#[muse tag :: fig]

[concentratedbitterness]

The Privateer

Unidentified Asteroid Belt: 2054

It smells awful.

Not that rotting corpses ever really tend to afflict the senses otherwise, but there’s something particularly pungent about the way they do surrounded by the vacuum of space, with only an aging ship’s air scrubbers to disperse the odor.  Nathan pulls his scarf up over his nose, resisting the involuntary urge to double over and retch his breakfast onto the floor.  They don’t have time for that.

For a ship carrying only a dead crew there is a surprising amount of noise.  It is eerie in and of itself, to hear the cacophony of the reactor’s hum, the functional systems buzzing and beeping; the faint creaking of the structure as it hurtles through space.  He hates it here, Nathan thinks not for the first time.  Even in better days it was uncomfortable being so far removed from the power of his native realm, but at least it had been interesting.  Now, it borders upon unbearable.  

“Gross!” His companion exclaims behind him, though her tone is not one of disgust, but delight.  

Nathan grimaces, glancing back over his shoulder to catch a fleeting glimpse of her smile.  He misses when it used to light up her face over flowers and milkshakes.  

“He’s not here,” Fig notes unhelpfully, prodding at the side of a dead man’s leg with the toe of her boot.  

“No, but he was.”  His words are muffled by the thick fae weave of the fabric covering his mouth.

The Genesis shrugs, planting her hands on her hips as she surveys the dozen or more bodies strewn around the cargo bay.  “Maybe not?  There’s no sign of a struggle this time.  No trauma.  They’re not wounded.”  

She isn’t wrong, but the conclusion she’s chasing is.  “They died of asphyxiation,” Nathan supplies, trying to ignore the unpleasant nausea stirring in his gut.

Short cropped brown hair brushes the collar of her Siatris uniform as Fig shakes her head.  She shoots her companion a withering look.  “Fuck off.  Oxygen levels are fine here.”

Nathan kneels down beside the nearest body, and presses a fingertip against the hollowed remnants of its oozing face.  “They didn’t run out of oxygen, Fig.  They ran out of hemoglobin.”  

“How’s that happen?”

“Blood alchemy.” 

*****

They find four more ships just like the others before they finally track him down.  Nathan isn’t convinced it was an oversight on their quarry’s part.  There are no dead bodies awaiting them when they step forth from the portal this time, but he can feel the arcane energy.  It feels like an invitation.

He reaches back to slow its closing, and fixes a pointed look upon his companion.  “You oughtta’ go report back.  I’ve got this.”

Fig laughs in his face.  “Are you high?  He’ll kill you.”

“No, he won’t.”

“What makes you so sure?” She asks, clearly dubious.

Nathan isn’t sure, but he certainly isn’t going to admit as much to her.  This timeline is a bleak one, and the man they’re after has adapted to endure it.  “Just trust me.  This will go better without you here.”  That part is a narrow truth.  Fig is a hammer these days.  Not every problem is a nail.

The Genesis purses her lips.  If he didn’t know any better, he’d swear she was worried.  “And if it doesn’t?”

“Then you and Luna come back here and do what you have to do.”

She stares at him for a long moment, not in her usual way–full of apathy and resentment–but with an intensity that brings a rush of heat to the warlock’s face.  And then, with a blink, she turns away.  “--Whatever.”

“Whatever,” Nathan echoes back, and watches as she steps back through the portal.  His hand falls to his side, and the doorway closes behind her.  He wonders if he’s going to regret this.

This ship is a small frigate; mostly reactor bay, but it still takes him a while to find his way through the maze of halls and bulkheads to the command deck.  He can hear the crew at their stations as he draws closer, chatting and carrying on as though nothing is amiss.  They have no idea what is on board.  Nathan doesn’t speak their language, but some ideas are universal.  He clears his thoughts, focusing on the ghastly images of dead crews on the other ships, the escape shuttle on the lower deck, and pushes the telepathic message as forcefully as he can muster into the minds of the people he senses nearby.  Telepathy isn’t always intuitive, but his aunt was an excellent teacher.  The result is as blatant a wordless warning as they come; get off this ship if you want to live. 

It would appear the message is received, he thinks, as he hears the panicked shouts just beyond the doorway.  Nathan rounds the entrance just in time to see the first crew member go down, bleeding from every orifice in her skull.  Three more follow suit in rapid succession before he realizes he’s paralyzed where he stands, helpless to do anything but watch as the last crew member succumbs and collapses to the floor with a wet squelch.  Too late.

“Not your best work, kiddo,” A man’s voice drawls gruffly behind him, and Nathan feels his muscles twitch, shifting unnaturally as the blood in his body is compelled to move them against his will.  It’s a profoundly violating sensation, one that the same man in another life had passionately argued against inflicting short of a last resort; life or death.  Now, he does it as casually as breathing, hands motionless at his side. Not even Santiago had been able to cast at will so effortlessly.  

Nathan is more fortunate than the crew, at least, for instead of violently rupturing aneurysms he only finds himself turned around and dropped unceremoniously into a vacant chair.  It occurs to him that he may have been overly hasty in sending away his cosmically powerful field partner.  “Wait!  Wait…I just came to talk.”

“So talk,” he shoots back without missing a beat, the soles of his heavy magboots locking against the decking with an electronic ting with every step as he makes his way closer.  It’s almost enough to mask the hobble.  

The decades leading up to this reality have been hard ones, Nathan knows, but he was not prepared for the toll they have taken on his former mentor.  Shaggy chestnut curls and a careless five o’clock shadow have evolved into a stark white mane and a full beard; the softened form of an academic shaped by days in the kitchen and nights in the laboratory has been hardened and whittled away by a harsh existence in zero gravity and a perilous addiction to arcane conductors.  There is no trace of the man Nathan had grown up idolizing.  His grandfather is scarcely recognizable.  “This isn’t who you are.”

The old man huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no mirth in his eyes.  “That so?  Look around you, kiddo.  Our present circumstances would seem t’ indicate this is exactly who I am.”   

“The Malcolm Brockway I know isn’t a fucking space pirate…”

“Privateer.”

“Wait, are you serious?”

“It’s an important distinction.  Where’s your wife?”

