#believinglies

[spoonietimelordy]

Just found out that there is a French dub remastered of the Cushing film x) so that's what we're watching tonight!

[vindicated-truth]

Rewatching Episode 16 and I am amazed at the level of detail Shim Nayeon had in every scene.

Especially this: when Changjin went into Cheolmun’s house to kill him, he was specifically wearing the same kind of coat Dongsik was wearing that day.

He went to kill Cheolmun for the double-purpose of framing Dongsik for it, and he made sure to sell it believingly: if someone were to have seen him coming in and out of Cheolmun’s house from a distance (or even from the CCTV), it would really seem like it was Dongsik who did it.

Of course, Joowon then ruined his supposedly foolproof plan. But had Joowon not rushed to the scene in Dongsik’s place, Dongsik really would’ve been easily framed.

[mjwiththefangs]

Trickery & Daggers - Chapter 9

In which we tackle arachnophobia. Also on AO3 Masterlist Word count: 4859 Warnings: Biting, arachnophobia, vomiting, knife play

--

“ ‘Vampire spawn, although weaker than the Lords that spawned them, have incredible strength and powers including spider climb. These combined with their affinity with shadows make them a dangerous adversary to face alone.’ Hm, well, fancy that, the little warlock was right.” Astarion reads aloud with a hum. “It would seem that Bastard kept us all starved for more reasons than we knew.”

 The bitterness lances through him, twisting with renewed fury and loathing for the one that turned him and tormented him all these years. So far, the book has been insightful. Not only in teaching him new things about himself, but about other undead also. He had been hoping to find something - anything - to use against Cazador, though so far it's only reiterated what he already knows. Sunlight, silver, a stake through the heart.

 He was amused to discover that lesser zombies will not be hostile if you smell like a corpse. It seems to be unknown if the same is true for greater zombies, being that they only seem to occur alongside necromancers.

 He leafs through the pages, skimming more text and paragraphs on vampires, until he turns another page and raises one brow, curiosity bubbling within him.

 Dhampirs.

 “They’re real?” He murmurs to himself, half-believingly. 

 ‘Often referred to as half-vampires, these creatures are not always the result of a union between a Vampire and a Mortal. ‘

 Now there’s something interesting. He’s assumed dhampirs are such a rarity due to the nigh-impossibiltiy of their conception. But maybe they’re not such an impossibility after all. 

‘Documented instances of dhampiric existence are confirmed but not limited to macabre bargains, necromantic influences and encounters with abstruse immortals.’

 He reads further, torn between amusement and a grimace when he finds that parasites can trigger this transformation through the host indulging its hunger. Well, these tadpoles suddenly have a few more complications or potential consequences. That will make their removal certainly interesting.

 Surely, being a vampire, he’s the only one of the group who is guaranteed to be safe of dhampiric transformation. Although, according to the next page, most studies show that while still sensitive, and in most cases weakened, they can walk in the daylight. Most of the time. The text seems to suggest that it can vary on an individual basis, what traits or powers a dhampir will share with a vampire.

 ‘ Typically, dhampirs can integrate and blend in better than their shadow-sworn kin. ‘

 “Ugh, what an obnoxious way of putting it.” Astarion rolls his eyes and instead returns to reading on what makes such a creature. “... ‘Reincarnation of a vampiric lord ancestor ‘ ? Oh dear, Strahd himself may yet walk among us!” He laughs to himself and then he instantly becomes more sombre, the fun lost, when his eyes fall to the next known cause of transformation.

 ‘Tragedy interrupted the transformation into an immortal.’

He stares accusively at the words for a long moment. His jaw clenches. He snaps the book shut.

Astarion decides he can read more later.

.

 “The sign says Moonhaven.”

“Well, the goblins were calling it Bogrot.”

The jovial chatter between Wyll and Karlach drifts in through the broken doorway of the apothecary.

“There’s a hatch over here. Shall we go down?” Morgana calls, peering over the counter top to the elf flipping through what appears to be a ledger.

 “Hm? Ah. Yes, it sounds like the owner had something hidden in a basement.” He says thoughtfully. Her own curiosity piqued now, she nods, and opens the hatch, descending down the ladder into the dank and stale room below, thankful for her inherited darkvision as she scans around her.

 Astarions boots step noiselessly down the ladder behind her, signalling his arrival. He stalks into the room, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

 “Ugh. It reeks of undead down here.”

 Morgana only hums in agreement. They both search the room, examining books, rummaging through drawers, patting down shelves, until Astarion makes an excited noise and something clunks and drags across the floor behind the bookcase.

