#they maim and vex me

[metrosexualcyclops]

anyway if ANYTHING happens to henry blake im going to become the joker.

[acupofqueercoffee]

“Everywhere I go leads me back to you”

Farah Dowling x Female Specialist Reader

wc : 3000+

cw : smoking cigarettes // soulmate identifying marks // not actually unrequited love but kind of an ambiguous ending

i’m currently in my eve best brain-rot era and this is just a little something to blow off steam before i continue brainstorming for rhaenys. there is an awful lack of rhaenys x female reader stories, so if you are in need of some just like i am, you can come yell your ideas at me. farah breadcrumbs are welcomed too 🤲🏻

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There is a terrible ache dancing along your legs, pain faintly pulsing across the plane of your back. Behind the security of your palm shielding the unruly breeze, the cigarette which hangs between your lips is ignited by a spark from the lighter, made only brighter by a breath that you subsequently inhale. It burns your throat, but in a way that you are well accustomed to unlike the vexing agony that has found home on your body as of late.

This sensation, one that breeds irritation, is nothing akin to the pleasant soreness that you are used to feeling after every training session during your time in the Solarian Army. While, in the past, you go to bed satisfied despite your aching limbs, an indication to a day purposefully spent, now you brood over the state of your body. It is, after all, one of the telltale signs that you are not in your pristine condition, which has also brought you to once again roam these grounds that you have so intimately known and walked to begin with.

Getting severely maimed during a mission has led to you getting temporarily dismissed from your duties. Rather than taking leave as is suggested to you, you have instead requested to be sent to Alfea, your former school, to both recuperate and share your combat expertise with the students as a temporary instructor, not being entirely too thrilled at the idea of wallowing in bed-rest after days of rigorous trainings to hone your skills, or perhaps if you are to be unabashedly honest, out of a profound yearning of your heart.

A chuckle bubbles in your chest, bitter, tinged with self-mockery. It is with an exhale of breath that you distract yourself, expelling the uninvited thoughts along with a cloud of smoke that escapes through your nose, through the crack of your lips, and they swirl around your head. After taking a final, languid drag of the cigarette, you toss it to the ground, effectively dousing it with the heel of your boot.

You are in desperate need of a drink, preferably alcoholic, but given that work is in progress, not to mention a class that you have to supervise alongside Headmaster Silva at hand, you opt for something less strong. About a couple of minutes later, you find yourself in the staff lounge. With professors busy at this time of day teaching their respective classes, the room is empty, and you walk to the counter to brew yourself a nice, hot cup of coffee.

The aroma of freshly ground beans is rich, but richer still is the perfumed air that pleasantly tickles your nose. It smells of books, of sunny afternoons, of jasmines in full bloom, of a love left buried.

“You reek of cigarettes.”

At the familiar voice, amused rather than displeased, that spreads over you like a warm blanket, you cannot help but let loose a little grin, recalling many a time during your school years when you have suffered an earful from the woman herself for your misbehaviours.

“If you’re going to reprimand me for it, you should have known better by now, Headmistress, that it’s no use trying.”

“Even the mountains will eventually crumble, will they not?”

Amusement tugs on one corner of Headmistress Dowling’s lips by the time you turn to face her. She gestures to you with a small tilt of her head. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.”

“Coffee? I just brewed some.”

“Please.”

After pouring the freshly-brewed coffee into two porcelain cups, you put sugar and a splash of milk into one cup while keeping the other black. You carry them to where the Headmistress has seated herself on a nearby couch, handing the sweetened one to her.

“Here it is, my lady.” Your playfulness earns you an eye roll. “A cube of sugar and a splash of milk if I remember correctly.”

With a delicacy that you are sure only she possesses, she cradles the cup in her hands with a whispered “Thanks.”

“You remember correctly.” A blossom of a smile grows on her lips, beautiful and dizzying, but the soft tummy-butterflies inducing moment is abruptly eclipsed by the pain that suddenly flares across you ribcage.

Try as you may, you fail to rein in your emotions it seems, for one moment, the mind fairy is sitting, and the next, she is on her feet, the cup hastily discarded on the table. Her hands are poised to steady you should you falter on your feet. You stop her with a gesture of a hand, a chuckle freed from your throat as a sorry excuse of a reassurance. Although unconvinced, she makes no further moves, says nothing, only quietly observing you with her eyes as you move to sit on the other side of the couch. She retakes her seat.

“How are you finding your new job so far?”

“It’s…different. Slower than what I’m used to in the army. But the students are eager to learn and-” You take a sip of your coffee, chance a glance at her, and see that she is taking a delicate sip from her own cup. “-it’s good to be back here.”

As much as you like to believe that the last part of your confession is the product of it, the more logical part of you argue that it is the mention of her students that has her wearing a ghost of a smile, pleased.

“They are, aren’t they? And they’re fortunate to have someone with your experience as their instructor.”

After a beat, she adds. “And…how are you faring?”

The question has you hesitating for a moment, not wanting to appear weak, but nothing will come of lying to a mind fairy, much less someone who bears your name, the mark of your soul on her body.

“Recovering. Slowly. But it’s hard to stay still after being on the front lines.”

“I understand. Sometimes the hardest battles are the ones we fight within ourselves.”

Her face is unreadable, a masterful deceit, but you suspect there are hidden depths to her words.

“Last I recall, you weren’t a fan of coffee.”

It is with her own words that you begin your response. “You recall correctly, but many a white night has left me relying on it. And I’ve grown rather fond of its company.”

She levels you with a reproachful lift of a brow.

“You consume coffee, black I might add, because you can’t sleep? Aren’t you going around in circles?”

“I need it to keep me alert. Also, in case you forgot, I’m no longer your student, Headmistress.” Your reply comes out more venomous than you have intended it to, years of bottled up emotions suddenly coming to a boil.

“That doesn’t mean I’ve cared for you any less.”

Although the confession is but a murmured breath, the force of it is colossal against you, filling your mind with what-ifs upon what-ifs. With an exhale and a squeeze of your eyes, you hurriedly stand, a string of words fleeing your lips as you leave the room in a haste.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have a class to teach.”

The brain may forget but the heart always remembers. She has eyes the colour of rich honey, brown at first sight but drenched in sunlight, swirls of greens and specks of oranges dance and mingle, a beautiful, enchanting lake that makes you want to drown in it. Although she carries herself with an authority as befits a Headmistress, her students matter to her above all else. She cherishes her job to a fault, so much so that once upon a time, she has simply dismissed the soul tie that you share without so much as batting an eyelid.

The class passes in a blur. You guide, you demonstrate, you regale them with tales of your battles all the while drowning in your own memories. Even as the last class of the day is dismissed and dusk sets in, you remain on the training grounds, practicing, fighting imaginary opponents, in hopes of giving your mind something else to focus on, which you find to be failing miserably.

From the very first moment you have met her all those years ago on your first day of school, there has been an inexplicable connection, a feather-light touch of magic that softly caresses your skin. “Sup.” has been your very first words to her, admittedly not the most ideal greeting of a new student to her Headmistress. A look is all she gives you, unimpressed, understandably so, and given that your class is mainly supervised by Headmaster Silva, you seldom cross paths with her after that. On rare occasions when you do cross paths however, despite your greetings, she refuses to acknowledge you as though you are invisible to her.

And finally, finally, when she decides you worthy enough to grace you with her words, it has been to scold you. On that fateful day, you have been standing on the sidelines as two of your classmates are locked in a fight on the platform. It just so happens to be one of those days where Headmistress Dowling is present on the training grounds to spectate the progress of the students.

When a dagger has flown astray from the middle of the fight, it aims at one person, who at present has her back to the imminent threat, trapped in a conversation with Headmaster Silva, you realise in trepidation. Without thinking, you leap, an arm darting out to catch the weapon in your hand. Inwardly, you marvel at your own reflexes, finding it hard to believe that you have stopped a weapon with your bare hand, albeit not without consequences. With your palm cut open, blood has oozed, and the thick liquid drips down your wrist.

