” With some difficulty, Jaskier wrenched his hand out from under Geralt’s arm and wiggled fingers into his stomach, chuckling when Geralt let out some sort of strangled yelp. He growled at Jaskier’s comment but laughter followed the sound out.

“I know, I shouldn’t tease. You are a wonder, Geralt.” Jaskier’s sincerity slipped past before he could reign it in, but in all fairness, how else could he respond? Geralt was beautiful, inside and out, scars and all, and Jaskier’s heart was so full that he could only smile as he unraveled his companion’s prickly composure.

His heart made the mistake of muddying his brain, though, because Jaskier found himself being yanked down the mattress by his ankle before he could do anything about it. His back slid down the headboard and his head hit the pillow with a whump, and when he looked up at Geralt, he found himself a little out of breath.

“Would you have mercy on your very best friend? Your beloved companion, who braved the beasts of the Continent just to walk by your side?” Jaskier raised his hands, trying to block Geralt’s fingers, which were already wiggling and diving towards his stomach without preamble.

“I would, if he hadn’t been so bold just a few moments ago.” 

“So you admit it, then? You love me!” Little giggles punctuated the bard’s words as he squirmed and dodged Geralt’s fingers.

“I tolerate you. Barely.” Geralt said, amusement coloring his words, and he grabbed Jaskier by the sides and squeezed. Jaskier cackled, shoving desperately at Geralt’s chest while he kicked and flailed. Geralt’s fingers prodded and skittered over every inch of his torso, more exploratory than cruel, but he was so damn sensitive that every touch brought waves of contagious, musical laughter. At a particularly jolting pinch to the ribs, followed by more infuriating pinches, Jaskier started kneeing Geralt in the back. It was unintentional, but he’d lost all hope of controlling his limbs the second had Geralt got a hold of him.

Geralt reached behind him, grabbing firm hold of Jaskier’s leg to remove it from his spine, and the desperate gurgle that he made startled a small chuckle out of Geralt.

Uh oh.

“Don’t you dare,” Jaskier pointed a shaking finger at Geralt’s chest, eyes squinted in mirth. 

“Oh?” Geralt drew his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment, eyes absolutely glittering with mischief, and as much as Jaskier loved it, he couldn’t stand it at all. 

“I take back every nice thing I have ever said about you! I am going to rewrite my songs about you into ballads about how you reek, you absolute-”

Geralt kept Jaskier’s leg in place with both hands, giving his thigh an experimental squeeze. The noise that left him was less of a laugh and more of a scream, his entire body twitching as he hid his face in his hands. 

“This is quite the weakness you have.” Geralt wriggled his fingers into the muscle, jumping around to different spots on his thigh.

“Y-You—” A shriek tore out from Jaskier’s lips before he fell into wild, tumbling laughter and resigned himself to die. His voice so quickly plunged into hoarseness, then silence, and Geralt stopped as quickly as he’d started.

“If the people here thought we were together before, their beliefs were certainly just confirmed,” Jaskier murmured after a minute or so, finally regaining his voice. 

“Hmm?” A request for clarification. 

“I’m certain they could hear me screaming from here to Temeria.”

“It isn’t my fault you’re so loud.” A smirk tugged at Geralt’s lips and he pushed himself up on his elbow. Jaskier spluttered, his face blooming pink, then red, and he smacked Geralt’s shoulder.

“Careful now. I know your weakness.” Jaskier fluttered his fingers over Geralt’s bare stomach and he huffed a quiet laugh, turning his face away to hide his smile. His hair fell into his face, fluffed and disheveled, and Jaskier tucked some behind Geralt’s ear on instinct.

He didn’t expect the Witcher to catch his hand and press a kiss, timid and soft, to the heel of Jaskier’s palm. What else was there to do, then, besides thread his hands into Geralt’s hair and capture his lips with his own? 

They pulled apart slowly, both still reveling in the warmth of company. 

“While this development is incredibly exciting, I think I am going to pass out if this goes any further.” Jaskier grinned, poking the Witcher’s nose. Geralt rolled his eyes but didn’t move away, simply cradling Jaskier’s face with his hand. 

“Goodnight.” He rumbled, slipping beneath the blanket. Geralt tugged Jaskier close before turning over, pulling the bard’s arm over his body and linking their pinkies together. Jaskier stifled a coo in the back of his throat. 

“Sleep well, darling.” Jaskier murmured, pressing a tender kiss to the sculpted shoulder in front of him. 

Fact #5: Geralt was a cuddler—and a snorer, for that matter—but Jaskier wouldn’t have him any other way. 

[braindeacl]

Frostbite | Eilidh & Miriam

TIMING: Weeks ago.  PARTIES: @meflemming & @braindeacl SUMMARY: Eilidh and Miriam find a great feast after a sudden blast of cold. WARNINGS: Lots of corpse eating.

White. It covered the streets. The buildings. The people. Everything was lost to the white. A blanket thrown down by the heavens, suffocating everything under its might. The streets and the buildings had no chance, locked in place by their very nature. They accepted their—stood brave against the frost and waited for the melt to break its hold. The people had hope, and for some this hope was justified. As the first white specks fell to the ground, many scurried away. To safety. But the specks soon turned to a pour soon turned to an onslaught. By then, the few who remained had nowhere to go. Stuck in place. Same as the streets and the buildings. But the melt would not free them, only their corpses. The first of these deaths sent an alluring perfume in the air. Calling to Eilidh. Tugging at that hunger that always gnawed no matter how much she fed, only the intensity could be changed. By the time she came upon the scene, the body’s core had turned a pale blue. But the paleness shifted to darkness along the extremities. Darker and darker and darker still. Until the fingers and the toes were a pitch black. Bubbling and breaking along the utmost tips. Lost to the ever encompassing white. 