 “A secret door.”

 “How cliche.” Morgana says dryly, and he giggles.

 Through the doorway, they find themselves in a cavernous opening, with sunlight leaking through the ceiling, and the thick smell of decay lingering about the coffins.

 Undead.

They exchange a quick glance. Astarion flips his daggers in his hands and crouches low, Morgana’s magic hums to life in her palms, and she takes aim, and nods.

…

 It doesn't take them long, going one by one through each coffin and eliminating the hostile skeletons in each one. Morgana checks all the remains, looting any valuables, while Astarion brushes any remaining bone dust from his clothes with apparent disdain.

 She can hear him muttering under his breath and rolls her eyes, hiding her smile, and wanders deeper into the cavern, halting when she spots something catching the light.

 “Astarion! Over here.”

 When he joins her, she gestures to the shining surface. It takes them longer than either would like to admit to realise they’re looking into a mirror.

 “I keep forgetting your reflection just disappears.” He clicks his tongue.

 She shrugs, scanning the silvery surface. “Honestly it’s rather pleasant to not be the only individual without one.”

 Before he can retort, a presence surges to life within the glass surface, a featureless mask, its hollow voice echoing out.

 “Speak thy na-me.”

Morgana lifts her chin, thinking, and slowly answers “Morgana.”

“I do not kno-w this name. Tell me, are thee an ally of my ma-ster?”

She grimaces and purses her lips.

 How about this…

“I know your master, Ilyn Toth.” She’d found a journal in the other room and quickly skimmed it. He was a former Red Wizard, although he only spoke of ‘Bringing her back.’

 “Ha. Clever little Warlock.” Astarion mutters his approval and she smirks to herself, pleased.

 “Fin-ally. If thee could see any-thing in me, what would it be?”

 Morgana pauses, folding her arms across her chest. What would she want to see in this mirror?

 “...I'd see myself free of this worm.”

“You se-ek to surv-ive.” The voice in the mirror seems pleased with her answer, and without much more to say, it dissipates, allowing the pair access to what appears to be a lab.

 Morgana lifts her chin in wonder, eyeing the large aquatic-looking skeleton hanging from the ceiling and glancing over the various apparatus and discarded, long rotten body parts, now mere bones, littered about the space.

 “What is all th-”

 She squawks indignantly, suddenly jerked back and flails her arms to keep balance. The warlock whirls on the vampire, incredulous, only for him to level her with an unimpressed stare.

“Traps.” He deadpans, pointing, without looking, right where Morgana was about to step. Her face burns briefly with a flash of embarrassment, but she clears her throat, regains her footing and mutters a thanks.

 She can feel his smug eyes on her as she carefully steps around the room, minding her footing this time, and approaches a locked gate.

 Her brows lower into a frown. There’s something magic in there; very old, and very powerful. Grasping at the bars, she tugs.

 It doesn’t budge.

 She clicks her tongue in annoyance. Turning, she reaches into her pockets, fishing out a lockpick and pin. A huff sounds over her shoulder.

 “You can’t pick a lock.”

 Morgana just rolls her eyes, carefully poking around in the lock with the tools. Unblinking, she mutters back “I can pick a pocket, can’t I?”

 “Yes, and you didn’t notice your own pocket getting picked by yours truly.” Astarion counters. “Just move over and let me do it before-”

 The tool snaps, a loud click echoing through the room.

 Morgana sheepishly turns her head up to him, Astarion glaring firmly at her. Relenting, she shuffles over without a word and he swoops down, peering into the lock and then immediately scoffs.

 “You’ve jammed the lock, darling.”

“You… can’t unjam it?” She asks meekly.

 He rises back to his feet, hands on his hips, exasperated. “No. I can’t. It's one thing to break a tool, it's another to break the damn lock in such a distinctly unhelpful manner.” He flaps his arms. “Now we can’t get in there and find what treasure they might have been hiding.”

“You’re incredibly petulant, you know that?” She says dryly, earning another glare. If he were a cat, his tail would be lashing in silent fury. “Look, maybe i can just blast the door,”

 “No. It’s trapped. You really are no good at spotting these things, are you?” 

 She throws her head back at his mocking tone, swallowing her own irritation, when she spots something.

 “Hey…”

 The vampire ignores her, skulking away already.

“Astarion?”

 He stops with a stomp. “What?”

“Did you read that book? The one I gave you?”

She can feel his intense gaze on her, puzzling over her. In her peripheral, he follows her gaze and looks up. The bars reach almost to the high ceilings, but there, near the top, there is a gap.

 “What are you thinking?” He asks, releasing a long sigh.