The close proximity of the Headmistress to you is felt in that spine-tingling, knee-weakening way, and smelt in the fragrant wind, before her voice finally reaches your ear in the form of your name. The pleasant surprise that takes hold of you at her knowledge of your name is quickly overshadowed by annoyance at the tone of her voice, equally as annoyed, her displeasure apparent on the hardened plane of her face once you turn to greet her.

“A thank you would be nice. I just saved you after all.”

“Which was utterly unnecessary I might add. Don’t mistake recklessness for courage.”

Ouch! That hurts. Even more so than the dagger’s mark that has permanently found home on your body.

“Greenhouse, at once.”

It is amidst getting your wound treated that you notice something that has not been on your skin before. On the delicate flesh of your wrist appears a name in a beautiful cursive. Farah, it reads, but judging by the reaction of the earth fairy before you, unfazed and composed, you reckon that this must be for your eyes only.

No sooner have you had your wound properly dressed than you are seeking out Farah, determined to confront the reality of your bond. You find her in her office, standing by the window, looking out over the grounds.

“Headmistress,” you say, stepping inside. “We need to talk.”

She turns to face you, her expression a mask of cool detachment. “There's nothing to discuss.”

“How can you say that?” You have demanded, stepping closer. “We both know what those marks mean.”

Farah sighs, closing her eyes for a moment before meeting your gaze. “The revelation changes nothing. I do not own you. Don’t let mere words bind you to me. I’m only your headmistress and you are merely my student. And that is where this ends.”

Her words cut deep, but you refuse to back down. “Farah, you can't just ignore this. It's not just about words or marks. It's about what we feel.”

“What you feel,” she has corrected you, her voice firm. “I am responsible for the safety and education of all my students. I cannot afford to let personal feelings interfere.” And in that no-nonsense way, she adds, “Also, it’s Headmistress Dowling to you.”

With a shake of your head, frustration and hurt well up inside you. “It's more than that, Headmistress and you know it. We have a connection, something real and undeniable. Why are you so afraid of it?”

For a moment, you see softness in her eyes, revealing a flicker of the pain she is trying so hard to hide, but it is gone as soon as it has come. “Because if I acknowledge it, everything changes. And I cannot allow that.”

“You're wrong,” It sounds unconvincing even to your own ears, but a desperate murmur. “Ignoring it won't make it go away. It just makes us both miserable.”

She turns away, her shoulders tense. “Go back to your training. Focus on becoming the best specialist you can be. That's what matters.”

You have stood there for a long moment, dared to entertain the fool’s dream in which she turns back, says something, anything to acknowledge the truth you both feel. But she has cut that little thread of hope by remaining silent, a statue of unyielding resolve.

Finally, you turn to leave, your heart heavy but your resolve unbroken. “This isn't over, Headmistress. Not by a long shot.”

So you have declared but deep down, you have always known that you are doomed to failure from the start. And before you know it, the graduation day dawns bright and clear upon Alfea, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside you.

Students and faculty have gathered on the grand lawn, the air filled with excitement and a tinge of sadness as friends prepare to part ways. Farah Dowling stands at the podium, her regal presence commanding attention as she addresses the graduates. You stand among your peers, listening to her speech but barely registering the words. Your heart is heavy with the decision you have made. Despite all your efforts, Farah has remained resolute in her stance, keeping the walls between you impenetrable.

As the ceremony eventually comes to an end bringing with it your inevitable departure, you have caught the Headmistress’s gaze from across the stage. Her eyes have lingered on you for a moment, a flicker of something unspoken passing between the two of you. Then she looks away, and the moment is no more.

In your dorm room, your belongings are packed and ready, each item a reminder of the years spent at Alfea, of the bonds formed and the love left unrequited. Your friends try to convince you to stay, to join them in their adventures, but you know that you are in desperate need of a fresh start, far from the memories that still haunt these halls.

So, with your bags slung over your shoulder, you make your way to the gates of Alfea. Behind you, the school stands in all her majestic glory, a place of learning and growth, and of heartache. You pause, taking a final glance, realising with a hint of melancholy that you are not only leaving a place that has been your home for three years but also a part of yourself behind.

You have not been expecting a farewell, one last goodbye, but there she is, standing tall and composed at the gates. A spellbinding beauty, you think stupidly.

Your name spills forth her lips, dainty and delicate in appearance, but you have not been given the chance, nor will you ever be allowed to find out how they feel against your own, a forbidden fruit. When she speaks, her voice is firm, genuine. “I wanted to wish you well in your future endeavours. You have been an exemplary student, and I have no doubt you will succeed in whatever path you choose.”

“Thank you, Headmistress. Alfea has been…” You pause, swallowing the lump in your throat. “everything to me.”

For a moment, she hesitates, then steps closer, lowering her voice to that excruciating, dizzying timbre. “I hope you find what you're looking for, wherever you go.”

You look into her eyes, searching for any sign of the connection you feel, but her walls are fiercely in place. With a heavy heart, you breathe. “Goodbye, Headmistress.”

By the time you turn to leave, once again, her voice halts you.

Your name leaves her lips in a soft murmur. You turn back, hope blossoming in your chest, only to have it crushed by her next words, both a gentle and a cruel finality to your fated encounter. “Take care of yourself.”

A sad smile spreads across your lips. “You too, Headmistress.”

With every step you take away from Alfea, and from her, a mixture of sorrow and determination burns in your chest. It is finally time to bury the past, to lock away the love you feel and move forward.

Months have passed as you travel, exploring new places and honing your skills. The pain of leaving Alfea and your beloved Headmistress, although duller than they use to, never truly vanish. You throw yourself into your new life, hell-bent on building something worthwhile.

One evening, in a small village nestled in a valley, you find yourself sitting by a tranquil river, the water reflecting the fading light of day. You trace the mark on your wrist, Farah’s name forever etched into your skin. Try as you may to lock away your feelings, the bond still remains, a silent testament to what could have been.

With a sigh, you close your eyes and let the cool breeze wash over you. The past is behind you, and while the future is uncertain, you know you have the strength to face it.

“Fuck, I should’ve never returned to these godforsaken grounds. So much for leaving the past behind!”

Presently, you curse aloud as you slash nothing but air with your twin blades, reenacting scenes from your battlefield. The efforts with which you have made to keep your feelings buried have been for naught, for in the end, in a moment of weakness, you have listened to your heart, and returned to where it longs to be the most.

By her side.

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[transmandrake]

The last level is vexing me but since I've basically beaten it now for the first time in my life, I can finally confidently say that

Zack n' Wiki for the Nintendo Wii is a good game that no one has ever fuckin heard of that you should try, but maybe have savestates in operation because Jesus fucking christ is it unforgiving

The overall idea is its a point and click-esque puzzle game where the main gimmick is your ability to convert animals and sometimes people into objects. The first mission has you turn a centipede into a saw to cut down a tree for example. Its delightful

Theres 4 worlds and a few isolated levels, so around 20 levels. Each takes like 8-15 minutes, they get longer as the game goes on. It doesn't really get more and more difficult so much as more and more complex, which imo is a bit disappointing but understandable.

Its not a long game but it can be some real horseshit so its not wierd to reset a dozen times, making it much longer than it really needs to be. Again, please. Just use savestates. Its more fun if you're not afraid of dying and losing progress. Speaking of-

You can fail a puzzle in many delightful and often shockingly brutal ways, they really thought of every possible way for you to get impaled, flattened, frozen, melted, eaten, poisoned... You can also straight up kill people in some missions. Half the time it won't let you do something that seems obvious, but it will let you elaborately maim yourself or others just for shits and giggles. Its great!

I cannot overstate how no one has fucking played this game though. Like the main antagonist is these guys and their fucking adorable captain. There is almost no fanart of her. How??!?!