But Eilidh had no mind for details. Death was all she saw, all she needed to see. Without a thought, her teeth disrupted the scene—broke off more pieces of that brittle body. It cracked and crunched and crumpled against her teeth. Tumbled down her throat like dirt. But filled her all the same. The face and an arm were lost to her insides by the time she returned from the thrall of death. With a new shine to her eyes, she surveyed the area. The truth of the situation becoming apparent. Others shambled through the snow—still clinging to a slipping sense of hope. Others were stilled except for the slow and rhythmic rises of their chests—soon to be like the mangled pile of flesh below her. A source of pain and agony for them. A source of a buffet for her. But confliction tore at her soul. For those who still fought against the creeping death. She rushed over to one. Wishing to grip them back to salvation. But fingers grasped that cold air as the person fell to the ground. Landing as a corpse. And that confliction gave way to the hunger again. 

It was so cold that frost was beginning to form on Miriam’s skin. Not what she expected for a midsummer night, but, really, she had grown up in White Crest; she knew just as well as any of the locals that the expected was to never be expected. So, when a freak blizzard came out of nowhere in the dead of night, she took it in stride. She ended up stuck in it, She managed to break free, one leather covered arm pushing its way out of the snow, and Miriam stood, brushed the snow off, and began walking. The effort reminded her of how long it had been since she’d gone out and fed, an increased workload as well as a desire to spend time with her favorite person keeping her from sustaining herself properly. But it didn’t matter. Miriam could practically taste so much misery on her tongue that she wouldn’t have been able to avoid it even if she tried. Heels crunching through the snow, she headed towards the source. She just wasn’t expecting the carnage that greeted her. “I suppose I’m interrupting dinner, aren’t I?” She asked the zombie feasting, an icy eyebrow raised as she moved her hands to her hair and shook crystalline flakes of snow out of it.

Silence was cut off abruptly by that casual tone. Calm like the blanket of snow surrounding—snuffing out any touch of chaos. Eilidh stopped, spit out a tooth. Not hers—the poor sap’s on the ground. She turned to meet the woman’s eyes. They were cold like the air, but untouched by it. Unlike all the others whose lives were sucked out like the previous heat. Clearly the other wasn’t human. And human suffering and slaughter was not a bother. She wasn’t like Eilidh—hunger did not compel the other’s teeth to bite and gnaw like it did to her. Curious. Her teeth bared for a moment, animal protecting its food. But the other made no motions, and teeth were replaced with tongue. It licked at her lips, removing some of the dark crusts of blood and flesh bits. But it hardly made a difference—her face and neck and arms were caked in the stuff. Not that she particularly cared. The other seemed to place more interest in her looks. Genuine leather ensemble paired with impractical heels. Her face the most evident of this interest, and Eilidh took interest in turn looking. She let out an airy chuckle. “Not really. What brings you here? Hungry, too?” 

The woman was a mess. Miriam had never seen such a messy eater, though, it wasn’t like she was around too many zombies who feasted upon anything more than animal brains cooked or blended into smoothies. And she had to assume that this was a zombie. The lack of heartbeat was, of course, quintessential for one of the undead, but the consumption of flesh, along with the blunt teeth, leaned more towards the walking dead end of the spectrum. “I suppose I was a bit peckish,” Miriam mused. “I was led here because of all the suffering.” It might not make sense, but that was what Miriam craved more than any sort of blood. She felt full, though, empowered in ways that she hadn’t felt in a long time. Mass misery, mass suffering. It sustained her. She looked at her new companion. “My, you’re a messy eater.”

“Ah. Sadist.” Not uncommon in this town, Eilidh had come to realize. Won’t find her complaining—it kept the food ripe. Head tilted at the thought, as she eyed the woman deeper. A waste of a beautiful face, though she’s wasted prettier. But she reminded herself the woman had done nothing. At least, not in front of her. Quick headshake threw that fuzz from her mind. Returning her back to herself. To the easy food surrounding. Motionless, as it seemed the last survivors were gone to the frost or soon approaching. There was a sadness. A wish for a different outcome. But fate decided their time was now. And so graciously decided the two of them would enjoy the spoils. There was nothing to do now but feed and not let their sacrifice go to waste. She broke off a finger; it came off like peanut brittle with a snap. It went into her mouth. That mouth came alive with snaps as her teeth chomped down and down and down. It crumbled on her lips, covered her in more mess. She shrugged at the observation, uncaring. “Food should be enjoyed. Plenty to go ‘round.”

“No, not a sadist,” Miriam said, and she didn’t know why she was so offended by that word. She wasn’t a sadist. The only times she’d ever really, properly enjoyed what she’d done had been killing Theo. But that wasn’t true, was it? She’d cried while she’d killed him, while the overwhelming misery and suffering that he’d felt had sustained her, while she’d turned his skin into a jacket. Miriam allowed her eyes to flash red at the woman in front of her and let her fangs drop. “Just a woman with an incredibly unfortunate set of dietary needs. Tragically, tragedy becomes me.” She looked at the way the woman ate a finger, her face momentarily twisting into something that wasn’t quite but could be very close to disgust. She’d made a mess during her own first large blood meals, but this really was ridiculous. “No, thank you. I think I’ll just take in the misery for now. I don’t enjoy blood slushies.”

Eilidh’s attention snapped back to the woman at her shift in tone. Understanding followed when eyes turned crimson, and teeth turned sharp. There was a shift in her head, a small nod in acknowledgment. “Ah, Dearg-Due.” Arguably tragic, for their name was born from it, as too were they. But Eilidh did not entirely think so—head tilting inquisitively at the revealing display. The woman didn’t share in her curiosity, face squinting in distaste to Eilidh’s own revealing nature. No offense was taken. Instead, Eilidh chomped harder. More gore bits tumbled down, as mischief shined in her eyes. Waiting for the squint to harden on the other’s face. “Don’t think there’s much left. Just the quiet.” As if to purposefully refute her, motion was detected a few meters away. Car door beat and beat and beat against the pile of snow, until it managed to be pushed away. Short, shivered gasps filled the air. Eilidh immediately sat up straighter at the occurrence, gaze locked where she believed the unseen survivor to be. Someone had managed to make it out!