 “Can you spider climb?”

 “Ugh, this again-”

“Astarion have you even tried?” She levels him with a firm stare and he falters.

“Well, no-”

“Are you hungry?”

He freezes. Slowly meeting her eyes with some lingering trepidation.

He really is like a cat.

“Do you think you could do it if you feed?”

 His eyes dart to the barely-healed marks on her neck and she ignores the zip that his heated look sends up her spine.

 The vampire pauses, considering. “I would be willing to try it.” He says slowly, a silent question in his words.

 Oh. She had expected this, of course. But somehow, it still makes her flush.

She swallows.

 “You… You can feed on me, if you like.”

 His gaze darkens. He steps closer.

Bergamot.

 “If you’re sure, darling.” His voice is low and rough.

Rosemary.

She nods, resisting the urge to bite her lip. He taps a finger under her chin, tilting her face and leaning down.

Brandy.

“Use your words.” His breath ghosts over her skin.

 “Yes.” she whispers, and then his lips brush against her throat, hesitating for a heartbeat, allowing her this moment to change her mind. She holds still, only tipping her head to give him easier access.

 He hums his approval, gentle hands brushing her hair away, and then she gasps as his fangs sink into her neck, arms gripping her tight.

 Like the first time, it’s like ice, chilling and then numbing. Then it feels like she's floating. Her hands wind into his embroidered doublet, holding tight in an attempt to keep herself grounded while his arms snake around and hold her tightly, pressing her body against his and winding his fist into her violet locks.

 It feels… nice. Intimate, maybe. 

 She hears a soft groaning noise from her companion. Then a small moan. Heat sparks through her, even as her fingers start to grow cold.

 He’s been starving for years, she reminds herself, firmly, Of course he’ll enjoy a fresh meal. Although the thought of being meal did nothing for the heat rising to her cheeks.

 He drinks deeply, pulling her lifeblood into himself, savouring each mouthful, and right as her knees begin to go weak, he draws himself back.

 Those intense rubies bore into her, his face still so close. He drags his tongue over the wound, chasing the last drops of her blood, a final pleased groan escaping him, and a soft breathy whine leaves her lips unbidden.

 He looks more alive; there is a faint colour to his cheeks and the tips of his ears are tinted pink. He almost looks like he could be blushing.

 They stay that way for perhaps a moment too long, his arms slow as they release her, moving to her shoulders in an attempt to steady her. The whole time his eyes don't leave hers.

 He must be able to hear the erratic beat of her heart, she’s sure, and maybe she’s a little mortified. It is Morgana who looks away first, mumbling under her breath about the trail of red from the corner of his mouth.

 The vampire suddenly recoils back, as though uncomfortable with her proximity. His tongue darts out to lick up the stray line of blood and the tips of his ears flush a deeper pink.

 “I-” He clears his throat, regaining his composure, “thank you.”

 His attention pointedly turns to the wall, doubt still etched on his features.

 She watches him, wryly, trying to calm her racing pulse and quickly knocks back a healing potion, and gestures with the same hand towards the wall.

 “Well?”

He pouts - actually pouts at her - his mouth twisting into a grimace. “Are we sure spawn can just - walk on walls?”

 “Oh for the love of-” Morgana sighs deeply, one hand now cupping her neck and again waves the bottle as she speaks. “If it fails, I promise to catch you, ok?”

 One silver brow quirks up, and while he clearly still has his doubts, he resigns himself and tentatively places one foot on the wall.

 Then the other.

 She watches his face morph with surprise, and notes just how round his eyes are when he’s not frowning or flirting. It doesn’t take him long to get the hang of it, some excitement lighting his features as he scurries up the surface, over the bars and deftly snatches something from a pedestal on the other side.

 He returns moments later, hopping down in front of her and brandishing an aged ugly book. She cocks her head.

 “Can I see that?”

 Reluctantly, he hands it over.

 Malevolent magic oozes from the book, two large amethyst eyes on the cover boring into her soul, the wide gaping mouth with its uneven teeth appearing like a trapped scream. The book does not open. But the magic from it resonates in the air. She can feel its putrid pull, back out of the basement and not too far away.

 “There’s some sort of key nearby…” She mumbles, tracing her fingers over the leathery cover. 

 Astarion straightens beside her.

 “Well. We better go find it then.”

.

“There’s something down there?” Wyll peers over the edge of the well, eyeing the depths quizzically. “Are you sure?”

 Honestly, no, she wants to answer, but she can feel that chill touch of magic, the traces luring her down into the well.

 Her lips purse in thought.

