#mihal

[deucebeetz]

I tried doing a version of this meme with the spades + isuka

I'm a bit unsure of skull's placement but I agree with the rest

[sabo-torao]

DEUACE EPIC COMEBACK IN THE GAKUEN AU WHO ELSE CHEERED

[soracities]

Slavko Mihalić, from “The Man Who Decided” (trans. Peter Kastmiler), Contemporary East European Poetry: An Anthology

[charliearlet]

My body and I are strangers. Death deepens the divide.

[nudesnoises]

Iva Mihalic in "Pijavice"

[lordturkish-robomallcop]

Hi! Imma go for it.

21/46/47/48 For Ana and Mihal (I have a weakness for codependent Tzim child/sire duos, what can I say). 

And 14/26 for Eliza but about her being a ghoul. 

hELL YEAH BUDDY.

Apologies ahead of time this is gonna be a Lot Of Text because I ramble hard. I tried to keep it brief but... it is clearly impossible for me to keep things brief. Also spoilers for future Limits of an Invitation/Project Cadmus stuff-ahoy! Nothing earth-shattering, but if that's a concern I wanted to flag that right off the bat in case there's anyone who wants to go into the fic blind. But with all that being said, let's dive under the fold and chat some tzims and their very "fortunate" ghouls!

21 Mihal/Ana - Predator Type This has changed/evolved for both of them over time based on what was available. Words from ST Roan on Mihal: “Word of god says predator type is a game term that is great for creating newer vamps but not narratively necessary or universally applicable to elder npcs… That said, since coming to America Mihal’s go to types are Osiris and Siren. Especially Osiris in Hollywood era. Before was often, but not always Montero, when utilizing ghouls since that’s common for old school tzims.” Valeriy would've been Mihal's main guy for netting dinner-- he's been doing it his entire life as a Grimaldi, he (was) a turbo-pro, 10/10 would doordash again. The NY->Hollywood scene was a constant churn of cult creation/destruction around whatever vanity project the two were making/beefing over at the given moment. Now in Fairhaven, he's a lot more lowkey so def more of a Siren than Osiris these days. Ana is a Blood Leech through and through. While he can settle for human blood, it has never slaked him unless it's a Rev or another kindred. His early days he remained bound to Mihal and supplemented his diet by tapping the schlacta/ghouls on the estate, as well as whatever poor sucker he could rip into traveling through their domain.

When Helena arrived and the pack was formed/as it grew, Ana would cleave more and more from his packmates. Also, obviously, if there was a Cammie lick that needed dusting he always had first dibs.

Now that he has been separated from the pack and Hermia is def not as down to be tapped on a whim as Mihal... Ana may have had to cut some deals with the Fairhaven branch of the Circulatory System to keep his meal plan buttoned-up and to his standards.

46 - Mihal/Ana, What are their Ambitions? 47 - Mihal/Ana, What are their Desires? Popping these two together bc they go hand in hand. Mihal and Ana were both 'freed' from their sires/sabbat expectations in the space of a couple of months. So weirdly, they're at almost identical turning points. Always mirrors, these two! Mihal: FIRSTLIGHT knocked down their doors and dusted their Ductus, as well as gave him a window to torpor their Bishop/his sire Vratislav. For the first time in centuries, he's beholden to no one. 900 years in counting and he's finally earned this 'moment' and he isn't going spend it rashly. Right now he has what remains of the pack, a precarious position hugging the Tower, and an prodigal childe who isn't coming home as quickly as he would like.