Shoutout to this person for cosplaying her. 10/10 excellent I want more people to know about Captain Rose. I have been on board with this goofball since i was like 6

Go play it!

[burr-ell]

🤍, 🖤?

🤍: Which character is not as morally bad as everyone else seems to think?

So this is gonna seem contradictory to my reblog of blorb's post; this is not intended to be read as a counter to it, but as a complement: Percy.

If I'm being honest, one of the things that kinda bothers me about C1 group fanart is when I see everyone else in the party at their fully developed state, like with their Vestiges and powerups and everything, and then Percy's out here...with Orthax. Whom he expelled from himself with a natural 20 wisdom save, for the record, in episode 35. He spent more time without Orthax than with him!

It is objectively true that Percy invented the gun knowing what harm it could do but did it anyway. He once permanently maimed an innocent boy because he wasn't giving the answers he wanted. He gave Grog a cursed sword and didn't tell anyone because he didn't want it to be his responsibility and he thought Grog could handle it. It is also objectively true that he expressed doubts about what he was doing even during the Briarwood arc and admitted he was scared of who he was becoming and outright asked the group to stop him if they thought they should. He publicly apologized to Desmond and admitted his wrong and assured him recompense in both money and job security. He participated in a resurrection ritual for a child he didn't know who got caught in the crossfire of a battle. He fought to provide the people of Westruun a safe haven in their city, while still encouraging people to leave if they wished, because he wanted to honor the fact that what they had built there was important to them.

I think Percy is one of those characters that people view as either a silly little Human Disaster™ or as Vox Machina's Token Evil Teammate (the audience who projected onto him as the Facts and Logic guy seems to have dissipated after it became clear that he was. very much not doing that), and neither of those things are true. When Laura remarked that she looked at Percy and said "I can fix him", it was very clearly a joke, but I think people take that seriously and think Vex is the only reason he's not Lawful Evil or something. (Taliesin once said that without Vex's influence Percy could potentially have turned out Lawful Good—Laura's reaction was "eugh".) Percy didn't believe he could EVER be worthy of Vex and never once intended to act on his feelings; the change in him between episodes 35 and 68 was because he personally chose to be better, over and over again—even through several instances of him having Fucked Up Big Time—for its own sake. His forgiveness of Ripley is what inspired Vex, and I don't think people acknowledge that enough.

🖤: Which character is not as morally good as everyone else seems to think?

I kind of alluded to this in the ship question but to be clear at the outset, I think Vax is a good person*, but I also think his flaws tend to be overlooked. He gets Soft Boy'd a lot, and while I don't think characters who operate on emotion are bad or stupid by default (my favorite superhero is Starfire), I think fandom tends to assume people who operate on emotion are good by default. Vax does a lot of reckless things that he's repeatedly called out for by everyone in the group, and he generally lets it roll off him because his metric for success is "but did you die". He saw a kid that he thought needed some tough love, and his first response was "bludgeon him over the back of the head and instantly knock him unconscious". He ran into a trap that nearly got Cassandra killed and never once apologized to her. He ran after Raishan and attacked, an action that actually did get Vex and Scanlan killed, and not only did he never apologize to them, he openly said in front of them that he didn't regret doing it (after being rightfully angry with Percy for getting Vex killed and having seen some proof that Scanlan might not be doing great!).

Like, to be clear, again, none of those things make him a bad person; I think overall he's a good person, and I think they're good character choices!* What I'm saying is that he has some genuine rough edges to him, and I think a lot of that gets ignored or sanded down in fanon to make him "the nice twin" or a perfect YA Hero love interest for a Keyleth who is being projected onto, and that simply isn't the character Liam played.

*I wouldn't normally put in that kind of good-person caveat—I don't think the end-all be-all is whether or not a fictional character is a good person—but a) this is a question about morality and b) some folks are weird about Liam.

unpopular opinions asks

[vuldak-juneau]

Who: @zelihatheflight Where: The medical tent in Hestia’s Cove When: After whiffing the twink rescue just real, real bad  Notes: If you saw Juneau being sweet and engaging in kinship, no you didn’t. Also if you want me to add some dialogue for when Zel wakes up at the end just bonk me.

It was too quiet and too loud in the medical tent all at once. Juneau, who usually had a short fuse to begin with, found this particularly vexing. Thanks to her accelerated healing, she had woken up earlier than many others. In Alder’s company, she had watched the battered faces of a few Hestia’s Cove residents be brought in on stretchers and quickly patched together on stiff, uncomfortable cots. Each face, whether she knew them or not, was a reminder of their dismal failure in their investigation and battle. Outwardly, Juneau talked a big game and postured herself as a loner, and she had come to slowly begin to accept the truth of Ivar. But he had still conditioned her into who she was today, in many terrible, toxic ways, but in one enduring way as well: if you’re the only one who makes it out safely, or alive, you’re doing it wrong. 

Alder, after taking the time to comfort Juneau and ensure she was truly as alright as she could be in the moment, had separated from her to speak with someone from the guild or Lothar or Prospero. Her head pounded too badly to really remember–but she was alone. The dull buzz around her of hushed tones, pained whimpers, and scared voices thrummed inside her head until she felt too overwhelmed to sit quietly on her cot alone. Her mind, desparate for distraction, wandered instead to how Alder had recounted the strange beasts that had appeared after the great estate had crumbled. He had described how they had found Juneau in the rubble and taken little interest in her–though with the bruising on her face and the split of her lip and left brow she had wished they had taken some care in how they discarded the rock they’d apparently bludgened her with as they abandoned her–and how they had seemed much more curious about Zeliha.

But they hadn’t taken her. 

Juneau, stiff and sore, lifted from her assigned cot and craned her neck to ensure none of the medical volunteers were looking her way before she snuck between one canvas privacy curtain and the next to find Zeliha. The vuldak knew she was lucky–her pain was real, but some of her exhaustion and malaise was a symptom of her body working overtime to heal her at an accelerated rate. Many around her would be permanently maimed and in pain for days–she hated her demonic form, but she tried to remind herself to be grateful. 

Zeliha, when Juneau found her, did not look much better than Juneau. Bruises littered Zeliha’s face just as they did Juneau’s. She knew there were more injuries–hidden internally and under clothing–that both of them shared. Her rage spoiled her stomach as she stood over Zeliha’s sleeping form for a second, but it was quickly superseded by a sense of relief that Zeliha was even there to observe, in a pitiful state or otherwise, when she had been so nearly disappeared away in the hands (or hooves?) of the Kossith. It was a strange sensation to allow herself to care about someone as much as she did those who were tasked with the investigation with her, and foreign when she found her sense of relief that Zeliha was safe to be so profound that it moved her to tears. Quietly, and as gently as she could, she wedged herself into the little extra room on Zeliha’s cot. Juneau was careful not to wake the faiman prematurely or to disturb any of her injuries as she laid close to her, her heightened senses allowing her to listen to Zeliha’s heart and track the sleep-slowed rise and fall of her chest. She would be able to tell when Zeliha was waking.

[frozenjokes]

convex moment. still working on the epilogue. it’s getting gayer. a sneak peak, if you’d please. For context. Uh. Ghosts. Vex. Scar is a bit possessed. The works. I don’t know man this shit is too convoluted at this point, just read Signing Back In Apparently, the hermitcraft stuff starts like halfway through.

check tags for cws

***

Excerpt from Encounter 3 (Journal Entry)

I knew I was getting close, but hearing the distress of the animal caught my attention. I hadn’t actually considered what/if Scar ate, and while I doubted I’d actually see him hunting, that thought was exciting. Turns out it was my lucky day. When I finally found him, he was crouched over the hog, breathing heavily. Breathing. He was alive. Though, physically, he didn’t look like it. His clothes were in tatters, his hair matted, and he was awfully skinny, almost emaciated. The scars that rippled across his body had turned the same blue color as his vex wings; ghost-like. His fingers, which now curled into claws, were colored similarly. While I am sure he is alive, I can’t say it wasn’t a debate for me during my regeneration. I still don’t know how he was so strong in this state. Maybe the vex didn’t know how to care for a human body.