 “Try throwing a gold piece down, we'll soon know what's at the bottom then.” She reasons. Astarion makes a disgruntled noise behind her.

 “A copper piece.” She amends. Karlach snickers.

 Wyll, good-natured as always, acquiesces in her request.

 The coin clinks down the well and makes a distinct thump shortly after.

 “It’s empty.” Wyll exclaims, “and not deep either.”

 They all look to her, and Morgana peers over the edge, noting iron rungs in the stone bricks. Steeling herself, she tugs her sleeves over her hands, swings her legs over the edge, and begins the climb down.

 It is dank and dark in the bottom of the well, the sounds of skittering in the distance make her skin crawl, but the magic pull is stronger here. Once again, she is grateful for her darkvision.

 And quickly remembers that at least one of her companions may not be able to see in the dark.

“Wyll,” she keeps her voice low, quiet, wary of the sounds echoing around them, “can you see alright?”

 By the tentative steps he takes to crouch beside her, she would wager that, no, he can't.

“Not as far as the rest of you, but I shall manage.” He responds.

 Karlach and Astarion come to crouch beside them, opposite in their countenance, Astarion’s stealth barely undermined by the soft glow of Karlachs engine.

“Stay close” Morgana tells him, the group steadily working their way into the cave as she follows the tug of necromancy and insatiable curiosity.

 She’s so absorbed in tracing the magic, not taking note of her surroundings, barring the chittering noises sending shivers up her spine, that she stumbles and her foot catches in a strange cocoon.

It’s only then, Wyll diving to help her, Astarion drawing his bow and Karlach brandishing her axe, that she notices the cobwebs surrounding them.

 Panic begins to swell in her chest, and she tugs her foot while Wyll slices through the cocoon. 

 Skittering sounds close in around them, the group staying tightly together. A shadow moves along the wall and Morgana swallows a shriek.

 Her leg finally free, she scrambles to her feet, hands crackling with power, but Wyll grasps her wrist. “The light will attract them.” He whispers, raising his rapier, then turns his head, concentrating, relying on his hearing over his limited vision.

 “Let’s just find this key, and hurry up and get out of here.” Astarion hisses.

 Morgana nods vehemently, squashing her magic down and tempering her impulse.

 Karlach hangs back, axe at the ready, maintaining steady breaths in an attempt to keep her flames down. They inevitably have to squash a couple of ettercaps, Astarion and Morgana hanging back with arrows and suppressed Eldritch Blasts, Wyll fighting alongside Karlach in her flamed fury, cleaving through them, and the few larger spiders that inevitably draw near.

 It seems for a moment as though no more are coming. 

 Until skittering noises rush close and Morgana almost screams.

 If not for the cool hand clapped over her mouth, and yanking her back into the shadows, out of sight. Her heart hammers in her chest, the worm suddenly squirming and Astarion’s voice whispers into her mind at the time as her back is flattened against him.

 “Keep. Still.”

She does. She doesn’t dare to move. Fear spikes through her and she holds her breath.

 Slowly, slowly, the sounds fade, and Astarion releases her, and she gasps, her hands trembling. She whirls to face him, and his eyes drop down. Confused, her own eyes follow to the blade in her trembling hand.

 It’s the first time she’s unsheathed her dagger since waking up on the beach.

 She drops it as though it burns her.

 They both stare at the ornate dagger for a moment, before she snatches it up and quickly re-sheaths it.

 “Th… Thank you.” She says. She brushes herself off, avoiding looking at the vampire, even as his questioning eyes linger, instead scanning for their two horned companions, spotting them a little ways away, wiping off their weapons.

 She waves them over.

 “I don’t think it's far now. Let’s just get this over with.”

 They follow behind her as she follows the trail. Around a corner, she spots it; a pulsing purple gem, seeping with necromancy. 

 But then, just above it, her eyes land on the largest spider she’s ever seen in her life, and all of its many eyes land on her.

 “♐︎◆︎♍︎🙵♓︎■︎♑︎ ♒︎♏︎●︎●︎⬧︎!” She swears in sylvan, and unleashes an eldritch blast.

.

The arachnid matriarch is dead. It must be. Morgana has unloaded three more blasts to its foetid corpse, and when she’s finally certain the bug is definitely dead, she spins on her heels, trips, and unceremoniously heaves, emptying her stomach's contents.

 “Ugh, charming…” 

Without looking, she flips off the grimacing vampire.

 “You doing ok over there, soldier?”

 Morgana retches again, unable to answer Karlach right away, hands now braced on her knees. The warmth from Karlachs hands hovers just over back, offering what little comfort she can without burning her.