A dearg-due. Miriam looked at this strange woman, not really understanding what she meant and hating that fact. “Right. A dearg-due.” A word that she’d have to look up on her own time, but, perhaps, something of import. Maybe a step closer to not feeling like she was stumbling through this wretched unlife without any sort of instruction manual. She narrowed her eyes at the other woman before rolling them and snorting, a most unladylike sound that she truthfully didn’t care about in present company. “There’s always a little left until it’s absolutely still,” she said, her ears picking up on the sound of a struggling heartbeat before the zombie’s head had even turned. With eyes the color of the blood spilled in the snow, Miriam looked at the man that was struggling, suffering, trying so, so hard to live. His cries were the most dreadful music, a delightful meal. She wanted it to stop. She was lithe on her feet and she made her way towards him, and her hand wrapped around his neck faster than he could blink. “Shh, it’ll be over soon,” she soothed, and she moved her hand, took a bite. It had been some time since she’d had blood straight from the source, and it was still warm, despite the chill in the air. By the time Miriam was done, there wasn’t much left of the man’s neck. She wiped at her face, her chin. She looked back at the zombie. “I suppose I’m a bit of a mess as well.” 

Eilidh’s feet had barely become reacquainted with the ground when the Dearg-Due made her way. Hand gripped tight, threatening to suck out his life. But teeth worked faster. By the time Eilidh was close enough to make out his features, last drops of that life trickled away. Left a red stain on the snow. Left a space for the sadness to return. But it too trickled away, lost to the fog she carried so well. Reverting to a stillness. A deep silence. Where not even a heartbeat could be found, for the two standing had none to spare. Until a chuckle broke it—brought some semblance of life back to the white expanse of the dead. “Ah. You do like blood slushies.” The other’s mouth dripped in the last of that man’s warmth—red blotches against the once spotless mold. But found herself enjoying the sight, more than before. Always an admirer of those with the touch of the wild. “Looks better. One more meal. Might even be stunning.” Like her, with fragments of bodies littering her face and chest, as it did the ground. Stained by that dark, crimson death. 

Wiping at the corners of her mouth as they ticked upwards ever so slightly, Miriam licked the blood off her thumb as she said, “Not quite a blood slushie. He was still lukewarm, at the least.” Amusement and disgust warred within her, both at the bloodbath as well as the woman in front of her. She was no different, now, really, blood on her face, a body in front of her. And she was still thirsty, so thirsty, the kind of thirst that, for once, couldn’t be tamed by misery. It was likely that the bags of blood in her home wouldn’t help much, either. She managed a laugh, though. “I think we have different thoughts on the word stunning, sweetness.” She was still thirsty. She said, “I’m not one to overindulge.” 

Tongue clicked in a baby’s attempt of disappointment. One that held no power, with a touch of humor. But the feeling did linger on the surface. Eilidh simply shrugged at the dismissal. “Only the greedy do.” There was a curious quirk of her brow, noting a strange expression on the other’s face. Causation could not be placed, but assumption was the feast had put the woman in a wild state of mind. Eilidh could certainly relate. Such a state told her to keep feeding, despite the all-consuming hunger being placated. To eat until satisfied instead of simply sated. Eyes focused intently on the recently deceased, whose flesh was still soft and tender and untouched by the stiffness of death and cold. Mouth salivated in turn. Hungry teeth had only ripped out a few mouthfuls when a new distraction arose. A sudden sound in the distance. Unknown but clearly approaching. Another predator? An oblivious local? A hunter? She hissed at the third suggestion, not wanting to deal with that ilk. Body lowered, fingers tensed, preparing for that encroaching mystery.

“Well, then, here’s to not being greedy, hm?” But Miriam was still feeling that tell-tale tinge of bloodlust under the surface, ever present but growing now. It had been so long since she’d fed properly. So long. And she wasn’t starving by any means, and she wasn’t going to complain about it, but, damn, when Miriam used to feed like this, she was ravenous. In the 90s, she’d slaughtered multiple people at a time as a result of her thirst for blood and pain. It would last for hours, only satisfied when she was surrounded by bodies. Much as she was now, but these weren’t bodies of her making. One just wasn’t enough. She heard the sound of a car door slam, saw blue sirens just ahead of them, smelled someone as they approached. Miriam didn’t think. The officer was dead before she properly arrived on the scene, and Miriam ripped her throat before she could make so much as a gurgle. This was warm blood, delicious as it soothed the ache inside her that she hadn’t even noticed. How was Miriam supposed to notice when she neglected this side of herself so thoroughly? She didn’t know. She looked up at her new companion and straightened once more, washing the blood from her face and hands with the snow. The entire altercation had been quick, so quick. Miriam wasn’t one for apologies. She rarely apologized. That was how she was raised. However, she did manage to say, “I’m not normally this…” her lips twitched, “emphatic.”

The situation seemed remedied, as the vampire charged at that approaching commotion. Reduced to gurgles and silence, a seeping redness behind abandoned vehicles. Eilidh feasted as well, hardly one to neglect the hunger. Stripping more of that first kill’s recognizability. Turned from man to meat in tattered clothes. Enough to doubt it was ever a man at all. Calming the pestering part of her mind lost to the fog. She sucked on her own fingers, removing viscera clinging between wrinkles and under nails. Nothing gone to waste. She turned in time to meet her carnage companion. Both stained and dripping in fresh blood. The other trying to hide this fact, transferring blame onto the snow. Eilidh made no such motion, almost wearing it with pride. “Should try it some more. Looks like you enjoy it.” Her attention shifted to what lay behind, the cause of interruption. Lone police car illuminated in that swirl of blue and red, still waiting for its passenger. “Well, they never send just one. ‘Bout to be crawling with ‘em now.” Head tilted at a consideration—to lie in wait for the food to come. But enough death had touched these lands in one night. And, of course, she wasn’t greedy. She gripped onto the remains of that mangled corpse—lugged it onto her shoulder. Before taking her leave, she addressed the woman cut of similar clothe. “What should I call you, lady of blood?” 