He desires stability, but as method of securing his own agency and control. He never wants to be subject to another's whims again after being bound to Vrat--to the point of faking partaking in the vaulderie unbeknownst to the rest of his pack. His ambition is securing a legacy that can stand shoulder-to-shoulder if not entirely surpass the true Elders of his bloodline. Which is a tall order when your Grandsire is Vykos, but Mihal isn't known for his humility. So, why not get his childe that city he always dreamed of? Ana: Mihal saw fit to 'cut him off' for a few reasons. First is political-- the FIRSTLIGHT operation left every kindred faction in Fairhaven scrambling. True-Cam heads pissed that the Cam is now mostly made up by ex-sabbat opportunists/anarch dregs. Anarch heads pissed that their leaders sold them out to the Cam when they were so close to taking it down. The two Sabbat packs that rolled over and renounced the Sword of Caine for protection are regarded to only slightly better than the few thinbloods that managed to make themselves useful enough not to get purged-it's a shit time for everyone in Fairhaven rn. Ana was the only one in the pack that Mihal trusted could make it out the other side of a bond while still being in his pocket. Cynically assumes if the remorse doesn't pull him back, the addiction will. Simultaneously, this is also to continue their escalating game of spite. Shortly before the raid, the two had a more-major-than-usual falling out over Mihal's treatment of Roman-- yeah surprise Roman is still alive and kicking as Ana's husbandish ghoul to this day. Yes it's a full can of worms but long story short Ana sticking up for Roman/at times putting Roman *above* Mihal has been the Issue Of The Past Century. Playing second fiddle to a Chisel? Kindly fuck off with that, Darling. Ana shares Mihal's desire for stability, but inverted. Bonds, Pleasure, Love, All Which Keeps The Beast At Bay-- its rooting the self deep into those you serve and who serve you. It's dedication, it's till death do you fucking part. Part of woodworking as a vampire is accepting that you are incredibly vulnerable to the thing you are shaping, that it could destroy you in a blink. He carries that attitude into not just his fleshcrafting but his day-to-day. Sure giving himself over, allowing that vulnerability, is a kind of oblivion, but it's an oblivion he can navigate, that he knows intimately and can maybe even thrive in/manipulate to his own ends.

His ambition? He'd love to know, he's taking suggestions. In the past he'd say cutting his own skyline-- something that he had begun to do when they first migrated to Fairhaven. Two downtown residential towers were drafted by his hand, but he's nowhere near amassing the resources to get another project off the ground in the current political climate. So he's taken in some goddamn pupils to keep the drafting hand limber. Maybe that'll be something. 48 - Something that I spent a lot of time on! Damn! Well, easy answer is the fic. But I think if I wanted to dig in, it'd be the bloodline/character arc timeline that I made that starts with the eldest and ends with Eliza. I spent a weekend reading clanbooks/supplements across editions as well as marinating in the vtm wiki to nail down what themes/trends I liked and wanted to play with as well as general history skimming because I, Mr. Podunk Midwestern Man, got most of my education about 1800's Russia from Chekov plays. Then I just went hog wild on a google doc and peppered my ST with too many questions so I could build out some of my own loresheets. Now I can not only tell you what Ana and Eliza were up to at any given point but also what their parents and grandparents were generally up to. Generational Narratives! I like em! I like the big sprawling tangled up casts even if the majority of them only exist offscreen/in the lore notes.

A fun fact which arose from this: Ana has a cousin who is his age, still breathing, leading an Obertus research initiative on the East Coast. She's wheeling and dealing with multiple Farm teams, funding Renditions in exchange of getting first dibs on any ghouls or suspected tzim that get bagged.

14 - Eliza, How did they initially feel after being ghould? Did they like being reborn into something new or did it take them a while to cope with their new reality? Eliza's first reaction was to compartmentalize the shit out of the situation and move on. It took a day or two for it to start to fully sink in, but overall she adapted well at first. This is mostly thanks to Ana taking a more hands-off approach, so outside of the basics (the blood bond situation and the masquerade of the living dead situation) what she learned and when was in her hands. It's a luxury of having a robust collection of kindred writing a keycard away at the University. Though the first time seeing Ana's 'Garden' definitely had a negative impact on her, throwing the whole arrangement back into question. Especially after learning that the 'Poppy' was Ana's last protégé, as well as the source of her current arm-- it launches her into an existential spiral.

Thankfully Roman turns out to be solid support, he steps into paternal role and helps guide her through it. He tells her that he's spent his time in the garden, that it was terrible and unforgivable, and yet he's sitting here with her today. The situation isn't ideal but it isn't unsalvageable, is his belief. He's seen the full scope of degeneration and growth, and he's convinced that the scales are tipped toward growth. Eliza isn't but also understands that, right now, this is what she has to work with. 26 - Eliza, Do they want to become human again or are they fine as a ghoul?

Eliza goes back and forth. In her darker moments she sometimes wishes Ana hadn't saved her. It's easy to see her life as an unnatural extension when her ghouling was that traumatic, and she is aware that she's complicit to some nasty shit. At the same time, the more she works with Ana and Roman the more desensitized she becomes.

Another major factor is her mother, Alana. She leads a Farm team in eastern Iowa, seasoned to the point where most FIRSTLIGHT hawks know of/have worked with her in the past.