 Coughing and gagging, Morgana takes a deep breath, filling her lungs, and finally straightens herself up.

 “Thanks Karlach, I just -” She gulps down another deep breath, this time reaching for her water skin, “I just really hate spiders.”

Wyll guffaws a laugh and quickly covers it with a cough, though his expression still shines with thinly-veiled amusement. Karlach grins.

 “Well! Let’s get out of here and get you some fresh air, eh!”

 She nods her agreement, noting that the purple gem is no longer on the floor, but she can still sense its power looming from the pale elf innocuously dusting himself off and with a minute shake of her head, she trails after Karlach towards the exit.

.

The fresh air does wonders for Morgana’s lingering nausea. Not so much for the clammy uncomfortable feeling of her padded armour sticking to her skin. She wrinkles her nose in distaste.

 “Have we searched all the buildings here?” She asks aloud, turning her head to Karlach. 

 “There’s a few older houses over here, they had some new-looking chests in them.”

 They both turn their heads expectantly to Astarion. Morgana’s mouth twitches into a sly grin.

 “You did say that I can't pick a lock earlier.”

He scowls. “Fine! But if there’s anything valuable, I want the first pick.”

 She chuckles and nods, and so that's how Astarion ends up lockpicking several trunks and chests, making unimpressed quips about how a few had nothing of value, finally stalking off with a huff to find Wyll when he’s done.

 Morgana and Karlach rummage through the chests. She picks a plain looking trunk, and unceremoniously upturns it, emptying its contents, when a flash of violet catches her eye. The half-elf pauses. The trunk did seem new, and it had been sealed, and there’s no musty smell emanating from the garment when she picks it up and examines it.

 “... Hey, Karlach?”

 “Hm?” The tiefling’s head pops up.

 “The area is clear now, right? We can take a break?”

“We cleared out goblins yesterday and now with those beasties today, i don’t see why not -”

 “Good. Keep watch for me for a moment.” Morgana interrupts and quickly strips herself of her padded armour, yanking it over her head and discarding it, ignoring the fresh air on her clammy skin and squirms into the new item, tugging it down. 

 “Holy shit. Your tits look great in that!” Karlach exclaims and Morgana bursts out laughing, smoothing her hands over the corset-esque top and flushing at the sight of her rather ample cleavage.

 “Hells, they don't look too showy, do they?” She laughs nervously.

 Karlach beams at her. “If you've got it, may as well show it off! Though I have to wonder where you've been hiding them!”

Morgana flushes, laughing awkwardly. The garment really does emphasise her assets. She was already somewhat well-endowed, and now, 

 “I look like I’m displaying goods for sale…”

“You look great!” Karlach chortles, “Now come on, Wyll will have lunch ready!”

…

Their lunch should have been uneventful. Or at least, it would have been not for their unwelcome visitor.

 “A devil?! It's bad enough we have worms in our heads, and now there’s a devil after us?!” Astarion splutters.

 “You can’t trust a word he says -” Karlach starts, ferociously.

“There is no good to come of dealing with a devil!” Wyll asserts.

“Let’s just get back to the others,” Morgana reasons, gathering up their things, and ushering them back to camp.

 The whole way, both Wyll and Karlach urge caution with Raphael, the newly acquainted devil in question, each recounting their own less-than-stellar experiences with devils and fiends. 

She allows the pair to take charge in recounting the meeting when they reunite with the rest of their camp. Although first, Lae’zel assess Morgana’s new clothes with the exacting opinion she’s come to expect.

 “This outfit offers no protection. You may not wield a sword, but you still join us in battle.” The warrior assesses, “Although. It certainly adds to your charm. You look… nice.”

 Morgana is briefly taken aback. Regardless, she thanks the warrior, who merely nods her reply and briskly adds that she expects Morgana to join her in weapons training soon, to which Morgana insists she will practise in preparation.

 After today, having to temper her powers to minimise discovery, perhaps she does need to be able to use her weapon when magic is out of the question.

On that note, the warlock glances around, noting her companions in deep discussion regarding the devil. All barring one.

 She knows where to find him, because despite his stealth, he still has the gem on his person and she can follow the magic emanating from it.

 The vampire is sitting beside the river, just on the bank, away from the camp. She approaches him quietly, and when he briefly acknowledges her presence without asking her to leave, she sits beside him.

 They stay in silence for a while, and she wonders when he changed into his camp clothes, watching him observe the river flowing by.

 The half-elf speaks first.

 “So, you might be needing a creepy skin-bound book to go with that eerie jewel in your pocket.”