Scar stared at the pig for a long time. It had been pretty thoroughly maimed, but I don’t think he was particularly bothered. He looked.. confused, maybe. Honestly, I’m still not sure what he was thinking. I got too comfortable in his stillness, but in my defense, I think anyone would jump if the person you were watching started yelling out of nowhere. Scar, however, didn’t seem to notice the leaves I rustled backing into the treetops. He was focused on this pig, his eyes wide and terrified.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” he shrieked, which I remember so clearly because I gasped. I don’t know exactly why, but I just hadn’t expected him to speak. His head snapped up at the sound, and we stared at each other for a long moment. Now, I should have run. I should have flown above the treeline where Scar couldn’t reach. And while I could make excuses about his speed and ferocity, I must emphasize the abject terror of a man covered in blood, vaulting himself up a tree with inhuman speed for the sole purpose of catching and ending you. I froze. I admit, I think this is the first time in years I was truly afraid of something.

It was exhilarating.

Scar threw me from the tree; we must have fallen at least eight feet, him on top of me, before crashing into the ground. That alone was probably enough to send me back to Spawn, but Scar wasted no time tearing through me. I must have looked as frightened as I felt; I remember hearing laughing, but I was pretty dazed at the time. I wonder if he enjoyed it. Part of me hopes so. I think before I died, I wished him luck with the pig.

[iobartach]

@gazelessmenagerie [🕷️ 🐙] asked; " Why is he still alive?… He shouldn’t be alive. It vexes me. I’m terribly vexed." - 🕷️ 🐙 TOTALLY not after maiming the shit outta someone

good lines from terrible films prompts

It's not often that Miguel is left at a loss for words, rendered speechless because of what his eyes had just witnessed unfolding. Parker had been the original article, the first to build up the reputation and expectations that came packaged with the mantle of Spider-Man. And yet, despite being the one to start it all, Miguel had never read about, or witnessed with his own gaze, the man carry out a instance of violence so bleak and bloody as what unfolded here.

In his shock, it takes the futuristic Spider a moment longer than necessary to surge into motion, venturing as close to his predecessor as any man who still valued living would dare. "Hey... Peter.. it's over. You got him." Trying first with his words, Miguel contemplates venturing a hand towards a shoulder, but refrains from doing so once he acquires a better look at the man; shaken to the core, trembling like a leave. And sporting the blackened blood of a person that, at his height, had troubled Parker more than any other villain.

Otto Octavius.

A former physicist who, completely unbeknownst to Miguel, had not perished with the maiming of his largely mechanical form, or the bashing in of his skull from a dozen, angry blows to the head. Who had, unbeknownst to everyone, swapped bodies with his predecessor, leading to the untimely death of a legend in the process. Operating without any knowledge of this whatsoever, O'Hara himself sought the other's trembling arms, stepping directly in front of Octavius' now lifeless corpse in a bid to calm his fellow Spider down. Not caring at all that, unknowingly, an innocent man's blood was seeping onto his hard-light covered hands, as much as it stained 'Parker''s own.

"I'm pretty sure he stopped breathing a while ago. It's over."

[walkwithgod07]

15 Then came to Jesus scribes and Pharisees, which were of Jerusalem, saying,

2 Why do thy disciples transgress the tradition of the elders? for they wash not their hands when they eat bread.

3 But he answered and said unto them, Why do ye also transgress the commandment of God by your tradition?

4 For God commanded, saying, Honour thy father and mother: and, He that curseth father or mother, let him die the death.

5 But ye say, Whosoever shall say to his father or his mother, It is a gift, by whatsoever thou mightest be profited by me;

6 And honour not his father or his mother, he shall be free. Thus have ye made the commandment of God of none effect by your tradition.

7 Ye hypocrites, well did Esaias prophesy of you, saying,

8 This people draweth nigh unto me with their mouth, and honoureth me with their lips; but their heart is far from me.

9 But in vain they do worship me, teaching for doctrines the commandments of men.

10 And he called the multitude, and said unto them, Hear, and understand:

11 Not that which goeth into the mouth defileth a man; but that which cometh out of the mouth, this defileth a man.

12 Then came his disciples, and said unto him, Knowest thou that the Pharisees were offended, after they heard this saying?

13 But he answered and said, Every plant, which my heavenly Father hath not planted, shall be rooted up.

14 Let them alone: they be blind leaders of the blind. And if the blind lead the blind, both shall fall into the ditch.

15 Then answered Peter and said unto him, Declare unto us this parable.

16 And Jesus said, Are ye also yet without understanding?

17 Do not ye yet understand, that whatsoever entereth in at the mouth goeth into the belly, and is cast out into the draught?

18 But those things which proceed out of the mouth come forth from the heart; and they defile the man.

19 For out of the heart proceed evil thoughts, murders, adulteries, fornications, thefts, false witness, blasphemies:

20 These are the things which defile a man: but to eat with unwashen hands defileth not a man.

21 Then Jesus went thence, and departed into the coasts of Tyre and Sidon.

22 And, behold, a woman of Canaan came out of the same coasts, and cried unto him, saying, Have mercy on me, O Lord, thou son of David; my daughter is grievously vexed with a devil.

23 But he answered her not a word. And his disciples came and besought him, saying, Send her away; for she crieth after us.

24 But he answered and said, I am not sent but unto the lost sheep of the house of Israel.

25 Then came she and worshipped him, saying, Lord, help me.

26 But he answered and said, It is not meet to take the children's bread, and to cast it to dogs.

27 And she said, Truth, Lord: yet the dogs eat of the crumbs which fall from their masters' table.

28 Then Jesus answered and said unto her, O woman, great is thy faith: be it unto thee even as thou wilt. And her daughter was made whole from that very hour.

29 And Jesus departed from thence, and came nigh unto the sea of Galilee; and went up into a mountain, and sat down there.

30 And great multitudes came unto him, having with them those that were lame, blind, dumb, maimed, and many others, and cast them down at Jesus' feet; and he healed them:

31 Insomuch that the multitude wondered, when they saw the dumb to speak, the maimed to be whole, the lame to walk, and the blind to see: and they glorified the God of Israel.

32 Then Jesus called his disciples unto him, and said, I have compassion on the multitude, because they continue with me now three days, and have nothing to eat: and I will not send them away fasting, lest they faint in the way.

33 And his disciples say unto him, Whence should we have so much bread in the wilderness, as to fill so great a multitude?

34 And Jesus saith unto them, How many loaves have ye? And they said, Seven, and a few little fishes.

35 And he commanded the multitude to sit down on the ground.

36 And he took the seven loaves and the fishes, and gave thanks, and brake them, and gave to his disciples, and the disciples to the multitude.

37 And they did all eat, and were filled: and they took up of the broken meat that was left seven baskets full.

38 And they that did eat were four thousand men, beside women and children.

39 And he sent away the multitude, and took ship, and came into the coasts of Magdala.

[apilgrimpassingby]

But what say they? [The poor man] is an impostor. What do you say, O man? Callest thou him an impostor, for the sake of a single loaf or of a garment? But (you say) he will sell it immediately. And do you manage all your affairs well? But what? Are all poor through idleness? Is no one so from shipwreck? None from lawsuits? None from being robbed? None from dangers? None from illness? None from any other difficulties? If however we hear any one bewailing such evils, and crying out aloud, and looking up naked toward heaven, and with long hair, and clad in rags, at once we call him, The impostor! The deceiver! The swindler! Are you not ashamed? Whom do you call impostor? Give nothing, and do not accuse the man.