“--It’s not like that in our timeline.”  It’s an important distinction.  Nathan furrows his brow, letting his gaze fall away, “I told her I needed to speak with you alone.”  Maybe it was a mistake to believe he’d still be reachable after all this time.  “There’s still a chance.  To fix things.  We found a viable timeline…”

A system alert chimes on one of the artificial gravity consoles, and the old man pushes a dead crewman out of his crash couch before flopping down into the newly vacated seat to toggle the controls until it stops.  “It’s not this timeline.”

He hesitates for a moment before he shakes his head.  “No.  Not this one.”

“Then why are you here?  Augusto put you up t’ this?  Or was it Zadkiel?”

Nathan tries to lean forward, but the other warlock has not yet relinquished his control.  “I’m here because we need you.”  

Malcolm shakes his head, “I’m done with all that.”

“Please, just hear me out…” 

“Sit still.  Isn’t there a me in that one?”

Defeatedly, he stops struggling.  “Yeah.  There is.  But he can’t do what you can do.”

The corners of the old man’s lips tug upward into the wryest of smirks.  “Can’t, or won’t?” It's an important distinction.

“I don’t know,” Nathan admits honestly, “Outcome’s the same either way.  If you help us, then maybe that version of you doesn’t have to become–” He stops himself before he says it, but the word may as well have already been spoken.

“This.” The old man finishes for him.  “Or maybe everything was always gonna’ end up this way.”

“Only in the timelines where you gave up.” The accusation comes out more harshly than he intends, but he doesn't retract it.  A heaviness settles in the air between them, silent but for the sounds of the ship, and at long last Nathan feels the blood magic’s iron-fisted hold subside.  He’s on his feet at once, putting a few steps of distance between himself and the other warlock.  There’s fresh blood on the deck, and it’s a wonder he manages without slipping on it.  “It would’ve shattered his heart to pieces if he ever had to see you like this.  I hope you know that.”

“I do.  It haunts my every wakin’ thought, kiddo, but he’s still gone an’ knowin’ it didn’t change a damned thing, did it?  Now get off my ship.”

He’d like nothing more.  Nathan takes another step back, and calls forth a portal.  “Will you help?”

“I’ll think about it.”

[heliophaestus]

ouuuggh thinking abt fig faeth again

[the-chosen-fanfiction]

John the Apostle | One Day | Romantic

In spite of the bride being beautiful at the wedding in Cana, John only has eyes for the brightness surrounding you. 

Requested by Heather

“Okay, that’s— Ouch, that’s a bit tight!”

“Sorry,” Mary quips, “I’m not that good with braids… Uh, let’s see, it’s becoming a bit loose here—” 

“It’s fine, I’ll just—” 

You stand from your chair and tuck your hair behind your ears a little, walking over to the mirror. The braids Mary has attempted to create are a little asymmetrical, but neat enough. You give her a kind smile over your shoulder, which she mirrors nervously. 

“I don’t do other people’s hair all that often, and I—”

You let out a small noise at how apologetic she is, causing her words to hitch

“Mary, it’s fine. They’re very pretty. Thank you.” 

She smiles a bit.

“Are you serious? Aren’t you just saying it to make me feel better, now?” 

You give a small shake of your head, looking back at the mirror to tuck a few stubborn strands into place. 

“I’m serious. Have I ever lied to you?” 

Mary hums and smiles a bit, rubbing her neck. “Ah, I guess not.” 

“I really appreciate this, Mary. Thank you.”

“It’s the least I could do.” 

You slide your veil back over it in a way that it is still visible that something has been done to it.

A knock on the door and the voice of a slightly rushed John sounds from the other side. “Can you girls hurry? We have to leave before we—” 

You pull open the door before he can finish his sentence, and for a moment he stands with his mouth wide open on the threshold as he takes you in. It is obvious your (h/c) locks are differently placed than normal, and it frames your face in a certain way that has John’s heart skip a beat inside his chest.

“We’ll be right there.” you pipe up. It takes John a second to gather himself before he clears his throat. 

“Oh, um… Yes, of course. Your… Your hair, it’s… Uh… Different.” 

You nearly frown a little but manage to keep your face in check. After all, it doesn’t necessarily sound like a compliment.

“Ah, thank you. Mary fixed it for me.” 

John gives you a slow nod, trying his best to tear his gaze away from your face. He clears his throat once more, blinking as he steps back. 

“Ah, don’t be late. Jesus wanted to leave in a few minutes so that we’ll be arriving a short while before the ceremony, and… Well, you know.” 

“Of course.” 

The former fisherman pivots on his feet and heads back towards the others. Mary gives you a small, knowing smile.

“What?” you query when she raises an eyebrow at you. That look must mean something, although you aren’t certain what message it is supposed to convey.

“Nothing, just that I’m sure John thinks you look very pretty like that.” 

Your cheeks flame again at the notion. 

“It… It didn’t really sound like he enjoyed it a lot. He just said it looked different.” 

“I think he didn’t really know how to use his words.” Mary reassures you. You huff and shake your head, running your clamming palms down your dress.

“Nonsense, that’s just wishful thinking. John wouldn’t like me in that way, no way.” 

Mary hums and gives you another one of these looks.

“Whatever you say, (Y/n). Let’s go now, okay? The others are waiting for us.” 

You join the rest of the group, then head out to your meeting place, a little outside of Capernaum, where Jesus had agreed to catch up with you as well as a few other people - Thaddeus, Andrew and Simon as well as the two Jameses tag along as well. 

It’s already midday when you arrive, with the older son of Jonah reassuring his brother that everything will be alright, when Jesus walks up to the group with a kind smile on His features. 

“Perfect day for a wedding, huh?” 

“Master.”

“Simon, Andrew, Mary, (Y/n), James, John, Thaddeus. But where is uh…” 

As Jesus pauses in search of John’s big brother, Thaddeus is met with a piece of fruit against the back of the head and flinches.

“Uh-oh.” Jesus muses as James chuckles above you, already armed with another fruit. “Raining figs.”

“Figs for the journey.” James explains.

“Ah, how we won’t even need to stop for lunch!” 

He gracefully drops from the tree and lands on his feet, dusting down his tunic. 

“Thank you James.” Jesus says.

“Yes Master?” The curly-haired James standing in front of you asks, causing Jesus to straighten His back.

“Ah… Two Jameses. How will we solve this dilemma?” 