 His mouth quirks up, amused. “I don’t know what you mean, darling. This is a perfectly good eerie jewel all on its own, don’t you agree?” He produces the amethyst with a flourish, side-eyeing her, and with a flick of his dexterous wrist, it disappears again.

She shakes her head with a smile. “You seemed interested in it, so I left it in your tent on my way by. Just. Be careful. Necromancy is powerful stuff.”

 He scoffs, waving her off. “Oh please, darling, it might have something helpful for an undead like myself. I’d be a fool to pass up that kind of power.”

 She just shrugs, turning back to the river.

 After another beat, she asks him, “Will you spar with me?”

 “Teach you a few little tricks, you mean?” He says suggestively.

 “Honestly, you are such a flirt.”

 “Only with you, you sweet, generous thing.” His silken admission ignites a spark under her skin, and he smirks knowingly.

 In a blink, he rises with all the grace and skill of a practised performer, flicking a dagger free from his waist. Morgana rises to her own feet, inelegantly, and fidgets with her rings, blinking up at Astarion.

 Pointedly, he looks at her still-sheathed blade at her hip. 

“Nach tarraing thu d’airm?” [Will you not draw your weapon?]

She bites her lip. She swallows. Her eyes dart away.

 “Could I borrow one of yours? Mas e do thoil e?” [please?]

 Astarion hums, considering and tilting his chin. “Alright,” he concedes, “dèan gàire orm an uairsin. Carson nach cleachd thu am biodag?” [Humor me then. Why don't you use the dagger?]

 He tosses his blade to her, and she stumbles to catch it, having been mentally translating his Elvish question. He comes at her quickly, swinging a blade with careful precision, and she jerks backwards, thrusting the borrowed blade up with both hands to defend.

 The vampire clicks his tongue, effortlessly batting her away, and holding his own under her chin.

 Just how many times is he going to get a knife to my throat?

He’s watching her expectantly.

She swallows and her throat bobs against the tip of the blade as she does. She licks her lips, readying the words. She speaks slowly, disjointed.

 “B’ e a’ chiad mharbhadh a bh’ agam. Rinn mi na bha agam ri dhèanamh.” [It was my first kill. I did what I had to.]

 Keen red eyes blink with interest.

 “Your pronunciation is awful, darling.” He sighs dramatically, “and your form is simply terrible. A bheil fios agad eadhon mar a chumas tu lann?” [Do you even know how to hold a blade?]

Shame colours her cheeks. “No.” She mutters, momentarily deflating. Then she stands up straighter and squares her shoulders, determined.

“Sin as coireach gu bheil mi ag iarraidh ort teagasg dhomh.” [That’s why I’m asking you to teach me.]

“Better.” His fangs catch the light with his grin. He raises his hand, demonstrating. “Like this, darling.”

 He gives her a moment, watching how those silver eyes scrutinise his hold, his grip, and then she mimics him. She nods. He rushes her again, but this time, she manages to deflect. It’s sloppy, he notes, but with a bit more practice, she can parry effectively.

 “Tha thu nad neach-ionnsachaidh luath.” [You’re a fast learner.]

Her face lights up at his praise. She’s actually enjoying herself. Elvish is much easier to speak when she doesn’t have the time to think about it, she discovers. As for wielding a dagger, it takes concentration, and practice, and by the end of their little training session, she’s more capable of defending herself. And speaking more naturally in Elvish. A double lesson.

 Despite how much skin she has exposed, his blade has not touched her skin once, though, she supposes, Astarion is just that skilled with a blade. It was intentional that he didn't catch or nick her.

 She hands his dagger back to him, chest heaving as she catches her breath. He gives her that signature smirk, taking it back with a thanks.

“You never mentioned that you can speak silvan.”

 Oh? 

“I didn’t.” She answers levelly.

“How is it that a little half-human like yourself is fully fluent in silvan, but not elvish?” He folds his arms, tilting his head with curiosity.

 Morgana laughs breathily. “Fae stuff.”

“Well darling, you shall simply have to tell me more next time we have one of these little… study sessions.” 

 She smiles filled with mirth and amusement. “It’s a date.”

[peppizza-au]

Theodore is that one's name, it seems? He seems like a nice young man. I am sure the pizzeria is in good hands while Peppino is gone! (ㅇㅅㅇ❀)

Yours Believingly, Bunny Anon

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

by Joel Beeke | Faith speaks of believing and trusting. Trusting is acting upon belief. For example, we can believe that a plank over a stream will hold our weight. Actually walking over the plank reveals our trust. True faith is trusting my life with all its cares in God’s hands. Do I believe that the Lord knows what is best for me, or that I know best? Do I become upset and distrust God when I fear that He will not do things my way, or am I upset and distrust myself when I do not do…

[starkslove101]

CHAPTER 21: “The Prince of Rescue”

A/N: Here's chapter 21 of my story. Please Like, Repost or comment.