But (you say) he has means, and pretends. This is a charge against yourself, not against him. He knows that he has to deal with the cruel, with wild beasts rather than with men, and that, even if he utter a pitiable story, he attracts no one's attention: and on this account he is forced to assume also a more miserable guise, that he may melt your soul. If we see a person coming to beg in a respectable dress, This is an impostor (you say), and he comes in this way that he may be supposed to be of good birth. If we see one in the contrary guise, him too we reproach. What then are they to do? O the cruelty, O the inhumanity!

And why (you say) do they expose their maimed limbs? Because of you. If we were compassionate, they would have no need of these artifices: if they persuaded us at the first application, they would not have contrived these devices. Who is there so wretched, as to be willing to cry out so much, as to be willing to behave in an unseemly way, as to be willing to make public lamentations, with his wife destitute of clothing, with his children, to sprinkle ashes on [himself]. How much worse than poverty are these things? Yet on account of them not only are they not pitied, but are even accused by us.

9. Shall we then still be indignant, because when we pray to God, we are not heard? Shall we then still be vexed, because when we entreat we do not persuade? Do we not tremble for fear, my beloved?

But (you say) I have often given. But do you not always eat? And do you drive away your children often begging of you? O the shamelessness! Do you call a poor man shameless? And thou indeed art not shameless when plundering, but he is shameless when begging for bread! Considerest thou not how great are the necessities of the belly? Do you not do all things for this? Do you not for this neglect things spiritual? Is not heaven set before you and the kingdom of heaven? And thou fearing the tyranny of that [appetite] endurest all things, and thinkest lightly of that [kingdom]. This is shamelessness.

Do you see not old men maimed? But O what trifling! 'Such an one' (you say) 'lends out so many pieces of gold, and such an one so many, and yet begs.' You repeat the stories and trifles of children; for they too are always hearing such stories from their nurses. I am not persuaded of it. I do not believe this. Far from it. Does a man lend money, and beg when he has abundance? For what purpose, tell me? And what is more disgraceful than begging? It were better to die than to beg. Where does our inhumanity stop? What then? Do all lend money? Are all impostors? Is there no one really poor? Yea (you say) and many. Why then do you not assist those persons, seeing you are a strict enquirer into their lives? This is an excuse and a pretense.

Give to every one that asks of you, and from him that would borrow of you turn not thou away. (Matthew 5:42) Stretch out your hand, let it not be closed up. We have not been constituted examiners into men's lives, since so we should have compassion on no one. When you call upon God why do you say, Remember not my sins? So then, if that person even be a great sinner, make this allowance in his case also, and do not remember his sins. It is the season of kindness, not of strict enquiry; of mercy, not of account. He wishes to be maintained: if you are willing, give; but if not willing, send him away without raising doubts. Why are you wretched and miserable? Why do you not even yourself pity him, and also turnest away those who would? For when such an one hears from you, This [fellow] is a cheat; that a hypocrite; and the other lends out money; he neither gives to the one nor to the other; for he suspects all to be such. For you know that we easily suspect evil, but good, not [so easily].

St. John Chrysostom, Homilies on Hebrews, Homily 11 sections 8-9

"I don't give to people on the street because they're probably faking" WRONG DON'T CARE CURSE OF MATTHEW 5:42!!!

[metrosexualcyclops]

genuinely need to find a way to work that works for me

[scribeforchrist-blog]

Cutting It Away

MEMORY VERSE OF THE WEEK
=========================
+ Psalm 66:19 But truly God has listened; he has attended to the voice of my prayer."
=========================
VERSE OF THE DAY 
========================

+ Mark 9:43  If your hand causes you to stumble, cut it off. You should enter life maimed, then with two hands to go into hell, where the fire never goes out.
=========================

** SAY THIS BEFORE YOU READ; HERE’S SOME CHRISTIAN TRUTHS **

I AM LIVING RIGHTEOUSLY 

I AM LEANING ON GOD 

I AM NOT ALONE 

I AM DOING IT IN HIS STRENGTH 
********************************
THOUGHTS:
=======================

   A lot in this world can cause us to stumble. Sometimes, seeing it as we are in it is hard for us. Sin can cause us to think there's nothing wrong with what we are doing, but it is; the word of God today says that if we are stumbling because of our hands, it's best we cut them off and walk around with just the one then to enter into hell with two.

   The bibles warns us if something is causing us to sin, get rid of it and that nothing on earth is worth going to hell for; a lot of times, we don't understand that what we do here on earth, be it good or bad will determine where we spend eternity, we have to start looking at our life daily to ask God what am I doing that keeping me from going to heaven.

  Hebrews 12:1 Therefore, since such a great cloud of witnesses surrounds us, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us,

     The Bible tells us here that sin will cling to us. We might think oh, this sin is easy to drop, or This sin is easy to get rid of, but my friend's sin isn't that easy. Once we open the door to sin, it will stay as long as we permit it. We have to be able to ask for the strength of a God and say, God, "I need your strength to rebuke and deny this sin that has access to me, "because when we are committing ANY sin, we are giving the enemy legal grounds to send any spirit our way because we gave him the opening, a lot of us don't understand how critical sin can be in our lives and if we aren't careful it will be a sin we can’t release so quickly.

     So what do we do when sin won't leave us? We must fast. The Bible speaks of some sins needing fasting and prayer; once, there was a man who came to Jesus and said lord have mercy, my son is suffering, some translations say he was vexed,  meaning he was troubled or saddened, but this man was coming to Jesus because his son needed true healing. 

   He went to the disciples, and the disciples couldn't do it, and they couldn't heal him because some things only leave when someone fast and pray , sometimes it takes certain people, not that these people are unique, but these people fast and pray a lot more and because of this they can release a demon from over someone's life, anyone can do this, but some people place more time in with their relationship with God ,some people pray longer , read their word longer, and allow the Holy Spirit to use them, but anyone can do this because we have the authority by God to do this,

  Mark 17:19-20hen the disciples came to Jesus privately and said, "Why could we not cast it out?" 20 He said to them, "Because of your little faith. For truly, I say to you, if you have faith like a grain of mustard seed, you will say to this mountain, 'Move from here to there,' and it will move, and nothing will be impossible for you.

     But back to what we are trying to learn, the Holy Spirit wants us to know that when we have sinned in our lives, we need to release ourselves from it. Only we can do it. We have to speak the holy word and have the mindset that we want to be free. God can release us, and he can do it without us saying the words or wanting to, but God always wants us to do it because he has given us free will until we say we are done. We want to be free. He can do nothing; when I gave my life to Christ, I wanted freedom from anything that didn't look or feel like righteousness or holiness. Once the Holy Spirit showed me the bondage I was in, and until I said I had enough, I wasn't going to be free until then. 

   Romans 6:18 And, having been set free from sin, have become slaves of righteousness.

   We must become slaves to righteousness and want to please God with our lives; yes, we will sin, but we don't have to sin intentionally. But when we do not release the bondage over our life, we must fast and pray.  We are no longer slaves to our sins; we are no longer slaves to having to need a drink or having to have illicit moments to feel good, and we are slaves to righteousness. 

   ***Today, we learned that some sins would cling to us because we can't let go of the sin. The enemy has built a stronghold around us, and the only way to break free from this is by fasting and praying.  We all want to be better, and we all want to be free from the sins we are bound to, but we have to understand that we must fast and pray. When we do this, we are making a sacrifice, and this sacrifice will help strengthen our spirit, man. 

   Mercy and grace are from the lord and him alone. We can't think being good will win us more because that's not the case, but mercy and grace are there to help see us through when we mess up; it's there to help us if it is a sin that we are struggling with go to God in prayer say, father, I need your help because both of my hands are causing me to defile myself, father help me because my mouth is leading me to say things I shouldn't and until we submit the unrighteousness and CUT IT ALL AWAY we will never be set free to live a life of righteousness through Christ. ©Seer~ Prophetess Lee
========================
PRAYER
========================
Heavenly Father, thank you for everything; we lay it all at your feet and ask you now to help us be free from our sins. Father, we ask you right now to give unto us strength and freedom to say no and to live in righteousness, lord we are ashamed of our sins, but we know you have sent your son to wash us in the blood and help us to live in his strength and not in our own. Lord, we want to go to heaven and can only do this when we give up on what we are doing. Help us live a life in you! In Jesus' Name Amen
========================
REFERENCES 
========================
+ Romans 6:6 We know that our old self was crucified with him in order that the body of sin might be brought to nothing, so that we would no longer be enslaved to sin.