“Well, what if, uh… I go by Big James?” the taller James proposes. 

The others laugh a bit, including you.

“Is that acceptable to you, young James?” 

“Yes, I think that’s fair, Master.”

“And a sense of justice, too.” Jesus muses. “Then is settled. Now, to the road, my friends. The bride and groom await!”

A newfound tinge of excitement swells inside your chest. Weddings are always a fun celebration to attend. 

The ragtag group of people sets out to Cana, and you start your trek chatting with Mary about little things. “Have you ever been to Cana?” Mary wonders, at which you shake your head.

“I haven’t. Have you?” 

“No, and I also have never been to a wedding, either.” Mary responds.

“Ah, for me it’s… I think… My third one. My first one was my brother, the second one was Simon and Eden.” 

Mary’s lips part in surprise as she looks over her shoulder and you follow her gaze, but instead of meeting Simon’s face which you had expected to find, you look into the eyes of John. Your heart skips a beat as he quickly turns away, his jaw tightening. 

He looks like he has been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. Had he been staring at you? You swallow hard as you mull it over — no, you’re certain that is definitely not what he was doing. Wishful thinking, nothing more, you remind yourself.

Upon turning back to Mary, you find her oblivious to that little moment you just shared with John. 

“How was it?” Mary wants to know. You absentmindedly hum, a bit puzzled by that probably quite insignificant encounter. It replays inside your mind over and over again.

“It was a good day.” 

Mary frowns. “Are you okay, (Y/n)?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine.” 

You clear your throat and attempt to redirect the attention on the casual conversation. “Anyways, let me tell you everything about the wedding of Simon and Eden…” 

As you explain all the ins and outs of your friends’ wedding, you carry on through the plains of Judea, on your way to the party. The promise of good food and wine at the end of the road lights everyone’s spirit enough to not complain about blisters.

—

Cana is what you expected — a small village, about half the size of Capernaum, with not much going on. You’re certain that most guests roaming about at the local inns are actually wedding guests that have already arrived early, living too far away to head back home in between the days of festivities.

Jesus leads the group through the narrow streets, knowing where He has to be. For a moment, you look over your shoulder to see if everyone is caught up with the rest, and feel your heart flutter when you sense John’s eyes on you again. Not much unlike last time, he swallows hard and tears his gaze away with what almost looks like effort. You could swear there is a hint of pink on his cheeks, but perhaps it’s the searing afternoon sun that has left him flushed.

You arrive at a set of double doors. Jesus pushes through first, revealing that the preparations are already in full action. “Knock knock, can we come in?” An older woman tosses aside a small bouquet as she flings herself in the arms of Jesus. Your Teacher chuckles and lifts her off the ground a bit to meet her embrace. 

“Hi eema! Oh, how are you?” 

You smile at the gentle greeting in front of you, finding it sweet that Jesus is so close to His mother. 

“I have missed You!” she muses softly, cupping His face as she gives Him a once-over. “Look at You! It’s been a while… Have you been eating?” 

“I have been eating.” Jesus reassures her, putting a hand on her shoulder as He turns towards the group. You smile at Jesus’ mother as she takes you all in.

“These people have been helping me to eat, so…”

“Hi, how are you?” she steps forward and starts introducing herself as Mary. 

“My students.” Jesus clarifies as she goes through the line-up of people eager to meet her. Mary is a kind woman who clearly loves her Son a whole lot. You hadn’t expected otherwise, really. 

“Shalom, I’m (Y/n).” You shake her hand as she meets your gaze with glittering eyes.

“It’s so nice to meet you! And you are?” 

“I’m John.” You startle at bit, not realising that the man in question had been standing so close to you.

“Hello John, shalom! And you two are…” She points between you, and a confused frown appears on both of your faces, “You know, married?” 

“Oh— Oh no!” you quickly say, shaking your head as you take on an almost defensive stance. Your cheeks flame as John sputters an equally negative answer.

“No— We are just friends!” 

Mother Mary tilts her head a little. “Not betrothed, then?” 

You let out a nervous sound as you shake your head. “No— No… No, we aren’t.” 

She gives you a look alongside a small, high-pitched murmur — you are unsure what it means — and carries on introducing herself. You let out a shaky breath as you plant your hands on your hips, turning to John, who seems equally as flustered.

“Well, that was awkward.” you try to lighten the mood, causing John to scratch his neck. 

“Yeah… Yeah.” 

You clear your throat and take in the place in front of you as to avoid both eye-contact and making the situation even more uncomfortable. Flowers and candles adorn the place, tables already having been set, and servants are rushing about to get everything in order. 

“This is nice.” you murmur. 

John’s eyes are on you again, but you don’t notice it. “Yes.” he whispers in response, “Very nice.” When you turn over your shoulder to give him a small smile, he quickly looks at the scene of the wedding again, at the slightly crooked chuppah, and for a second, something flashes inside his mind that he quickly shakes off. The thought is long enough to make his heart soar inside his chest.

When he turns back to you, he notices you’ve already turned back in the direction of Mary Magdalene, and he lets out a shaky breath as he watches you walk off. 

Behind him, Thaddeus smiles at what’s happening in front of him. 

The day carries on. You and Mary help out Jesus’ mother with the final preparations and get to know more about the bride and groom. You find out that the groom is Dinah’s son, Asher, and that the parents of his bride Sarah aren’t as keen on the idea of her marrying a man of lower stature, at least by their standards. You have never understood parents who don’t want their children to marry out of love rather than out of convenience or political gain.

A few hours later, the wedding begins with drinks, food and music. You sit with the other women as you sing blessings over the newly wed couple. The bride and groom are positively glowing and you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to stand there in the finest gown with your hand in… 

…You don’t dare finish that thought. Instead, you concentrate on singing the right words as you hold the shoulders of Mary Magdalene and a woman you don’t know. A large smile spreads over your face as you dance around the tables. 

A little away, John does the same with the men, a little off-key but not too bad, and even though he is thoroughly enjoying himself with the task at hand, he can’t help but let his gaze go over to the other table. He instantly finds you. It isn’t difficult to, for you stand out to him like a bright star in the night sky.