Needless to say Alana Locks In the second she discovers Eliza's been ghoul'd. Full blown Rendition/Conversion team. It's ugly, and almost identical to the Garden/Circulatory System operations she was pissed at Ana about.

She gets out the other side with the general notion of "Its Complicated And I Don't Fucking Know, Dude." But she isn't one to romanticize humanity, not anymore. ... Whew. I think I need a nap.

Thank you @hlozt for the ask! As you can see I was chomping at the bit to ramble about these terrible lads. Hopefully it made some amount of sense!!

To everyone else-- if you made it this far/read all that, damn! Thanks! Have a draft Ana Zulo drawn by Roan for your efforts!

[charliearlet-art]

Pyrrha, the Undead Servant

The protagonist of my novel in the Hades style, as a treat 💕💕💕

[whatisbirds]

Souris De Poche

In his mind’s eye a multitude of scenes proposed themselves–a hateful old kine waiting with a warded shotgun. A pair of upstarts lying in wait at either side of the door frame. A pile of corpses.  A pile of sweet-smelling ashes. Anatol shoved the door open.

A one shot covering the aftermath of a second inquisition raid on Ana's pack. It can be read on Ao3 here or under the fold!

They had all been out drinking.

Cleaving from the side of the Rack with its cornucopia of low-hanging fruit had always been a relatively safe bet. A stones throw from their doorstep, swarmed with out of towners sunk into various depths of inebriation. 

It was only for a handful of hours.

Three, four max.

A pregame, a mixer to prop up Adalia before the celebration slated for later that same evening to show off a crowning achievement for Tzimisce– her Zulo. Long time coming, but warmly welcomed by the entire pack. Anatol had caught a glimpse of it a few nights before along with Mihal–her form was traditional, but expertly crafted. A Dragon well suited for the battlefields of old. Nothing to write home about in his opinion…but enough to leave him feeling a touch restless. He knew the anticipatory gaze of the bloodline, which had long rested on her shoulders, would soon shift to him. 

All the more reason to drink, and drink well.

The goal had been to get to a steady flush rather than wasted but they had landed somewhere between those two points. Happy, a bit clumsy, a bit reckless. The Dutchess led the pack, walking toe-to-heel backwards as she faced the trailing group. Despite her drunken sway and the steady stream of foot traffic passing by them, she navigated the walk perfectly. Extra eyes, obviously, but to her credit she concealed them so well even Anatol had trouble pinning down the where and the how. She picked at him as the walked like a kid brother, pinching and needling and loudly wondering when he was going to follow her lead and grow the fuck up. It wasn’t that hard, really. Not for anyone with a lick of imagination, a scrap of self-determination, a bit of spine.

Souris de poche. 

Mihal’s pocket mouse.

“Content to wile away the decades in the garden shade,” Adalia reached out, a drunken swipe at Ana’s nose which he side-stepped. She cackled as he nearly tripped over the curb in the dodge, kept steady by Del linking her elbow with his. “Only rousing when you hear Mihal’s bell, to which you go scampering. Honestly I’m starting to wonder if even that is enough to get you moving these nights.”

“What’s the rush?” Anatol traded a conspiratorial glance with Del. There was nothing to it, aside from layering on some artificial conspiracy atop Adalia’s barb. “I’ll fly when I wish. But I am happy to hear the anticipation is killing you, dear sister. How long do you think you have left in you until you finally croak? Ten years? Twenty? I want to see how long we can stretch this.”

“As if I’d embarrass myself by dying at the hands of a child.” Adalia scoffed.

“I think fifty would do it.” Del’s voice was a flatline which slid easily beneath the back-and-forth. She fished her cell from her coat pocket and popped open her alarm app. “Gonna set it for… this time tonight, 2063. How’s this?”

Alarm 49 years, 364 days, 23 hours and 59 minutes - Adalia greets sun because Ana refuses to scrape himself out of Mihal’s basement.

Kalisto snorted from where he trailed close behind the three, “I’ll save the date.”

“That’s not fair,” Anatol snickered, “We haven’t had a proper basement in nearly a decade.”

“Oh right.” Del updated ‘basement’ to ‘cutting room floor’. “Better?”

Anatol nodded. “Much better.”