Having never really eaten with a zombie before, Miriam couldn’t quite contain the look of horrified fascination. Really, she’d never seen anyone eat with such gusto, not even at dinner parties her parents hosted years and years ago. Maybe Miriam just wasn’t used to watching other undead eat. Not entire bodies, at least, and not like that. It was fascinating, certainly, but it was also unnerving. Not scary, just strange. Unusual. Unnatural. But, then again, they were dead. There hadn’t been anything natural about them since their hearts stopped beating. “Darling, if I indulged like this all the time, we wouldn’t have a town left. I prefer to keep my meals light.” Two people in a matter of minutes was quite the loss of life, even if Miriam was certain the one would have died from the cold. The other was just a casualty of every awful thing that had been growing inside of Miriam unchecked for some time now, she’d need to be more careful. She wiped her hands off on her pants, now free of blood and viscera. “My friends call me Mim, though Miri is fine as well. I own the leather shop in town,” Miriam said, a smile on her lips. “What should I call you, oh mighty finder of finger foods?”

Eilidh’s breath rushed out her nose in a near snort. “Only if you’re picky. Find deer to be just as satisfying. Gives a better chase.” And lacked that sense of… She did not want to place a name. To those emotions that tried to surface at times of feeding. A tainting born from James’ pleasantries. It had been easier in the times before. And when she found herself with those like Mim, twins of that primal nature, some of that ease could be found. Of course, judgement had been placed on her, from that kindred companion. But now, with no sense to hide the parts society deemed too dark and twisted, she only saw a fascination from the other woman. She smiled, revealing a bit of discolored skin lodged between incisors. It grew a smidgen wider, at that fun nickname. Made her consider ripping off a dead finger and chomping down in reinforcement. “Dia dhuit, Mim.” She let out a gentle chuckle. “Guess this means we’re friends. Mine call me many things. Call me Ellie.” Sirens tore her attentions. She saw more swirls of blue and red bouncing off distant walls, but creeping ever closer. As did those shrieking sounds—building on each other into a single blasting. Arm securing her haul grew tighter. Squeezing out those last drops of blood it had managed to hold drizzling down her shoulder. “Better scamper. ‘Till the next.” And she disappeared into the trees. 

[naturepointstheway]

“The Prince of Egypt” Fanfiction

Masterpost image credit to @ao3commentoftheday​

Here be a big, beautiful masterpost with all my Prince of Egypt (1998) fanfiction collected in one place. As I began writing on fanfiction.net, most of these are from there. There are a few that “graduated” to Archive of Our Own, and there’s one that’s organically grown on AO3 soil. 

Be warned, a lot of these earlier fics, especially from 2013-14, are probably not that great in terms of writing quality, but I leave them up because clearly people still liked them and hey, who knows how often people go back and re-read them even years later? 

2013 - 2015 PRINCE OF EGYPT FANFICTION 

All except one (”Wedding Night in Midian”) are organically grown in somewhat fertile fanfiction.net soil. However, four of them had been handpicked and “graduated” to Archive of our Own; this will be indicated with an extra alternate link to the fic on AO3 if you would rather go there. 

A Cry of Defeat (K)  

The last we see of Rameses in “Prince of Egypt” is him on a rock in the Red Sea, shouting Moses’ name. What if he managed to return to Egypt from the Red Sea? 

Death of the Firstborn (K+)

Rameses’ wife, Nefertari awakes him on the night of the 10th plague to tell him of the death of his only son and firstborn. Told from Rameses’ point of view, this story explores his reaction to both the death of his son and to Moses’ arrival at the end.

Do You Want to Race a Chariot? (K)

Before his death, Moses writes one final letter to Rameses, whom he believes had perished in the Red Sea. Little does he know he is still alive in Egypt.

Dynasty Extinguished (K+)

Archive of our Own link HERE. [AO3 warning used: “Major Character Death”]

God never said that only the first-born children will perish in the final plague on Egypt. A slight AU of the events of the tenth plague in the film.

Firstborn In Freedom (K+)

The Hebrews are freed and Tzipporah and Moses prepare to have their first child. When their son is born, Moses suddenly sees the Tenth Plague of Egypt in a new light. Would he give up his own firstborn if God demanded?

The Heart of Stone (T)

With each refusal to let the Hebrews go, Rameses’ heart and flesh rapidly turns into stone. A fanfic written for Halloween 2014. Sweet dreams!

Inconsolable (K)

What if someone, namely Rameses’ wife, Nefertari, had seen Moses weeping outside the palace after the death of the first born?

King’s Mother (K+) [multi-chapter fic, ~40,000 words]

What if Queen Tuya was still alive when Moses returns to Egypt? Moses is now married to Tzipporah, and they have one son, Gershom. Now twelve years after Moses’s exile from Egypt, they return to confront Pharaoh, only to find Queen Tuya is still alive. How will this change the course of Moses’ confrontation with Pharaoh Rameses?

Let My Heart Be Hardened (K+)

What is going through Rameses’ head when Moses says he returned to Egypt only to free the Hebrews, and not to be a prince of Egypt?

Little Brother, Big Brother (K)

Rameses meets his new baby brother for the first time. A quick and warm fluffy feelings read.

Lost Heirloom (T) [contains in-movie OC] [contains mild language and references to alcohol]

The senet table shattered during the chariot race was a heirloom to one of the players. Here, he shares his frustration on the “recklessness of youth” and his unshakeable fear of “his father’s father’s father’s ghost” haunting him for the rest of his life for losing the heirloom. Rated T for mild language and references to alcohol.

The Morning and Evening Star (K)

After a very long reign, Rameses II waits for his death as he reflects on what has transpired in his reign. He is visited by the ghosts of his parents, as well as his brother, Moses, as he waits for death to take him to the western horizon.

My Brother, the Forgiver and Deliverer (K)

Miriam watches Moses walking back to the shore of the Red Sea after triumphantly delivering the Hebrews from Egypt. What went through her head after the people were delivered from Egypt?

Out of Trouble Again (K)

Archive of our Own link HERE.