The way your (h/c) hair flows from under your veil as you dance the other women, the way you seem to be so at ease, it all comes together into a beautiful picture that John cannot tear his gaze away from. You look like a dream, with your smile reaching from ear to ear and the way your eyes sparkle, like the moonlight dancing on the Sea of Galilee. He could drown in them, he’s sure of it.

For a moment, John imagines that same thought that had been crossing his mind earlier — the two of you under a similar chuppah, saying your vows to one another. He allows the thought to linger this time, entertains it, almost tripping over his own feet, and as the song draws to a close, he almost forgets the cue to applaud. He is almost jealous of Mary and the other woman for getting to touch your shoulder and hearing you sing up close, even though he thinks it’s silly to feel that way.

The evening carries on with wine, blessings brought by the banquet master, and more music. Even though the food is wonderful, John can’t help but let his eyes drift from time to time. You’re having the time of your life. He can’t shake a nagging feeling inside his chest. The sun sets and the courtyard is illuminated by candles, bringing your features out even more. The former fisherman knows he isn’t supposed to stare, but he can’t help himself, tracing the edge of his empty wine cup with his finger as he sits with a few others at a table.

“She’s quite pretty, isn’t she?” Thaddeus whispers at John, who quickly seems to snap out of his thoughts. 

“What?” 

“You’re staring at her.” 

John lets out a scoff. “I’m not staring at (Y/n).”

Thaddeus chuckles lightly and gives John a look, smirking. “I didn’t mention her name, so you just confirmed it.” 

The younger son of Zebedee swallows hard and looks away, not liking the fact that he is apparently being obvious about it at this point. “Is it that clear, huh?”

Thaddeus hums. “I’m surprised you haven’t walked up to her yet to talk to her.” 

“I… I can’t. I’ll just make a fool out of myself.” 

The former stonemason shrugs. 

“By all means, do what you feel like is best. But I have seen the way you two look at one another.” 

John’s cheeks flush.

“You… She… How does (Y/n) look at me, then?” 

Thaddeus hums and takes a sip of wine. “Can’t you have a little faith in me, John? Just go up to her and talk for a bit. Try to figure out what she thinks about getting married herself some day.” 

John nearly chokes on his own saliva. “Are you trying to say I should ask her to marry me?” 

“Not yet— Just… In general, I mean. There is no rush behind all of this, you know? Just ask what she thinks of becoming a wife, and try to figure out if she hints at her feelings for you.” 

“Her feelings for me?!” John sputters.

Thaddeus hums, grinning a bit. 

“Oh, John. Have some faith, okay? Go talk to her.” 

“Now?” 

Thaddeus nods. 

The younger son of Zebedee stands, wiping his clammy palms down his tunic, and starts walking in your direction, hoping to have some of your time. 

Thaddeus clears his throat, causing him to halt.

“John?” 

He turns and looks at his friend.

“Yes?” 

“I pray that your wedding is the next one we’ll be celebrating.” 

[fisherkn1ght]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE: Arisen & Pawn(s) Edition

tagged by: @bees-tes-blog (THANK YOU AGHH🥹)

tagging: @garzzum 😈

(I THINK MOST OF MY MUTUALS HAVE BEEN TAGGED but if you see this.. it's a sign to stop everything and fill this out IMMEDIATELY!!)

(game under the cut ((: )

ARISEN: LEONEN

(I realize I have..0 nice screenshots of him. oh well)

nicknames: 'Leon' (by others), 'Little lion' (by pawn)

age: Ranges, starting from 19~24, ending around 37

race: elven, though from a different region than the Vermudian elves

gender: cis male (if he really thought on it, though, he'd consider himself some degree of apagender)

orientation: gay, demisexual

moral alignment: chaotic good (I thinmk..)

class/subclass: started out as an assassin (DDDA), aligned with warfarer for most of his years as an arisen, but ended as a magick archer/trickster when the left side of his body was burned to the point of being non-functional.

background: Raised in a quiet, distant fishing village for most of his childhood. Once 18, he set sail with his beloved. Upon making their home in Melve, a dragon razed the village shortly after, murdering his beloved and leaving him as that world's Arisen, however unwilling he may have been to the role.

interests/hobbies: fishing and sailing (as a sentimental hobby), bird keeping (lovebirds), and writing (:

languages: a basic understanding of common, but his background is fluency in elven (and it is his preference). He has selective mutism, however, so speaking (with others in general) is often difficult even in his birth language

height: 156 (SHORTTTT)

colors: solid reds, dark purples, and black (:

fruits: fig, passion fruit

alcoholic beverages: Just a solid mead or ale, to take the edge off of whatever state he's in.

smokes: No, it reminds him of his late lover (who was always on greenwarish)

drugs: No

drivers oxcart license: he claims to have one (jumping on the backs of unsuspecting oxen does count right..right..)

ever been arrested: yes.. but he will always deny it (the guards shouldn't have been there) because he is an angel💖

PLAYLIST BECAUSE..ofc🙈: Leonen

PAWN: N'GALAM

nicknames: "little lamb" (by arisen)

age: appears late-twenties

race: Vermudian elven

gender: transgender male (later id's as transmasc)

orientation: aromantic, unlabeled for sexual orientation

moral alignment: chaotic neutral (methinks..)

class/subclass: begins as a warrior, persists as a mage, ends as a sorcerer

background: summoned by his arisen after wandering the Rift for most of his life. Despite their abrasive relationship, they softened eachother for the better. He had initially come to him as a pawn named Angmare, and for the first few years of gaining a conscience (with the arisen's presence) he began to feel uncomfortable, and even sickened by what he was perceived to be. In a possessed fit of rage shortly after contracting dragonsplague, he'd clawed out his own chest and declared himself anew to Leonen (after returning from the rift, that is😭).

interests/hobbies: loveloveLOVES dancing and music, along with stargazing (preferably from inside, though), and making jewelry with the scraps they collect from battle.

languages: common and Vermudian elvish, learned his arisen's dialect later.

height: 203 (I think..🙈)

colors: deep/royal purples, burgundy, black, soft turquoise

fruits: papaya, pineapple

alcoholic beverages: he steals the fruit wines that are wasting away aging in their storage

smokes: noo

drugs: nooo

drivers oxcart license: no (he despises the smell of ox poo... it's worth walking the whole way to him)

ever been arrested: he says they'll never find the bodies (he hasn't)