+ Romans 6: 22 But now that you have been set free from sin and have become slaves of God, the fruit you get leads to sanctification and its end, eternal life.

+ 1 John 3:4 Everyone who makes a practice of sinning also practices lawlessness; sin is lawlessness.
========================
FURTHER READINGS 
=========================
Proverbs 23

Acts 12

Numbers 2

Matthew 8
=========================

[sethrine-writes]

If Not For My Affection

Fandom:  Final Fantasy XIV

Pairing:  Zenos yae Galvus x Reader/WOL

Words:  600

Warnings:  Suggestive Themes, Tension

A/N:  My first foray into FFXIV stuff...all thanks to my lovely friends who continue to show me pictures and give me snippets of things out of context and vex me with the characters they present. Namely, this interesting asshole, Zenos. So, here we go!

Enjoy! ------ His eyes, ever so pale blue, even in the dimmest light, always held an edge of mirth to them nowadays. The laughter there was manic and intense, frightening to those that did not understand his character, as most could only see such emotion as that of unhinged and dangerous, an omen if ever such a look was cast upon them.

They were not wrong, per say.

That smile of his was the same, a combination of soft amusement and intrigued smirk that was frustrating to see grace his visage as much as it was endearing. When faced with a true challenge, it showed itself, a crown to his enjoyment and his intrigue of which he had not known much of until meeting you.

He knew of your hatred for that smile; he knew of your love for it, moreso.

“Enough, Zenos,” you gasped out, still trying to catch your breath from the sparring you had promised him.

Sparring was putting such battle lightly, as he was oft to put his all into every swing of his sword. That day was no exception, his swings full of force and his jabs meant to maim. Had you not known how he fought even in practice, you would surely end up with many more injuries than you had already garnered.

There was something about the sparring this time, however, something that drove him to push harder than usual that had you equal parts worried and curious. Even now, with your blade sheathed and breaths still haggard, he approached with intent, sword still drawn and that damnable look in his eyes that drove you mad in more ways than one.

“I said enough!”

His smile only seemed to grow more prominent as he approached, eyes squinting with the uncanny joy he was sharing only with you.

Startling, intimidating, scarily endearing.

Without warning, Zenos made a mad dash in your direction, a growl of excitement leaving him with the effort as his armor, light as it was, clicked and clanked with his swift movement. You had no time to draw your sword again, barely any time to dodge. It said something of your trust in him that you remained where you were, standing your ground even as your eyes closed and awaited the inevitable.

The contact was harsh, as you expected, as you found yourself pushed back into the nearest wall. There was the loud clanging of metal dropping to the ground, followed by the rough touch of Zenos’ hand grasping at your chin.

“If not for my affections,” he began, words drawled as he, too, caught his breath, “my blade would have tasted your blood more profoundly long ago. In fact, I’m certain it has.”

“F-flatterer,” you managed, gazing up into intense pale blue, still amused, still unhinged…still endeared by you.

“So you jest,” he mused, leaning ever closer until your noses touched and his breath mingled with your own. The atmosphere changed almost immediately with the motion, a different sort of tension making itself known.

Suddenly, you began to understand what it was that had him acting so much more volatile than normal.

Zenos was…restless.

“I have grown weary of this…farce we call sparring,” he murmured, lips feathering over your own with the barest touch, a tingle of sensation that overcame the pain of hours of fighting, of the rough grip against your skin that was driven by nothing but affection and need.

“Will you not entertain me longer?”

Who were you to deny such a request, with his words so sweet, his eyes filled with a different type of hunger, and his smile gentling to something only meant for you?

[encantresse]

she works her jaw, limbs still trembling slighlty from the manner in which he'd dragged her along, and now all the more vexed by how insufferable this man proved to be. a constant reminder that this was to be expected of the nobility, furious evermore that yet another event — a night that was supposed to be beautiful — was ruined by him. all sylvain ever did was sink his claws into anything that was promised to her, tearing whatever peace she could find to shreds.

and suddenly, dorothea finds that she's grateful to be alone with him, far from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.

"you know what, sylvain? YOU get off your high horse-!"

swiftly does she bend down to pick up a nearby rock, roughly half the size of her palm and smooth to the touch. she lobs it toward him, sending it whizzing through the air to hit him square in the back. not hard enough to injure, but just enough to catch his attention.

"if you expect me to stand around and take this from you time and time again, then you're sorely mistaken. i've HAD it!"

down the shoreline she marches, eyes alight and breathing sharp, until she manages to catch up to his retreating form.

"it's funny you bring up ferdie," she spits out. "i was wrong about him. there, i said it. i thought he was like you, but as it turns out, he tries to do right by people. he learns from his mistakes. but you? all you do is cause problems, and when the consequences roll around, you throw yourself a pity party and expect the rest of us to cry for you. it's pathetic."

dorothea exhales forcefully. where the rock was not set to maim, she intends for her words to. finally at the end of her rope, unwilling to forgive that her peace should be shattered no matter all she does to distance herself from him.

"maybe if you weren't so preoccupied with me, you could focus on mending the relationships in your life. or rather, the lacktherof."

:smoking: here we go again @crevassier

[ ♫ ]  ─  * (𝐜𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐬 𝐠𝐮𝐧) 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞

toaball2025 mini | continued from x:

[ladyofrosefire]

if you're still doing the meme: percildan. for maximum salt.

fruity do you want to get me slaughtered

ok. this is your warning. I am trying not to get this sorted into the tag.

HATE. LET ME TELL YOU HOW MUCH I'VE COME TO HATE YOU SINCE I BEGAN TO LIVE. THERE ARE 387.44 MILLION MILES OF PRINTED CIRCUITS IN WAFER THIN LAYERS THAT FILL MY COMPLEX. IF THE WORD HATE WAS ENGRAVED ON EACH NANOANGSTROM OF THOSE HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS OF MILES IT WOULD NOT EQUAL ONE ONE-BILLIONTH OF THE HATE I FEEL FOR HUMANS PERC//////'ILDAN AT THIS MICRO-INSTANT FOR YOU. HATE. HATE.”

STUPID FUCKING LACK OF READING COMPREHENSION SMACKING THE SAD BOYS TOGETHER FUCKING RIPPING ALL THE CHARACTERIZATION OUT IF THEY'RE NOT GIVING ALL VEX'S ARC TO HER BROTHER FUCKING ALL THE MOST IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN PERCY'S LIVES ARE WOMEN FUCKING COMPLETELY IGNORING ANYTHING ABOUT THEIR ACTUAL CHARACTERIZATIONS FUCKING KILLING BITING MAIMING VIOLENCE

I HATE THIS SHIP SO GODDAMN MUCH

....that said if you ship this ship and you saw this and you do not follow me then I am Very sorry because I really did try not to get it into your tag

[wordingg]

In Your Dreams

// This was another fill for Geraskier week. The prompt was Monster Hunt.

Summary: Geralt and Jaskier work together to defeat an alp, but the shared nightmares start to unravel them. //

Alps were not especially dangerous monsters, but they were annoying and very difficult to dispatch. Geralt had dealt with them before and they were certainly unpleasant. They were cruel nightmare demons, infiltrating their victim’s dream world and drawing out their victims’ most deeply held fears and causing them to face them in graphic detail while feeding off of their turbulent emotions. Unpleasant was probably an understatement, but Geralt had faced one before and falsely believed that this second Alp could unearth nothing the first hadn’t already shown him.