Tony.

Two months have passed since Ransom was taken. We had no idea where she was or if she was still alive. My eyes were burning from staring at my computer screen for so long. I was on my third cup of coffee. I was trying to stay awake but my body was fighting me.

Ransom's father appeared behind me. He placed his hand on my shoulder. “Son, you should rest your eyes,” he said. Ransom's father had been here ever since she disappeared. He was determined to find her. “I’ll be here to wake you when something happens. You can ask your computer ehm” he pointed to the ceiling. “Jeeves?” he said uncertain as to what name my A.I. had.

“I can’t” I sighed. I felt overwhelmed by emotions and I thought of only closing my eyes for a second. All I could see was her. I missed her and I couldn’t fathom seeing her. I couldn’t stand the idea of her being in pain and me not being able to do anything about it.

“Please, sleep. You’re of no use to her when you’re going crazy because of sleep deprivation” he pleaded. I sighed as I sobbed. Ahmed had a sorry look on his face as he sighed and placed a hand on my shoulder. “We will find her” He reassured me, patting the back of my head slowly. “She’s still alive, I can feel it,” he said. “I’ve felt it for centuries” I looked up at him. His eyes were hopeful as he grabbed my shoulder tightly. I nodded believingly, trying to keep the hope.

Ahmed sat down at the office chair next to me as he took my cup of coffee away from me. “Sleep” he ordered, reminding me of my father. But again wasn’t so patient with me. I laid my head down on my desk. It wasn’t the best position for me to sleep in. But I was too tired to care. I drifted off into a deep sleep.

It was merely a few hours later when someone woke me up abruptly. I sat upright and wiped my face confused. “What’s going on?” I looked up at Ahmed who was looking at the computer screens trying to figure something out as they were beeping uncontrollably.

“The alarms you set months ago finally went off. A high temperature has been spotted right at the edge of the city” Ahmed said, his voice chirpy. I immediately felt awake and sat upright.

“Are you sure it’s her?” I asked, skeptical Ahmed nodded Yes.

“Look at the reading, not even a building on fire burns at this high of a temperature” The thermometer spiked red at the levels it was picking up. Hope was swelling in my chest. I think we might’ve found her.

“J.A.R.V.I.S. pinpoint the exact location for me” I commanded.

“Yes sir” he answered as I ran to get my suit. No one was going to stop me now from bringing her back home. She has suffered long enough.

It wasn’t long before we touched down at the edge of town. A vacant lot that used to belong to the Roxxon Energy Corporation. As we were about to storm into the building, Thor touched down.

Both Ahmed and I stopped in our tracks as the ground shook on Thors’ Impact. A Bright light touched down with him as he came down but disappeared as soon as he landed.

He turned and we locked eyes as I cocked my head to the side. “We have to get her out of there,” he said, his voice deep and his accent thick.

The building was starting to collapse as a circle of white and orange light engulfed it. People were running out in fear, screaming their lungs out. She was definitely in there. “It’s now or never,” Ahmed said. His suit appeared on his body like it was eating him. I used it as Nano-technology.

“Well, Let’s go then” The face of my helmet fell as my suit booted up. J.A.R.V.I.S. pinpointed where the energy surge came from. We burst into the building, trying to avoid falling on us.

“Mr. Stark the building's integrity is failing” J.A.R.V.I.S. stated. I rolled my eyes as I flew up the second floor of the building. All three of us touched down in the room where Ransom was being held. The floor was shaking and we all had trouble holding our balance.

Ransom's eyes were a bright light, fully covering her beautiful brown ones. Her body was convulsing, It looked like she was in pain. I took my helmet off, truly worried for her. There was some electromagnetic field surrounding her, that protected her from the debris falling. “What do we do?” I yelled. “I can’t get through” Ahmed looked at me and nodded.

“I can” his hands turned into a fiery bright orange. I put his hands through the barrier with ease, breaking it. Ransoms’ eyes closed. Her body stopped convulsing as she fell out of the thing that was holding her. I was so shocked about what was happening, that I couldn’t move.

Thor leaped forward and caught her before she fell. He scooped her up and walked out of the building with her in his arms. It felt like my body was frozen, I couldn’t believe it was her. I’ve missed her for so long and I couldn’t even move my body.