AWESOME SEXY BEAUTIFUL PLAYLIST: N'galam

thank you for suffering along with my world building that 100% makes sense 🤝

[bees-tes-blog]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE Arisen & Pawn Edition

tagged by @fangbangerghoul and @muralikesgames!

name: jesse nicknames: best avoided age: early to mid 20s race: human (arisen) gender: trans man zodiac: uhhh taurus maybe? moral alignment: neutral good class/subclass: ranger/archer, in dd2 later becomes mystic spearhand background: an orphan raised by the chief of a fishing village. he’ll protect what’s his at any cost interests/hobbies: fishing, basket weaving, wandering off the beaten path, lingering in the sea just a little too deep for a little too long languages: common height: 5'5" colors: blue, but a sky blue fruits: try and get him to eat a fresh fruit (unless it’s raspberries) alcoholic beverages: ehh smokes: no drugs: no drivers oxcart license: god no ever been arrested: it wasn’t his fault

-

name: mati nicknames: none age: unknown race: human (pawn) gender: trans man? zodiac: unknown moral alignment: lawful neutral class/subclass: mage (healer/support) background: a new pawn brought into the world by the latest arisen, made in the likeness of many and none interests/hobbies: reading, botany here and there, collecting pretty leather bound journals (he’ll write in all of them eventually, he swears), the most technical aspects of the study of magick languages: common height: 5'11" colors: blue, but an ocean blue fruits: figs, peaches alcoholic beverages: designated (ferrystone) driver smokes: no drugs: no drivers oxcart license: nope ever been arrested: no

-

-

tagging @edgier-than-a-diamond @hit-tab @fisherkn1ght @soloavengers knowing there’s a very good chance you all have already been tagged at least once

[superconductivebean]

#991: poppy sweeting headcanon post - 4

Imelda Reyes: >>>1 || >>>2 (nsfw) || >>>3 || >>>4 || >>>5 || >>>6 Poppy Sweeting: >>>1 || >>>2 || >>>3 Imelda x Poppy headcanons: >>>1 || >>>2 || >>>3 || >>>4

Once again raising my head from the Brainrot fog to share some character headcanons with the world. Brainrot is a fic I’m working on.

Tags: @thriftstorebabayaga @endeavour12345 @celestial--sapphic @caramel-hufflepuff @catohphm @adalinda-selwyn

In light of the recent discovery; Poppy knows how to navigate the Deeper woods of the Forbidden Forest. Her travel journal has all she needs to know: the symbols and their assumed meanings, landmarks, hand-drawn maps, points of danger/interest. To her, the Forest isn't a danger or imminent death but its own world, it has to be treated with respect;

Highwing often tags along;

Brainrot: the Forbidden Forest is hostile to the outsiders. It is a dangerous place; Ashwinders had to stick to depressions of the land and decrepit brick masses of long-abandoned dwellings to escape being snatched. However, the Forest welcomes anyone who has proven to be a friend or a worthy contender to its force;

Brainrot: d̷̪̃ò̷̙n̸̺͠'̵̬̏t̶͉̾ ̸̼͊s̵̼͆p̵͈̄ĭ̵͈l̶̼̆l̶͙̿ ̵̹̐b̴̪͌l̸͍̅o̷̫͊ȯ̷̻ḍ̵̒ ̵̟̊į̴̈́n̴̟͆ ̸̊��t̶̟͛h̶̥̊e̷��͎ ̸͈̿w̷̥̌ȏ̶̜o̷̤͌d̶̬̍s̶̰̅;

Brainrot: Poppy believes in fairies. The Forbidden Forest is said to house a few fae beings but Hogwarts library has only so much accounts of people encountering them -- if these could be even considered accounts. People used to write ambiguously, often referring to things by lucid and surreal names; some of the books Poppy had found that had anything on the matter were hidden in the part of the Restricted Section marked as 'insufficient drivel';

Gran doesn't support her ventures. Poppy is alone in there -- first. Her adventures there are enviable -- second;

Professor Howin suspects something but is yet to catch Poppy off the student limits;

Professor Sharp, the library dweller, noticed certain piles of books moved or changed shape. He told Eleazar. Eleazar said it might've been him or Miriam, why hold the student's name at the tip of the pen if multiple people are frequenting the library at the late hours of day each day every day for many years. Then he told Matilda. Matilda said, mister Sallow. It didn't sound plausible, given the caliber of Sallow's interests but Agnes seemed to agree with Matilda on this;

Sebastian had no idea some of his detentions were on Poppy;

Professor Garlick doesn't know much about beasts, only about those found in the gardens, greenhouses or wilderness. She also believes in fairies and allows Poppy to stare at thistles from time to time. Professor Fig was also curious but his observations were usually lukewarm, unlike those of Miriam. Poppy hadn't gotten to know Mrs Fig well but what she did manage to hear amazed her;

When Poppy's little obsession became known, that nickname, 'Peculiar', stuck. Poppy expected to hear that even from her friends but the Sallows didn't mind it at all, Ominis was mildly interested because he'd once heard merfolk was tied to fae somehow, Garreth was convinced he lost half of his socks because of these creatures, and Imelda, the one Poppy felt fearful of, was strangely quiet and would never elaborate on her interest, calling her mockers stupid instead; Poppy later learnt Orcadians were vary of the fae folk;

Brainrot: After Poppy learnt Julia was able to understand Fig's musings about some kinds of old and strange magic, she urged to inquiry Julia on fairies. Julia was convinced she was talking about the beasts from the assigned CotMC textbook but these creatures were something else*.

*do I lore-drop that I believe MC to be a fae creature or am I leaving it for a later date.

[bearlytolerant]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE.  REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG, with the information of your muse,  including headcanons, etc.

Thank you @arisenreborn for the tag! Tagging @lisa-and-shadow @staticpallour @soloavengers @wokestone (no obligation of course!)