As they rounded the block corner the Palace Estates rose into full view. A gem of the Fairhaven skyline, Adalia’s baby. Tonight its walls were bathed in a vibrant crimson light–to passers by, it was a beacon of color in an otherwise bright-white-LED-washed section of downtown. For them it was a promise of expansion–they painted Portside red so they could watch the crimson flow into and cling to Fairhaven like a blood infection.

Anatol pulled out a pack of Camels of which Del filched from without asking as usual, he lit hers and she his. Kalisto’s eyes never drifted away from the skyline, what little of the stars they could see in the light-choked canyon of downtown. Adalia, bored, turned to the Palace Estate doors as they approached. 

The glass doors clattered against the deadbolt when she pulled on them.

Locked.

The silence that rolled over the group was deafening.

Adalia yanked the door again to the same result. Ana peered past her into the lobby which was empty. Valeriy, who usually minded the front desk, was absent. 

Delphine snuffed out her cig on the doorframe, paler than usual. “Am I the only one smelling blood?”

Anatol tossed his own cig into the street and took a deep breath. It had originally been masked by the reek of tobacco but now it was unmistakable. It wasn’t exactly fresh, the sour sheen of coagulation lacing the usually appetizing scent. It was also potent, implying…

“Shit.” Kalisto muttered as Adalia fumbled with her key card. With a beep they were in, and the pool of blood behind the lobby counter became obvious as they entered. The toreador wasted no time in zipping over, Anatol close in step behind him. Behind the counter was grisly–a muddy mix of blood and dust covering the dead body of one of their recent hire ghouls. Shards of ancient bone were scattered in the mix. “Shit!”

“What?” Del jogged over. “Found Valeriy.” Ana’s voice was distant to his own ears. “And the new guy.”

“Who the fuck–?” Del cut herself off, her gaze snapping behind Anatol. He turned to see, slumped in the mail alcove, two more bodies. One of another young ghoul skewered through with a plain pine stake, the other a stranger with his throat cut.

“S.I.” Adalia hissed, hurrying to the elevators. “How? How did they even– don’t they have Ventrue in Seattle to skewer?”

Kalisto jammed his thumb on the elevator call button before, after a second of waiting, abandoning it for the stairs. Even with celerity it would be a beat before he made it to the penthouse, but that didn’t fucking matter. What fucking mattered was getting up there and finding out who even going to be there waiting for them. Anatol had half a mind to follow but…

He’s not… no. 

No. 

I would know, wouldn’t I?

If he’s…

The elevator doors parted, Del and Adalia rushed inside. Adalia shot him an exasperated– terrified–glare as he stood motionless in the lobby. “What the fuck are you waiting for Stamatin?”

Ana pushed himself forward and the doors shut behind him. He sat on the side railing as the car slowly started ticking up the floors. He felt a hand on his arm–Delphine–as he stared up at the counter with Adalia.

They were all thinking the same thing.

The scene was announced to them before they reached the penthouse.

Like a javelin shot, Kalisto’s mourning wail ripped through the elevator shaft, shrill and brutal. Every vein in Anatol’s body froze solid, he gripped Delphine’s hand so hard he could feel the bones begin to bend, threatening to break. She, a mirror, dug her nails deep into the meat of his forearm. A fetter. Don’t do anything stupid.

A ding.

The doors parted to a penthouse in total disarray.

Adalia was off like a shot, ripping through turned over furniture and picking through the mutilated remains of Inquisition agents. Slowly Del and Ana stepped out of the car, stepping over bodies as they cautiously moved deeper into the House. It was quiet, save for Kalisto’s weeping, Adalia’s desperate scraping of every corner she could reach. Ana’s ears sharpened past both commotions, alert to anything that could be scurrying between them.

Scraaaaape.

Pinpointed.

“Cockatrice.” Ana muttered.

“Yeah?”

“Second study, with the stuffed Cockatrice. Something moved.” He made an attempt to push forward but Del kept her grip tight. A blossom of anger. Raw. “What?”

Delphine’s expression was unreadable, her only point of communication becoming how viciously deep her nails embedded themselves into his muscle. The clamor of Adalia’s scramble had abruptly stopped somewhere along the south wing. “Nothing.” She relented her grip and wiped his vitae off on her jeans, “I’ll watch your back.”

With a wary nod, the two crept toward the study. The door was ajar and smeared with so much blood the Lord would spare it. A welling anxiety began to shake his bones, compress his chest as he reached to push it open. In his mind’s eye a multitude of scenes proposed themselves–a hateful old kine waiting with a warded shotgun. A pair of upstarts lying in wait at either side of the door frame. A pile of corpses. 