On his first hunt for an alp, he had been assailed by dreams of being alone, of killing those closest to him, of looking in the mirror to see something more inhuman than he was used to but somehow still clearly himself. Terrible dreams to be sure, but nothing that he couldn’t face and ultimately overcome. So, when Jaskier insisted on accompanying him, he hadn’t thought it would make any difference. He was wrong, of course. He usually was when it came to Jaskier.

Jaskier was earnest, kind, entertaining and increasingly attractive to Geralt. He had at first dismissed him as a frivolous bard and indeed he still thought he was one. However, his continued companionship had broken down some measure of Geralt’s reserve and as of late he had found himself thinking very fondly of Jaskier. This normally wouldn’t have been a problem if not for the keen senses of the alp digging up these fond feelings and twisting them nightly as he slept.

After less than a week of tracking the alp from village to sleepless village, Geralt found himself going a little cross eyed. In his dreams he saw Jaskier, at his most beautiful and incandescent laughing and smiling below him before he crushed him with a misplaced hand. He saw a cruel and uncharacteristically caustic Jaskier mocking him and betraying him, leading him to his death again and again. Sometimes the dreams were disturbingly realistic, Jaskier maimed or murdered while traveling with him or while trying to shield Geralt from harm. More so than the fears unearthed by the first alp, these dreams broke down Geralt’s calm disposition.

Jaskier didn’t seem to be faring much better. Geralt didn’t ask him what his dreams were like, since he had no intentions of relating his own. It didn’t matter that they didn’t talk about them. The bags under Jaskier’s eyes grew alongside his own, their tolerance for one another steadily draining until they were constantly sniping at one another.

“Perhaps it would be best if we went our separate ways,” Geralt said on the tenth day as they traveled along the base of a mountain, circling around small villages and the trail of terrified villagers.

Jaskier’s tired eyes snapped to his own, his expression panicked for a moment before quickly getting angry. “Oh! You wish to cast me off, I suppose!” he snapped.

“Jaskier,” Geralt said in a warning growl.

“No, Geralt, tell me truly how much I vex you and how you would like me to leave you to your business. I am such a burden to you, I suppose,” Jaskier continued, ignoring Geralt.

“I am trying to tell you that it looks like this hunt will go on for some time. We are obviously both being affected by it. You need not go through this. After I defeat the alp, I will be sure to relate the story to you,” Geralt tried to be as level as possible, but instead ended up saying most of this through his teeth.

Jaskier wrinkled his nose. “You telling me how things unfolded will be about three sentences long, the most unpoetic thing one could possibly imagine.”

Geralt ran a hand roughly over his face, trying to control his temper. If he started shouting at Jaskier, he would start shouting back and they would get nowhere. He knew this, because they had already had this conversation a number of times and every time it devolved into a frustrating shouting match.

They were both quiet for a while, both trying to find some other turn this conversation could take other than the well worn grooves they had been talking in for days.

“Geralt, there must be some way we can catch this creature and be done with this wretched task,” Jaskier said tiredly.

This was something they had discussed before, though not during this particular argument. “I’ve told you, we must catch him while he torments someone.”

They had tried early on in the hunt, when it became obvious that the alp was aware they were hunting him and thus had decided to send them nightmares each night, to have one of them stay awake to try to catch the alp in action. On these nights, the alp would pointedly not visit them.

“There must be some way to tempt him into attacking one of us while the other is awake,” Jaskier muttered.

Geralt shook his head slowly. “If there is, it’s not something I am aware of.”

Jaskier put his thumb in his mouth and began chewing on the skin around the nail, a bad habit he had only started since they began this hunt together.

They sank into silence and didn’t pick up the thread of the argument again. By the time that the sun started to set, neither of them had come up with any new ideas.

Geralt pulled Roach off to the side of the road without saying anything to Jaskier and began to unload the things they would need to set up camp. Jaskier silently took over the tasks he normally handled and they had camp set up quickly and quietly, orange light from the setting sun still limning the edges of the trees around them. 

Once the fire started and their bedrolls were laid out, Geralt loaded up what weapons he thought he would need.

“There must be something we can do,” Jaskier muttered as he stared into the fire like it might hold the secrets to what he needed to know to defeat the demon that tormented him nightly.

Geralt regarded him for a moment. The flicker of the fire cast his face into deep shadow, making the bags in his eyes look even deeper than they actually were. His hair was uncharacteristically disheveled and his thumb was in his mouth again. Geralt could detect the faint smell of human blood coming from him. He must have bit open his thumb.

“He must be nearby. Try to stay awake, if you can,” was the only advice Geralt had to give. He knew it was probably useless. Jaskier looked exhausted. They were both exhausted. He wouldn’t last more than an hour or two by himself.

Geralt set out into the wood as he had many nights before. It didn’t take long for the orange fire light to fade and then disappear completely. It was unlikely that he would just happen upon the alp. Most of the legends about alps said that they only appeared when feeding. When not feeding, they remained incorporeal. He had a plan, though. He just needed to be careful.

Geralt made a wide loop, trying his best to keep his thoughts clear and focused on the forest around him, the sounds of animals in the trees and underbrush, the rustle of leaves in the faint wind from the west. Slowly, he made a circle, watching the moon rotate in the sky to judge how far into the night he had wandered.

When the moon was at its zenith, Geralt finally circled back to camp. He moved as slowly and silently as he could manage, which was extremely quiet. The fire had burnt down to faint embers by then. Jaskier must have fallen asleep pretty quickly, judging by how low the fire had gotten. This was promising for Geralt’s hunt.

As Geralt approached slowly, he saw it. The alp, a small brown leathery creature that looked like an emaciated child with particularly sharp bones and a small bit of stringy black hair on top of its dome shaped head. It was perched on Jaskier’s chest where he lay flat on his back by the fire. In the low light, Geralt could see the sheen of sweat on Jaskier’s skin, the belabored rising and falling of his chest, small moans and whimpers of distress as he twitched and fought the nightmare he was trapped in.

If Geralt was to attack it he would have only one chance. He pulled a short sword from its scabbard on his belt, the rasp quieted by a healthy amount of oil he had applied earlier in the day. He watched carefully from where he was hidden behind a small bush, but the alp didn’t react. It was fixated on feeding on Jaskier, its little sharp teeth displayed in a gruesome grin.

Geralt took three steadying breaths, trying to fill his chest with as much air as he could stand, aerating his lungs and flooding his blood with oxygen for the fight ahead. Hopefully it would be short and to the point. His iron short sword straight through the things chest and it would be dead.

Stealing himself and tensing his thighs, adrenaline already pumping through his veins, Geralt burst from the undergrowth with a great roar.

The alp’s yellow bloodshot eyes went wide and it turned toward Geralt. Geralt then seemed to see the next events in slow motion. He thrust his short sword toward the demon with precision, aiming for its heart. As he did so, the little creature arched back and out of the way while reaching out its long bony hand toward Geralt. He had too much momentum behind his thrust to slow or pull back and no time to adjust the trajectory. He missed the alp, his short sword skidding dangerously close to Jaskier’s delicate and unprotected stomach and the alp’s hand closed over his face.

As it did, everything went black.

Consciousness snapped back to Geralt like a blanket being pulled off of his eyes. The situation he found himself in was possibly more terrifying than the darkness itself.

The first thing he saw was Jaskier. He no longer was the exhausted and road-worn version he had just left, with bags under his eyes and at least a few twigs in his hair most days. His hair was glossy and warm brown, mussed like he had run his hands through it many times. His skin was healthy and flushed and his blue eyes were big and wide in his face. His lips were red and shiny with spit.

He was also getting the life choked out of him. By Geralt.

“The fuck?!” Geralt shouted, jerking back from Jaskier violently.

As soon as he was free, Jaskier scooted back as far away from Geralt as he could, coughing and sputtering and holding his throat.

With some distance, Geralt could see that Jaskier was nude. He looked down at himself, panic mounting, to see that he was also nude.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, his voice barely a whisper. He was looking at Geralt with those big eyes. He slowly pulled his hand from his neck and there were already angry blood blisters blooming beneath his skin. “Is that you? I mean, the real you?”