Pawn and Arisen Edition! (Under cut for length)

name: Gwyn of Melve

nicknames: Gwynnie (by her parents only), Arisen (though does that count)

age: 38

race: half-elf

orientation: bisexual

zodiac: sagitarrius

moral alignment: chaotic good

class/subclass: Warfarer but favors the mystic spear. Nothing like using Unto Heven and getting a laugh mid battle.

background: a goat farmer who lived just outside of Melve, she’d often go to the small town to trade goods. Unfortunately, the only goods the dragon wanted to trade in was her heart.

interests/hobbies: reading for knowledge, honing combat, picking flowers and making crowns, bouquets or necklaces out of them.

spoken languages: common, elvish, draconic

profession: farmer, Arisen, Sovran

colors: lavender, plum, onyx, dusty rose

fruits: strawberrries, apples, grapes, cranberries and figs

drinks: water, coffee, the occasional herbal tea

alcoholic beverages: ale, fruit wine, mead

smokes: nah

drugs: the occasional shroom

driver's license: yeah

ever been arrested: yes and she’s constantly in horny gaol

name: Killian

nicknames: Quil

age: 52

race: Pawn/Human

orientation: panromantic demisexual

zodiac: cancer

moral alignment: lawful good

class/subclass: prefers sorceror and loves to take all his repressed feelings and pour them into explosions. but he is equally skilled as a mage but likes to fret and worry over the Arisen. Certified DAD to all Arisen but Gwyn.

background: served an Arisen who created him to look like their deceased spouse and abandoned him (I’m being so vague about this because I need this under wraps until I get a particular scene written). Gwyn found him in the rift when she needed him most.

interests/hobbies: journaling, botany, stargazing and reading books on forbidden love (aka trashy romance novels).

spoken languages: common

profession: pawn

colors: burnt orange, sienna, onyx, gold, cream

fruits: grapes, blueberries, apples, figs

drinks: coffee

alcoholic beverages: any and only 1 drink on very rare celebratory occasions

smokes: herbal

drugs: milk of the poppy but only when in excruciating pain. Rarely used.

driver's license: could handle a carriage just fine.

ever been arrested: never

[forever-fixating]

WIP Wednesday

Thanks to @priincebutt for the tag! I got more living in a new normal for yall! I've strongarmed my best friend into my little corner of the RWRB fandom, and she has been incredible in helping me with this story. Like, I'm talking plot developments, 12th Century gossip, high romance and DRAMA, yall aren't ready. My muse is vibing to write Paris because it has evolved into two chapters and it will blow the romance from Love on the Menu out of the water. I feel very confident in that fact. Yall ain't ready for it!!! Until then, enjoy this little bit of fluff.

Their sexual escapades hadn’t moved beyond oral sex and anal play. When Henry asked Alex about moving further, not to pressure him but to gauge his interest, Alex blushed and buried his face in Henry’s chest, mumbling, “You’re gonna laugh.”

“I assure you I will not,” Henry said, tugging on Alex’s curls so that he would lift his face. “Please tell me, my darling baby boy?”

“That’s cheating,” Alex whined, tilting his head to kiss Henry only to be stopped by the hand in his hair.

Henry smirked. “Be a good boy and tell me.”

He let go of Alex’s hair and waited. Alex glanced to the side and traced his finger down Henry’s sternum. Goosebumps broke out over Henry’s skin. After a moment, Alex finally said, “I want to wait until we’re in Paris. Like- I get it, it’s cliche, but-”

“Darling,” Henry said, cupping Alex’s jaw to stop his rambling. Brown eyes widened, and Henry smiled. “Remember who you’re talking to. That is beyond romantic. I don’t give a tinker’s fig if it’s cliche.”

“Tinker’s fig?” Alex giggled, his previous bashfulness evaporated.

“What We Do In The Shadows,” Henry offered as explanation. “Matt Berry is a British national treasure.”

“Oh yeah, June and Nora are obsessed with that show. I’ve been meaning to watch it, but I keep forgetting.”

Henry grabbed his remote from the bedside table. “We’re fixing that right now.”

As he queued up the show on his Hulu account, Alex nuzzled closer and whispered, “Thank you, baby.”

Henry traced his fingers down Alex’s spine. “You’re very welcome, my dahling.”

Alex snorted. “Why did you say it like that?”

“You’ll see.”

A/N: Tagging @onthewaytosomewhere @piratefalls @dragonflylady77 and anyone else who wants to play. This chapter is beyond syrupy sweet. I combined New York and Austin so Paris could be in Alex's POV. I'm telling yall, you aren't ready for Paris. One more petite teaser 'cause I just gotta brag on my bestie for writing this little bit of beauty for LIANN. No context, you'll just have to wait and see.

Roses on Our Grave

(Verse 1)

It’s not every day that you wake up in Paris

Hungover from last night’s love

Eyes stinging in the sun, how heavy the air is

With these sweet roses’ perfume

Mmmmm but then

Every day is magic, cuz baby, the magic is you

Surprise me with breakfast and plans for our day

How could I ever refuse?

A walk through the tombstones, and you

Whisper to me

“The lovers are gone, but love stays”

Then stay

(Chorus)

Kiss me in the sunlight

Don’t ever say goodbye

Don’t wait to leave roses at our grave

Hold me close in the night

Soar with me when I fly

I want roses now, not at my grave

A/N- See you soon in Paris!

[fullmetalscullyy]

tagged by @dairogo thank you!!!! 💞💞

1. How many works do you have on Ao3?

136 🫣

2. What is your total Ao3 word count?

1,928,488

3. What fandoms do you write for?

fma (royai), loki

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

royai collections - 829

the way it was - 729

you put your hand in mine - 406

let me love you - 301

hit and run - 255

5. Do you respond to comments?

i used to! then i struggled with various things personally and mentally for a long time, and fell off from doing it unfortunately. but every email i receive uplifts me in a way nothing else can 💖 they genuinely make my day

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

probably this one - betrayal

pure angst isn't something i've dabbled in often, there's always been a happy ending. but mayhaps i should give it another wee go....