What if Rameses’ son had not walked in and interrupted right when Moses and Rameses were talking during the ninth plague in “Prince of Egypt”

Refusal to Harm (T) [Contains allusions to torture, execration (magical cursing) and discussion of execution]

Archive of Our Own link HERE.

No matter how much Hotep and Huy try to persuade him, Rameses will never harm his brother whether that be direct or indirect. Even as Moses brings down plague after plague on Egypt, Rameses will not hurt Moses, the man he had once called brother.

A Smile for a Statue (K) [Contains in-movie OC]

What exactly happened to that anonymous painter who drew a smile on the statue of Seti when he was knocked off his perch during the chariot race scene in “Prince of Egypt”? This short, quick story strives to answer that question! A light-hearted, quick read.

Sorrow of Moses (K+)

What went through Moses’ head as he collapsed in sorrow outside the palace after the death of the first born?

Stranger In A Strange Land (K+) [Contains OC character] [Multi-chapter, ~23,600 words]

Twenty years after the liberation of the slaves, Moses and Tzipporah have two sons, one of whom will journey to Egypt with Moses: Gershom. God has revealed that Rameses is still alive, and that Moses and Gershom should journey to Egypt to meet with Pharaoh. Along the way, Moses tells Gershom about the history of Passover and his life. Gershom finds more questions than answers.

Taking Him For Dead (K)

Several days after Moses’ self-exile, Queen Tuya reveals to Rameses of Moses’ true heritage. But does it change the fact that Rameses and Moses were the closest of brothers?

Thirty Glimpses of Egypt (K) [multi-chapter, 3,000 words made up of 30 100-word drabbles]

Archive of our Own link HERE. 

30 days, 30 drabbles of exactly 100 words that follow Moses and Rameses from Yocheved sending Moses down the Nile to Moses’ final, triumphant deliverance of his people. There will be one drabble a day for thirty days.

Wedding Night in Midian (M - strong sexual themes; only on Archive of Our Own, NOT on fanfiction.net)

The wedding night of Moses and Tzipporah. Strong sexual themes and content. Moses is hesitant at first, but soon allows himself to love Tzipporah as he had never done before.

2016 

Somewhere in between ‘14 and ‘16, my muses farewelled The Prince of Egypt and moved on to new lands, namely Frozen, which had taken my brain by storm back in 2014 and exploded into prominence by 2015/16. So 2015/16 was the year when my Muses moved on for good from The Prince of Egypt, but still like to look back in fondness. While the stories have moved on, my love remains. All three of the following are on my Tumblr, but only Love is on both AO3 and FF.net.

Love

Tumblr link HERE.

Archive of our Own link HERE.

FF.net link HERE.

Even despite her little sisters' teasing about herself and Moses, it still takes a long time for Tzipporah to finally realise she IS deeply in love with Moses.

A Tumblr prompt response - Jethro’s POV on Tzipporah’s love for Moses

Modern AU Moses and Rameses prompt on Tumblr

[metanoiamorii]

❛When I was young, I'd read stories about great heroes doing great deeds. The truth is, real heroes don't look at all like I pictured. They're far from perfect. They're bull-headed, stubborn, reckless. And also recklessly brave. They charge in without a thought to themselves. Not without fear or doubt, but in spite of it. We are all scared. But we are going to fight and die anyway, to give everyone else a chance at a better future. Because the future matters.❜

♧ Title: The Legacy of Vires Ius [TSOVI]

♧ Status: World-Building & Drafting

♧ Point of View: Third, I haven't decided if it's limited or multiple quite yet.

♧ Genre: Fantasy, Adventure, Action

♧ Warnings: Deaths, violence, nudity, cults, classism, a touch of racism, some homophobia, some transphobia, war, torture, a bit of an apocalyptic vibe, gore, eldritch beings, a very long story; I'm sure I'm missing a few more

♧ Featuring: Well for all of you out there who love the found family trope, I got big news for you! On top of, a diverse LGBTQ+ cast of characters, complex and complicated characters, morally grey characters, complex world building, plenty of symbolism, fantasy religions, unique character arcs, if a dnd campaign got written as a story, not necessarily 'the chosen' one but they definitely take up the challenge as if they're meant to; I'm sure I'm missing some, but you get the point!

♧ Setting: Okay so like... You'll get to explore the ENTIRE world in this one. From the Western European inspired countries, to the Ancient Roman inspired Societies, to a Napoleonic France inspired nation, to indigenous islands, to.... Yeah, no, you're getting a whole look at the world in this one.

♧ Synopsis:

It starts with saving the life of an emperor....— scratch that, it starts sooner than that. It starts with a runaway noblelady, a woman who wants to change her life, an eldritch being that takes the form of a weasel, a wanted bastardized nobleman, and an assassin. Together they all take up a misfit job, never telling the truth to one another, aiming to use each other for their own gain.... They come out if it friends, forgetting the original plan.

So, they become an adventuring group together for some years, until an old friend calls in a favor. That's when it starts, saving the life of an emperor. They're rewarded a keep, a paycheck, and newfound nobility. Sure, it wasn't what they all intended, but it happened. Life looks good for them.

They adopt a child of mischief and care for him as if he was there own. And some years later, the child's mother comes looking for him... She joins the family too, with her own mischief group of trouble.

The family grows bigger.

No, none of them mind, not in truth. The keep is large and quiet, really. They prefer the noise and company. They're a happy family together, until...

You probably guessed it by now. Remember the runaway noblelady? Her cousin winds up in town, with a few friends, all hiding from their past, and the law. You guessed it. They stay at the keep and... Well, they never leave. They become family too.

So what happens when you have three different adventuring groups living together?

Well, it certainly isn't a peaceful, quiet life. Mischief is around every corner, and they celebrate life every day— because hey, you don't always survive slaying a manticore, or stopping a nation from going to war, or even protecting your friends from their past....

But you know what doesn't happen to every adventuring group? Not all of them have to fight a war bigger than themselves. Not all of them take up championships from the gods to fight a field bigger than themselves.