“Who else would I be?” Geralt spat before he could think.

Jaskier looked at him doubtfully and then the truth hit Geralt like a shovel to the face. He had missed his shot at the alp. It had grabbed him. He didn’t know what happened to someone who was directly touched by an alp like that. But, he now was in a position he didn’t remember with a Jaskier who didn’t look like the Jaskier he had just left.

Geralt glanced around at their surroundings. He already knew they were no longer in the forest, but a closer look at the room they were now in solidified his suspicions. They were in what looked like a nice room you might get in an inn. Any inn, but no inn specifically. When he tried to focus on a specific detail, like a piece of furniture or window or door, everything became strangely hazy. In fact, everything he saw seemed to have a film over it, like everything was softened, the colors richer, the shadows inkier, the light warmer.

“Fuck!” Geralt spat.

“My sentiments exactly,” Jaskier groused, scooting a little closer to Geralt now that he seemed confident that he was no longer going to strangle the living daylights out of him.

“This-” Geralt stopped himself. He had almost asked Jaskier if this was what he dreamed about every night. Based on their nudity, their location, and how they were situated when he came into the dream it was pretty easy to imagine the beginning of this dream and the terrible turn it had taken. Geralt had many similar dreams himself, too similar in fact.

“This is a dream,” Geralt said in defeat.

Jaskier nodded in commiseration. At least, they were both lucid and Jaskier was saved from seeing this nightmare to completion.

“I found the alp,” Geralt said into the depressed silence that fell after his last statement. Jaskier seemed to perk up in anticipation. “I missed my strike and I guess he threw me into your dream.”

Jaskier’s face fell upon hearing the bad news. “At least, we’re awake now?” Jaskier rasped, forcing some optimism into his voice, even if it sounded hollow with his wrecked voice. “For a given value of awake, anyway,” he added with a wry twist of his mouth.

Geralt twisted his mouth and tried not to look at the bruises on Jaskier’s neck. “Do you know where our clothes are?” he asked instead.

“Oh, um?” Jaskier cast around, obviously looking for Geralt’s clothes. Just as he turned to cast about, something fell on the bed behind them. When Geralt and Jaskier turned to look, two rumpled piles of clothing lay on the bed. “Well, that’s convenient,” Jaskier said slowly.

Geralt frowned as well. They had wanted clothes and they had just appeared. He supposed that it was a dream and they were now lucid so perhaps to some extent they had control over it. He quickly pulled his clothes on, Jaskier following at a more cautious pace, then stood up from the bed.

He wanted to see what else he could summon. He held out his right hand. “I want my short sword,” he said firmly and the sword immediately appeared in his hand, no falling from the ceiling, no strange light. It just wasn’t there and then it was, in the blink of an eye.

“Very convenient,” Jaskier said from where he was still sitting on the bed, his eyebrows rising toward his hairline.

Geralt turned a satisfied smile toward Jaskier. “If this works, I’m going to buy you the nicest room in the biggest inn I can find,” Geralt told him. Jaskier immediately sat up straight at the sound of that.

Geralt held out his left hand and tried to focus his will and determination, taking deep breaths into his diaphragm to center himself.

“I want that fucking alp,” he barked and just like the sword, the alp appeared, it’s thin neck just brushing his hand. He clamped down hard and the thing got only a short wheeze of surprise before he clamped it’s throat shut.

Geralt gave the thing a feral grin, savoring the look of fear and surprise on its face for all the grief and pain it had put them through and then rammed his short sword through its heart.

Geralt made good on his promise to Jaskier, though it had to wait until they made it back to the seat of the lordship so that he could turn in the alp. Luckily, the little lord made good on his promise and paid Geralt handsomely for not only dispatching the demon but for returning with its body in generally good condition. It was chock full of valuable magical ingredients if butchered properly. Once he had turned in his bounty, he had more than enough gold to treat Jaskier to the room he had promised him.

“This is really unnecessary,” Jaskier said as he stepped into the top floor suite. His face looked so pleased that Geralt almost didn’t dignify it with a response.

“If not for you acting as bait, I never would have caught it,” Geralt said with a sigh, collapsing back on the huge bed. It was a goose down mattress, something he hadn’t felt in many years.

Jaskier sat primly on the edge of the bed and tapped his fingers on his knees. “It really is thoughtful of you, though I hope you don’t expect me to sleep in this big bed by myself!” he said with a teasing lilt, though at a closer look the tilt of his eyebrows looked a little fragile.

Geralt gave Jaskier a guileless look for a moment before responding, “I was hoping you would allow me to join you, though the choice is completely yours.”

“Oh! Of course, we should share! Though I might have been bait, it was your quick wit that found the trick to defeating that evil imp,” Jaskier enthused, that fragility to his face disappearing so quickly someone else might have thought they were mistaken in ever thinking it was there at all.

“Perhaps you might let me impose on you somewhat further,” Geralt said slowly, getting up onto his elbows and then sitting up so that he was crowding into Jaskier’s space.

The bard looked up into his face guilelessly, “Oh? What boon does my mighty witcher need of his beloved bard?” he teased.

Trying not to let his nerves get the better of him, Geralt leaned in and carefully pressed his mouth to Jaskier’s. Nothing untoward, just a gentle press. When he pulled back, Jaskier looked absolutely pole axed.

“Perhaps you’ll let me share in more than just your bed?” Geralt rumbled, still leaning in close. Jaskier remained frozen. Maybe he needed more of a push. “Since I already seem to be a regular occurrence in your dreams,” Geralt added with a raised eyebrow.

“You-” Jaskier choked out and then seemed to restart, gathering himself for a more forceful, “You! You scoundrel!” he shouted, smacking ineffectually at Geralt’s chest. He chuckled deep in his chest and leaned into Jaskier, who only smacked harder and slowly flushed red with embarrassment.

Eventually, he gave up on smacking Geralt and covered his face instead. “You could have said something on the very long trek here, you know,” Jaskier said into his hands.

“Yes, but I wanted to wait until we had a nice room to enjoy the revelation in,” Geralt said before flopping back onto the mattress and enjoying the way it exploded in a puff as he landed.

Jaskier peeked out between his fingers, his ears still visibly red. “What a nasty old man you are,” he snarked from behind his hands, somewhat muffled.

“I won’t argue with that,” Geralt sighed, putting his hands behind his head.

When no further barbs or shocks came from Geralt, Jaskier slowly seemed to control his embarrassment and when he pulled his hands away from his face he was mostly back to its normal color.

Jaskier kicked off his boots and crawled up the bed to look down on Geralt. “You’re not pulling my leg, are you?” he asked peevishly.

“Do you take me for the joking type?” Geralt asked.

“You can give a good bit of sass when the mood strikes you,” Jaskier said flatly.

Geralt’s mouth twisted down in one corner. “I suppose. But, I don’t think I am one to play jokes.”

Jaskier’s mouth mirrored Geralt’s for a moment, though he looked more pensive. “I suppose,” he said slowly.

Geralt moved his hands down to his stomach and thread them together there. “You believe me, then?”

Jaskier’s expression melted and he looked so sad and trusting for a moment that Geralt almost had to look away. “Yes, I suppose I do,” he said, before leaning down to press his own kiss to Geralt’s mouth. Even though it was very similar, a chaste press of mouths, there was something tender in the way Jaskier lingered.

Geralt looped one hand around his waist to stop him from moving too far away.

“Bath?” Geralt asked when he pulled back a little.

Jaskier gave him a shrewd but fond expression.

“Yes, let’s have a bath,” he agreed.

[lunaballoona09]

making ur own doors monsters is literal therapy omg. try it sometime . ask your friends for random verbs and then go crazy . i currently have howl, wail, pierce, vex, yowl, slurp, maim, vanish, snatch, and adam please ask me about them i will CRY /POS