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

hmmm i think the way it was. everything just wrapped up nicely and all worked out in the end. i was wholly satisfied with it.

or maybe this was the ending which made me the happiest hahahah either way. not to toot my own horn, but it was cute af

8. Do you get hate on fics?

lmao unfortunately

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

not anymore. i dabbled before. i did think about returning to it but i'm not entirely motivated to do so atm

10. Do you write crossovers?

no, never given that a go

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

not to my knowledge

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

i was asked once if someone could translate it, but never heard anything after that

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yes!! and it was so much fun!!!!!! i had an absolute blast

a conspiracy theory

i can hear the echoes of the past

the bet

14. What's your all-time favourite ship?

msr and royai. don't make me choose 😭

15. What's a WIP you want to finish, but doubt you ever will?

my royai the x files au. rip the dream

16. What are your writing strengths?

my ships being wholesome and happy and loving, i think? i just want to see them happy. escapism at its finest haha

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

descriptions. of scenery, places, inner monologue etc. i just. want to live in the moment with my besties. but unfortunately the technology doesn't exist to project what i can see in my head onto the page so other people can see what i can see 😔 its one i'm working on with my og piece hahaha

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i've never dabbled!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

fma/royai

20. Favourite fic you've written?

ohhh man. these two are probs my babies

let me love you

the way it was

two vastly different writing and reaction experiences. but, i completed them both, and told the story i wanted to tell. i love that

Tagging @tsaritsa @megthemighty @firewood-figs @musing-and-music @nightofnyx8 @aicasey

[concentratedbitterness]

Piccrew edits of (most) of the muses: [X]

From top, left to right: Mara, Ray, Malcolm, Lee, Fig, Stolas, Augusto, Santiago, Rose, Nathan

[afrenchwriter]

WIP Tag Game!

If you’re tagged, make a new post (don’t reblog this one) and share 1-2 sentences from your most recent unposted WIP(s) with zero context— Let your followers guess via ask or reply!

Thank you @aracloptia for the tag <3

It's been a while and I've been having a difficult relationship with my writing muse lately, but I thought I could share this (slightly longer) extract for fun (I've missed this!):

Aziraphale was grateful for his trusty fedora currently perched on his head. He had thought he remembered well the Egyptian sun from his travels there as a young archeologist, but he had been wrong: it was even more ruthless than in his memories. Crowley, on the other hand, seemed to tolerate it as if he had spent his whole life under this unbearable heat: he was casually strolling in the souk ahead of him, sunglasses perched on his nose, a black scarf hanging loose around his neck. The young man was eating figs while looking at the stalls with interest - and, every now and then, he was turning his head to throw a disarming smile at Aziraphale over his shoulder. Aziraphale swallowed.

I'm sure some of you can guess what kind of AU this is about...

No pressure tags: @sabotage-on-mercury @hasturswig @ashfae @suavissimapenna @pommedepersephone and anyone who wants to play!

[hunting-songs]

Body Language: Senritsu Döne bold what you apply to your muse. italicize what applies, but isn’t oftentimes established in detail.

DEFENSIVENESS : arms crossed on chest • crossing legs • fist - like gestures • pointing index finger • karate chops • the fig leaf position • feet apart stance • Glares •  bared fangs • fingers twitching • intense eye contact • Fake smile • sighing •  One raised eyebrow

REFLECTIVE : hand - to - face gestures • head tilted • stroking chin • peering over glasses • taking glasses off — cleaning • putting earpiece of glasses in mouth • pipe smoker gestures • putting hand to bridge of nose • pursed lips • far-off stare • furrowed brow line • pouting • playing with hair

SUSPICION : arms crossed • sideways glance • touching or rubbing nose • rubbing eyes • hands resting on weapon • narrowed eyes • downward brow line • Shaking head • frowning • fake smile • keeping distance

OPENNESS   &   COOPERATION : open hands • upper body in sprinters position • relaxed sitting • sitting on edge of chair • hand - to - face gestures • unbuttoned coat • tilted head • sitting up straight • hands folded in lap • agreeable nods •  sort touches  • laughing and swaying

CONFIDENCE : hands behind back • hands of lapels of coat • steepled hands • chin tilted upward • shoulders back • hand(s) on hip(s) • Looking down nose •  hair tossing • rubbing over own body • bright smug smiles • shoulder shimmies • Ozzing sex appeal • sitting in someone’s lap • Touching someone’s ears •  Devil may care attitude • one raised eyebrow •

INSECURITY   &   ANXIETY : chewing pen or pencil • rubbing thumb over opposite thumb • biting fingernails • hands in pockets • elbow bent / closed gestures • clearing throat •   “ whew ” sound • picking or pinching flesh • fidgeting in chair • hand covering mouth whilst speaking • poor eye contact • tugging at pants whilst seated • jingling money in pockets • tugging at ear • perspiring hands •playing with hair • swaying • playing with pointer / marker • smacking lips • sighing • hand wringing • pulling hair • jiggling leg • Fingers curling and uncurling• Fists clenching • pouty • Snappish in retort • pacing • nervous laughter •  inappropriate smiling and laughing • eagerness to leave •  walking away mid conversation • Don’t touch me

FRUSTRATION : short breaths • “ tsk ” sound • tightly clenched hands • fist - like gestures • closing eyes • pointing index finger • rubbing hand through hair • rubbing back of neck • snarling • grinding teeth • clenched jaw • finger drumming • rolling neck •“huffed” sigh • face in hands • running hand down face • pinching bridge of nose • forgetting to breathe right • holding back from hurting things/person[s]• silent crying • screaming • lots of fucking screaming • pushing hair back from face •

GRIEF: Silent crying • choked up • curl into fetal position • tremble • difficulty swallowing • Shaking • loud sobbing • turning away • hide face •

DESIRE: Flirting • winking • wide eye’d [ to take more in] • dilated pupils • crossing legs • touching self in provocative places • finding ways to touch someone else • soft smiles • lip licking • back arching • possessive speech • invading personal space • innuendo littered speech patterns • Lap Sitting • ego catering • whispers • glancing over shoulder with eye contact • holding eye contact • Hiccuping with turned on •

Tagged By: A little Wildbirdie ! Tagging: You !