The group originally thought the worst foe they would have to deal with is... Well, they collectively decided his new name is Dickzini. He's a fool, and easy to handle. But, they never knew someone else pulled his strings.

And that person?

That person, who's older than even Khaalida herself, wants to burn the world to the ground as they know it.

So, no more keep. No more politics. No more partying every night. No more misfit jobs. It's time to wield a weapon and prepare for war. Not to protect the world, but to protect each other. It's not a problem if they will do it... But even if they never voice it to one another, they fear if they'll all make it out alive.

♧ Excerpt:

[I want to go on record, I went through at least twenty different excerpts trying to depict which would be best, and this is the one you get.]

"So?"

"So what?"

Rihtyxr faltered where he stood when the nonchalant response was given. The bastard didn't even look up from his dinner plate... He had to stop himself from scrunching his face and showing his annoyace.

He took in a breath, his tail flicking behind him. "What do you think?"

"About?"

Rihtyxr had to bite his bottom lip and tap his fingers against his legs to stop himself from doing something rash. "... The kid— my kid— I was introducing you to..."

"Oh." The knife stopped scraping against the plate. A napkin was picked up, used to dab away the ichor, before dropped onto the plate. Hands neatly folded, Rons'ta lifted his head to stared forward. "I don't like it."

Again, Rihtyxr faltered. "What do you mean—"

"You're playing with something dangerous, Rîxie." Purposely, he used that nickname to infuriate the trickster. "It'll either cost you your crown, if not your life... If we are lucky."

The trickster scoffed. "You're simply paranoid, like always, you bastard. My own flesh and blood would never do me harm!"

Rons'ta was quick to scowl. As it was a rare occasion, he allowed himself to slam a fist against the table and raise his voice at his compatriot. "You should have smothered it in its crib, you arrogant fool!" In he breathed. Out he exhaled. He raised his glass to his lips and looked away, muttering against the rim of the cup. "... You've birthed the end of all things, Nameless Ones help us all when he realizes his power.... Khaalida take pity on the fools to stand in his way..."

♧ Characters:

Here is your cast of characters, since there is a lot, I'll be supplying minimal information until their character intros. I'll be supplying the main ones, but gods are there many in this story.

Vires Ius: 'The Heroes'

━━━━━━━━━━━

♧ Kalimali Sayegh

Male • He/Him • Pansexual • Demiromantic • Half Elf • The Exiled Magister

♧ Blythe Vidya

Transfem • She/Her • Pansexual • Demiromantic • Half-Minx • The Lady of The Voice

♧ Helene Laverna

Nonbinary • She/They • Asexual • Demiromantic • Human • The Runaway Priestess

♧ Raz Gacheru

Transmasc • He/They • Bisexual • Demiromantic • Half-Witch • The Ex-Assassin

♧ Robyn Trikfoot

Male • He/Him • Out of my house asking about a child's sexuality • Halfling • The Champion of Redemption

♧ Biscuits

He/Him • Weasel • ???? • The Mascot

The Misfits: 'The Troublemakers'

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

♧ Vrykolas

Transmasc • He/Him • Demisexual • Demiromantic • Nephalem • The Trophy Son

♧ Diablos

Demiboy • He/They • Asexual • Aromantic • Arc'yni • The Scavenger

♧ Alacèto Qystione

Genderfluid • He/They • Pansexual • Aromantic • Half-Elf, Half Succubus • The Bard

♧ Eithirna

Female • She/Her • Demisexual • Aromantic • Witch • The Wolf Blood Witch

♧ Amidir Naberius Qystinoe Scathaghe

Agender • He/They • Demisexual • Demiromantic • Half Light Elf, Half Dark Elf • The Raven's Champion

The Shifty Bunch: 'The Riffraffs'

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

♧ Chayliel

Agender • He/Him • Grey-Asexual • Demiromantic • Nephilim • The Rebellious Soldier

♧ Niky 'Noé' Orlan Von Brandt

Nonbinary • He/They • Grey-Asexual • Aromantic • Witch • The Horned Witch

♧ Caiomhe

Transmasc • He/They • Asexual • Demiromantic • Fairy-Human-Elf hybrid • The Reckless & Selfless

The Angels of Darkness: 'The Cult'

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

♧ Damocles 'Dámianus' Aliah Teivel

Agender • He/They • Grey-Asexual • Aromantic • Great Old One • The Mad One of The Void

♧ Miriam 'Misam' Heyoka-Teivel

Nonbinary • They/She • All that matters is she is attracted to power • Witch • The Angel Of Darkness

♧ Gaylon 'Gazini' Mavolio

Agender • They/He • Asexual • Aromantic • Great Old One • The Thing That Shouldn't Be

♧ Karayan 'Ianira' Than Blackthorn

Genderfluid • They/He • Homosexual • Aromantic • Feytouched • The Dark Devourer

♧ Malachi 'Jinx' Puck Melodie

Genderfluid • She/They • Homosexual • Aromantic • Feytouched • The Laughing Mistress

Taglist:

If you would like to be added, feel free to leave it in the tags, drop a comment, send in an ask, or shoot me a dm!

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

3rd August >> Mass Readings (Except USA)

Tuesday, Eighteenth Week in Ordinary Time.

(Liturgical Colour: Green)

First Reading

Numbers 12:1-13

'How have you dared to speak against my servant Moses?'

Miriam, and Aaron too, spoke against Moses in connexion with the Cushite woman he had taken. (For he had married a Cushite woman.) They said, ‘Has the Lord spoken to Moses only? Has he not spoken to us too?’

   The Lord heard this. Now Moses was the most humble of men, the humblest man on earth. Suddenly, the Lord said to Moses and Aaron and Miriam, ‘Come, all three of you, to the Tent of Meeting.’ They went, all three of them, and the Lord came down in a pillar of cloud and stood at the entrance of the Tent. He called Aaron and Miriam and they both came forward. The Lord said, ‘Listen now to my words: If any man among you is a prophet I make myself known to him in a vision, I speak to him in a dream. Not so with my servant Moses: he is at home in my house; I speak with him face to face, plainly and not in riddles, and he sees the form of the Lord. How then have you dared to speak against my servant Moses?’