A pile of sweet-smelling ashes.

Anatol shoved the door open.

A figure lay sprawled at the center of the study. A rough mess of ripped plumage and exposed bone slowly reconstituting into the rough shape of a man perched atop the cracked-open corpse of an SI agent. In a feral twitch, its head snapped to face them.

Its eyes were bright, red, and wild.

“Mihal.”

Anatol collapsed beside him like a puppet cut loose of its strings. Relief and joy, weeping and agony-laden, yanked him down and under like a riptide. Reduced him crawling on jelly-boned limbs to his sire’s side, a wail of his own ripping through the penthouse when Mihal’s claws skewered cleanly through his shoulder like a fishhook, snapping his childe into a thorny embrace. Incisors several inches in length pierced through Anatol’s ear and threatened to crack past skull as Mihal nestled in close, teething. 

“Mihal, Mihal, Mihal.” He chanted his sire's name as if the second he stopped the mangled thing in his arms would decay into dust. The full claw of each of his fingerbones slotted deep between Mihal’s ribs, each engaged in a slow, committed rend to assure themselves that the other was there and feeling and alive. Or, at least as alive as they could be.

Not all was lost.

“What. Happened.”

Anatol could not see Kalisto from where he was folded into Mihal, but he didn’t need to to hear how his voice hung on a thread. Shrieked through. Helena. Where is Helena? Vratislav?“Is it not obvious?” The elder’s tzimisce’s voice was an alien rasp. Equally run through. Bitter. “We lost.”

[eternatuslesbian]

maybe im biased because it's my name but how are people always spelling it wrong. it's mihai. very straightforward!

[enjomo-arch]

I'm  really  ill  rn  about  Ace's  Spades  era  and  his  relations  with  crew  members  like  he  didn't  have  a  cook  all  the  way  up  to  New  World  so  Banshee  had  to  cook  for  them  and  she  did  awful  cooking  so  Ace  having  no  manners  at  all  always  complained  that  he  ate  better  with  the  bandits  so  Banshee  glares  at  him  once  and  he's  swallowing  the  food  like  his  life  depends  on  it  and  says   '  i'm  sorry  ma'am  '.  I  love  Ace  having  foster  mother  figure  even  on  his  ship  bc  Banshee  always  took  a  good  care  of  him and being intimidated by women who embrace the scary af aura ​​

[bauerntanz]

Nachbessern!

Nachbessern! Möglichst schnell wollte die #Bundesregierung Verschärfungen der Asyl- und Polizeigesetze durch den #Bundestag bringen. Daraus wird nun nichts. Fachleute und auch Abgeordnete aus den Ampel-Fraktionen üben nämlich heftige Kritik.

Schnell sollte es eigentlich gehen mit dem sogenannten Sicherheitspaket der Bundesregierung. Das wünschte sich im Bundestag zuletzt jedoch offenbar vor allem die CDU-/CSU-Fraktion in der Opposition. Am Montag zeichnete sich ab, dass daraus wohl nichts wird. In einer Anhörung im Innenausschuss äußerten die geladenen Expert:innen harsche Kritik an den Vorhaben. Und auch aus den Regierungsfraktionen…

[cantagirldrawinpeace]

Spade pirates I love you

Spade pirate doodles! Would love to actually see them in the manga :/

[wonderkat11]

Mihaly turns into a Werewolf! (IMAGE TEASER)

[soracities]

Slavko Mihalić, “Maestro Extinguish the Candle” (trans. Peter Kastmiler), Contemporary East European Poetry: An Anthology

[charliearlet]

Let's get dressed with Pyrrha

[cejna]

Osman Gazi Kimdir? Hayatı ve Osmanlı Devletinin Kuruluşu 1299

Osman Gazi Kimdir? Osman Gazi’nin hayatı, Osman Gazi’nin biyografisi, Osman Gazi dönemi ve Osmanlı Devletin kuruluşu hakkında bilgi. Osman Gazi Kimdir? Osman Gazi, 1258’den 1324’e kadar yaşamış ve Osmanlı devletinin ilk hükümdarı olmuştur. “Osman Gazi” olarak anılır. Daha sonra ilk padişah olmasına rağmen, yalnızca “bey” unvanıyla yetinmiştir. Ertuğrul Gazi onun babasıdır. Ertuğrul Gazi,…