[sanctified-sanctuary]

Muse Preferences

( Jekyll )

favorite fruit(s) : pomegranates favorite activity(ies) : people watching on Earth, pack hunting, teasing Adora, underground nightlife favorite flower(s) : spider lilies favorite season(s) : fall favorite insect(s) : N/A, he never saw many in hell and has little interest in those of the mortal planes favorite animal(s) : redbelly snakes favorite gem(s) : dragon garnet favorite time of day : twilight

( Adora )

favorite fruit(s) : nectarines favorite activity(ies) : going to underground raves, teasing Jekyll, club dancing, sleeping in the sun favorite flower(s) : calla lilies favorite season(s) : spring favorite insect(s) : pink saturn moth, moon moths in general favorite animal(s) : hounds favorite gem(s) : moonstone favorite time of day : twilight

( Hunter )

favorite fruit(s) : pomegranates, tart apples favorite activity(ies) : reading, practicing witchcraft, detailing their grimoire, writing lyrics favorite flower(s) : lavender, foxglove, deadly nightshade favorite season(s) : winter favorite insect(s) : bit of an entomophobe, but orchid mantis if they had to choose favorite animal(s) : rabbits and hares favorite gem(s) : lavender jade favorite time of day : dawn

( Zeke )

favorite fruit(s) : figs, persimmons, they're as close to what he ate in his home plane as he can get now favorite activity(ies) : writing music and performing, clubbing with Adora, resting with Hunter, hunting with Jekyll favorite flower(s) : white roses, bleeding-hearts favorite season(s) : summer favorite insect(s) : white angel moth favorite animal(s) : cats favorite gem(s) : sunstone favorite time of day : late morning

Tagged by ⋆♱⋅⟡⋅♱⋆ @hopeharmed ⋆♱⋅⟡⋅♱⋆ {absolutely ages ago ily tho)

[fantasycorrupted-a]

A VERY DESCRIPTIVE PROFILE OF YOUR MUSE. Repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc. if you fail to achieve some of the facts, add some other of your own!

NAME: Zira

NICKNAME: none

TITLE(S): Zira of the Moonlight (as she was known in her village - because she has high charisma & charisma is 'intuition reflected outward, like the moon reflects sunlight' [quote not mine])

AGE: 200

SPECIES: Fae

SEX: Female

NATIONALITY: None

INTERESTS: Botany, biology, chemistry, travelling, culture, ecology

PROFESSION: druid

BODY TYPE: athletic

EYES: green

HAIR: white

SKIN: light green

FACE: oval

POSTURE: graceful, poised

HEIGHT: 5'0"/152 cm

VOICE: soprano, silvery (clear, light, pleasant), singsong

SIGNATURE OUTFIT: a green dress; depending on weather/season it's either a linen sleeveless dress or long-sleeved and thicker for warmth. also, earrings and a necklace made of flowers in resin

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: none

COMPANIONS: a Welsh Corgi (name tba)

ANTAGONISTS: anyone who is destructive to nature; anyone who is mean to animals; anyone who ridicules her and/or generally the fae for their insect features; anyone who makes fun of her height; the unseelie court (just in general)

STRENGTHS: open-minded, curious, caring

WEAKNESSES: moody, unpredictable, chaotic

FRUITS: her favorites are plums, grapes, cherries, figs and watermelons, but she'll eat anything there is, really

DRINKS: mango lassi, hot cocoa, fruit juice, tea, water

ALCOHOLIC BEVERAGES: mead, (mulled) wine [consumed sparingly]

SMOKES: no

DRUGS: has tried patch and fizz/fizz-cola. will often drink fizz.

DRIVER'S LICENSE: has no need for one as she has the ability to fly

tagged by: stolen from @paleobird

tagging: @the-expatriate @redemptioninchaos @heartxshaped-bruises and anyone (else) who feels like it!

[smallergcd]

things your muse will notice about mine. ( repost, don't reblog. )

what they look like : his golden-blond curly hair stands out the most. It is fluffy but tamed, making sure that it and therefore he looks put-together. He is also quite pale but you would have to study him carefully to be alarmed by this. Outfit-wise, Alfred generally wears white, grey and beige a lot, still carrying some of his Victorian style. He also likes to wear golden rings but takes off any jewelry when he is working.

what they smell like : clay, mainly, but also paint, a bit of smoke and the faint metallic notes of blood. Though when he leaves his studio, he also likes to apply some kind of fresh, green perfume and therefore often smells of lotus, green tea or fig. His clothes are also always clean, so he most likely smells of detergent.

what they taste like: there is always the lingering taste of blood because that is pretty much the only thing in his system and something he needs to drink often to survive. He also sometimes smokes a pipe but the taste vanishes quickly afterwards. Back when he was still human, he would also taste of fruit pastries.

what they sound like: he has a very pleasant light voice because he arranged his own vocal cords to his liking, which also means that he is a good singer. He has a soft Bavarian accent when he speaks and tries to sound as polite as possible, never feeling a need to raise his voice or sound brash.

what they feel like: generally he feels very cold to the touch considering his body does not produce warmth. His hands are also oddly smooth, even though he spends a lot of time working with them. But if he ends up touching someone, they are hit by this subtle and yet bizarre feeling, almost as if their bones shy away from his grasp.

tagging: whoever hasn't done this yet! (:

[innocencel0st]

things your muse will notice about mine. ( repost, don't reblog. )

what they look like : petite and therefore underestimated. She's stronger than she looks. Years of cheerleading has built up her strength and while she doesn't have defined abs or anything like that, she's got lean muscle. Even Survivor Tatum stays fit and strong through yoga and pilates. Bleached blonde as a teenager, but she stops bleaching her hair soon after she receives her Doctorate. She's fashionable and stylish, with a preference for warm colors to compliment her paler complexion.

what they smell like : as a teenager, she uses a lot of Bath & Bodyworks body sprays. Cucumber melon, freesia, brown sugar & fig. After college, she graduates to actual perfumes. Designer, of course. Coach Poppy. Marc Jacobs Daisy. Prada Candy Florale.

what they taste like : peach lip gloss and toothpaste. even as an adult, Tatum wears very little makeup, if any. When she does, its for special occasions. But she always has her peach lip gloss on.

what they sound like : confident. Its rare that Tatum is at a loss for words. She's witty and clever. She says what's on her mind, but she's not typically rude about it. She enunciates well and speaks clearly. her voice isn't too high, but she doesn't have a low voice either. She can get loud without realizing it, especially in heated moments, but she contributes that to her time as a cheerleader. She can just as easily become quiet, especially during emotionally intense moments.

what they feel like : soft skin and soft hair. As a teenager, Tatum stayed pretty relaxed. As an adult, Survivor Tatum becomes very tense under any kind of touch. The only people who could really get away with touching her without her becoming ultra rigid would be Sidney, Dewey, and her mom. (And maybe @mctives' Stu. We haven't gotten that far yet, but they've held hands and she didn't panic.)

Tagged by: snagged off the dash.

Tagging: everyone.