   The anger of the Lord blazed out against them. He departed, and as soon as the cloud withdrew from the Tent, there was Miriam a leper, white as snow! Aaron turned to look at her; she had become a leper.

   Aaron said to Moses: ‘Help me, my lord! Do not punish us for a sin committed in folly of which we are guilty. I entreat you, do not let her be like a monster, coming from its mother’s womb with flesh half corrupted.’    Moses cried to the Lord, ‘O God,’ he said ‘please heal her, I beg you!’

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm

Psalm 50(51):3-7,12-13

R/ Have mercy on us, Lord, for we have sinned.

Have mercy on me, God, in your kindness.    In your compassion blot out my offence. O wash me more and more from my guilt    and cleanse me from my sin.

R/ Have mercy on us, Lord, for we have sinned.

My offences truly I know them;    my sin is always before me Against you, you alone, have I sinned;    what is evil in your sight I have done.

R/ Have mercy on us, Lord, for we have sinned.

That you may be justified when you give sentence    and be without reproach when you judge, O see, in guilt I was born,    a sinner was I conceived.

R/ Have mercy on us, Lord, for we have sinned.

A pure heart create for me, O God,    put a steadfast spirit within me. Do not cast me away from your presence,    nor deprive me of your holy spirit.

R/ Have mercy on us, Lord, for we have sinned.

Gospel Acclamation

John 8:12

Alleluia, alleluia! I am the light of the world, says the Lord; anyone who follows me will have the light of life. Alleluia!

Or:

John 1:49

Alleluia, alleluia! Rabbi, you are the Son of God, you are the King of Israel. Alleluia!

Gospel

Matthew 14:22-36

Jesus walks on the water.

Jesus made the disciples get into the boat and go on ahead to the other side while he would send the crowds away. After sending the crowds away he went up into the hills by himself to pray. When evening came, he was there alone, while the boat, by now far out on the lake, was battling with a heavy sea, for there was a head-wind. In the fourth watch of the night he went towards them, walking on the lake, and when the disciples saw him walking on the lake they were terrified. ‘It is a ghost’ they said, and cried out in fear. But at once Jesus called out to them, saying, ‘Courage! It is I! Do not be afraid.’ It was Peter who answered. ‘Lord,’ he said ‘if it is you, tell me to come to you across the water.’ ‘Come’ said Jesus. Then Peter got out of the boat and started walking towards Jesus across the water, but as soon as he felt the force of the wind, he took fright and began to sink. ‘Lord! Save me!’ he cried. Jesus put out his hand at once and held him. ‘Man of little faith,’ he said ‘why did you doubt?’ And as they got into the boat the wind dropped. The men in the boat bowed down before him and said, ‘Truly, you are the Son of God.’

   Having made the crossing, they came to land at Gennesaret. When the local people recognised him they spread the news through the whole neighbourhood and took all that were sick to him, begging him just to let them touch the fringe of his cloak. And all those who touched it were completely cured.

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[adamantiumdragonfly]

Lady Blood || Part Four

Lady Blood: Agent of War collection

Agent Enyo was a legend. A woman whose hands were always bloody and eyes filled with shadows. The reaper of the Western Front, she carried her reputation with her across the ocean to the alleys and speakeasies of Chicago. For who could fight a king of crime but a goddess herself?

But before she was a legend before she had a name, she was just Miriam Goldschmidt: a German girl far from home, trying to keep her tattered family from unraveling. The Great War brewing in Europe had pulled on the threads and challenged Miriam's loyalty: to the land of her birth or the London streets she now walked? From London to Cairo then to the Western Front in the wreckage of Belgium, Miriam proves her allegiance, fulfilling the deep thirst for recognition but being a good soldier and a good agent required sacrifice.

As the war leaves its marks on Europe and it's victims, Miriam has to make peace with the choice she made and the family she tore apart for that name and that seat in the pantheon.

She was a god but at what cost?

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November, 1919 - London, England

The streets of London had changed since Miriam had last walked them. There was less noise, a kind of hushed anticipation. As if the city wondered what else it could go through. The crowds were the same, a strange form of comfort. 

They parted for her, having nothing to do with the thick black coat pulled tight against her body, but the look on her face. Set. like a stone statue, into a glower. She could glare these people out of her way, their own faces scarred with the hardships of the war and following influenza but she couldn't scare the nerves from inside her chest.

They had fluttered at first, when she had gotten off the boat, growing in intensity until her heart pounded against her ribs, punching a beat and begging for release. She wasn't sure if her heart would explode from her chest, leaving a gaping hole to reveal just how empty Miriam was.

Two years since she had last seen Ezriel's face. Nearly five since Miriam Goldschmidt had wandered her second home, the place where her father had died and her mother lost along with him. That Miriam, at sixteen, had kept the family afloat in the sea of uncertainty but Miriam had been gone. Gone a long time and it seemed, the city wasn't the only thing that had changed.

That little house, crammed between two others of the same peeling paint, looked just as dull, just as dark. That hadn't changed. The wood was still rough beneath her knuckles as she rapped on the door. She knocked, not let herself in. She hadn't breathed this air, lived this life, in a long time. Miriam wasn't the same. And neither was the girl who pulled open the door, standing in the entrance as the dark eyes that were like Miriam's, glanced her up and down.

It was Amira. The little girl they had left behind. The scared little girl, who had lost her father, and seen her two sisters and brother leave her behind, marching off to war. Her hair was up, braided like Miriam had worn it before she had cut it all to her shoulders, and wound in a tight knot. Her mouth was drawn thin. She was only seventeen but looked much older.

Confusion clouded her eyes before Amira recognized Miriam. She did look different. The scar across her cheek, marrying the two sides of her. The smooth features of her youth and the grizzled aftermath of the war on the left side of her face. Her hair, once long and curly, hung thinly around her scarred cheeks, concealing the worst of the scars. Miriam was still healing and while she had been told they would fade, she felt sick at the sight of Amira's disgust at the wounds.

"Miri," Amira said softly. Her voice was different. No accent. They had all had a slight German accent. Sadie had fought hard to lose hers. Amira didn't have one anymore. "What are you doing here?"

"I've come to see Mother," Miriam said. "I've missed you, Ami." 

Her baby sister, who had been abandoned. She wasn't sure why she had come to this place, when the last time she had seen a family member, there was blood and shouting.

"You should have saved her!"

"Ezriel is here."

"I haven't seen him in years. How is he?"

"You don't want to come in, Miriam," Amira stepped forward, the door falling shut behind her and rejecting Miriam's request for entrance. She faltered, her heel slipping off the step and Miriam took a step back, the weightlessness jerking at her middle.

"Amira, let me in."

Amira fought her own war with herself before she relented and opened the door. The house still smelled musty but the lights were on, a lamp burning, and a little shrine placed on the side table. The only photo of their two lost. That little girl who haunted Miriam's dreams and Papa, who looked so alive there, sitting in that frame. Miriam almost expected him to take a breath, unrestrained and without a shuddering cough. Her gloved hand ran along the glass, tracing the face of her family. When she pulled away, the tip of her finger was coated in dust. Had she really been gone that long?

Mama was in the sitting room, on the rocking chair, that had been her place of vigil during the evenings when they had first arrived in London. Before Papa had died. It had been a familiar sight, to see her swaying back to front, there before the fireplace but the frail creature who sat in the chair wasn't Mama.

In the five years Miriam had been gone, she had wasted away. A skeleton of her mother's former self.

"What are you doing here?" Ezriel, a master of the shadows, had kept his knack for lurking in corners even when the teargas had cleared. He had gone unnoticed by Miriam's sharpened senses, hidden in the dark folds of the room. She should have known he would be there, waiting. She shouldn't have been hurt by the anger in his voice. They hadn't seen each other in nearly two years. He had removed himself from her, pushing her away with blood-stained hands, leaving her with the ghost, the guilt and the crooked nose. 

"I'm here for my mother," Miriam said. She didn't need to explain herself. This had been her home. This was her home. She had spent more time in these walls than her older brother and he had no right to make her feel unwelcomed.

"Miriam?" Sarah's weak muscles strained to turn her head toward her oldest daughter's voice. Her watery eyes scanned the changes that the war had left on her child. "Miriam? What happened to your face?"

"Nothing, Mama. She is fine." Ezriel said, jumping in before, Miriam could even answer. He had never been the one to care for Mama. Miriam had always done that. But here he stood, in this sitting room, in a house he had done everything to get away from, looking as if Miriam was the betrayer. Maybe she was.

"Is Sadie with you?" Sarah asked. Sadie. Named for her. The second daughter. The one who had burned through the darkest shadows that this country and this home had to offer. Had Sarah been told?

"No," Miriam was almost proud that she had kept the pain from her voice. That had been buried deep, covered with the dirt of hundreds of men's graves. Ezriel noticed that she hadn't sounded hurt. He noticed that there wasn't a trace of hurt or raw grief. He took the hurt he still carried with him, across his face and shoulders, and turned it against her. It was a sharp weapon, though not as sharp as the words he said.

"No, Mama, you remember what I told you?" Sarah said nothing, her body and mind fragile as a songbird. Ezriel pushed on, disregarding the shaking of their mother's shoulders. "She let her die."

Miriam was at a loss for words. She had never had many but she wished she could pull every fragment from her mind and throw the shrapnel at Ezriel. Maybe then he would feel how she did, the burden and the guilt, pressing tight against his flesh. Maybe then he would experience the white hot tears burning against his eyelids, never to be released. Never to spill over his, her, cheeks and bringing with it a cool relief.

Ezriel didn't feel that. Miriam couldn't do anything but watch, as he pushed on, with the ambition and drive that had gotten them all into this war in the first place. This wasn't about their futures or his ambition. This was about revenge and Miriam was his target.

"Miriam is why Sadie isn't here," He said, with almost smug glee. Amira was in the doorway, fingers trembling against her lips. Turning to Sarah, Ezriel said. "You could have us all back but Miriam didn't protect her." Sarah's body shook with wracking sobs, she buried her face in her gnarled hands, a wail rising from her mouth. The wail that had sounded when Papa had died. The wail that once again ripped through Miriam's heart, leaving an exit wound weeping with blood and unreleased tears.

Miriam glanced at Amira, begging her with her eyes to not believe him. Not to listen to the lies that he was spreading. She could have done more, convinced her little sister that she was innocent, but her voice was gone. Miriam had come home for solace and respite and had been met with more hostility and rage than she had seen during her time in the war.

Ezriel knelt beside their mother, taking her hands in his own, muttering softly. "I'm here, Mama. I'll keep you safe."

Safe. Like Miriam had. She had made this slum of a house a haven for them. That haven had cost her an education, a childhood, and now, a family.

Her fingers trembled as she tightened them into fists. Something in Ezriel's face dared her to take a swing. Miriam would have knocked him unconscious but her mother's shuddering sobs broke any resolve.

She had hurt this family enough. Maybe this was her fault?

Amira spoke up from the doorway, her voice sharper than anything Miriam had heard from her. The Ami she had known was softer spoken, overshadowed by Sadie's bright sunshine. "Why are you here?"

"I'm going to America." A job. A promise. Someone who knew who Miriam Goldschmidt was had requested her presence. She had anticipated a warm welcome or a welcome at all upon her brief return home but the reception had solidified her decision. She was leaving.

"If you cross that ocean, you know you can never come back, right?"

"You won't be a part of this family anymore." Ezriel said, over their mother's shattering form. As if it was her fault this was happening. As if all this, the house that was falling apart and Sarah with it, could be placed solely on her. 

"We have been ripped apart already and it had nothing to do with me." Miriam said, finally finding her voice. Enyo demanded a certain level of respect. Had Ezriel not heard of her work? 

"This isn’t the time for you to place a winning blow. This is where you pray for mercy,”