“Stark! We have to go” Ahmed yelled, pulling me out of my fear-induced slump. I shook my head and flew out of the building, as the building finally collapsed. All of us watched everything fall into dust. Ahmed, placed his hand on my shoulder, Thor was holding Ransom tight. Now that I took a good look at her, her body was fully covered with blisters and burn scars. Her body was shaking like she was cold.

What the hell did they do to her?

Next part

[davidphillipsknew]

MYY BN SHEET MYY BRAND NEW SHEETS MILKS

To put a mouth where the money was locating.

[yhwhrulz]

Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening" Devotional for August 20

Morning

“Henceforth thou shalt catch men.”

When driven from one city Jesus displayed his healing power in another. Ingratitude could not make him cease to bless mankind.

John 4:46-54

John 4:46 , John 4:47

It is a rare sight to see the great ones of the earth coming to Jesus; but they must come as well as the poorest, if they would be blest.

John 4:48 , John 4:49

In his vehement desire he took the rebuke in silence, and then cried out again for mercy.

John 4:50 , John 4:51

Faith and the cure were wrought at the same moment. From Cana to Capernaum, like a flash of lightning, the power to heal travelled the moment that the father believed.

John 4:54

The first dealt with marriage, and the second with children. Jesus is the true “Family Friend.” Parents, believingly go to him for your children! He waits to answer you.

Luke 5:1-11

We now turn to another event which happened about this time.

John 5:5

Whatever may have happened, it is ours to obey, and in obeying we shall meet with a reward.

John 5:8

He felt that he was not fit for such holy company, and expressed the feeling in all simplicity. He was always outspoken.

John 5:9-11

And wonderful man-catchers they became, taking whole nations in their gospel nets. The Lord help all his spiritual fishermen to cast the net on the right side of the ship.

O Lord our God, thy servants bless,

And crown their labours with success;

For they will cast the net in vain

If thou the Spirit dost restrain.

But if thou guide their willing hand,

Obedient to thy wise command,

Then will they bring the sons of men

Back to their Lord and God again.

Evening

“He went about doing good.”

Mark 1:21-39

Mark 1:23-25

Christ would not have praise from the devil, it has an ill savour about it.

Mark 1:26-30

Luke says it was “a great fever,” so that she was too ill to speak for herself. We must tell Jesus of those who do not plead for themselves.

Mark 1:31

Usually a person healed of fever is long in recovering strength, but our Lord’s cures are perfect as well as immediate. Those whom the Lord heals spiritually are sure to be grateful, they minister both to him and to his people. If he serves us, it is but meet that we should serve him.

Mark 1:35

He had much work before him, and therefore desired much communion with God. Press of business should not excuse us from prayer, but rather urge us to have more of it.

Mark 1:36 , Mark 1:37

Simon was always too forward. We shall often meet with interruptions in prayer, even from well-meaning men; therefore let us, like Jesus, get alone and choose early hours.

Mark 1:38 , Mark 1:39

He did not stay to receive honour for his wonderful miracles, but posted on to other fields of labour. Let us also press forward, for we have much to do, and but one short life to do it in.

Matthew 4:23-25

Matthew 4:23

What a blessed mixture, “preaching and healing”! Now-a-days we have them both spiritually in the gospel. He who preaches Jesus is a healer, for that sacred name is medicine.

Matthew 4:24

What a list of maladies, and how sweet the footnote, “and he healed them”!

Matthew 4:25

Well might they do so, since he scattered such priceless boons. Let us follow him in a higher sense, for none are sick in soul who abide in fellowship with him. Walk with “the beloved physician,” and thou shalt no more say “I am sick.”

Copyright Statement This resource was produced before 1923 and therefore is considered in the "Public Domain".

[harry7582]

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[kayodekolade]

If you don’t know what you’re doing, pray to the Father.

He loves to help.

You’ll get his help, and won’t be condescended to when you ask for it.

Ask boldly, believingly, without a second thought.

Asking is proof of our humility.

Asking is proof of his wisdom.

Learn more here.

https://www.kayodekolade.org/post/how-to-live-a-profitable-life

#dearhighperformer #liveaprofitablelife

[getbiblical]

TAKE THE NEXT STEP

What is stopping you from taking that next step? What is it that is making you hold back from boldly moving forward? Is it the size of the task? Is it the doubting of friends and family? Is it the fear of failure? Is it the security of the familiar? There you stand on the doorstep of a great opportunity brilliantly disguised as an impossible situation.

This was the situation of the children of Israel on the edge of entering the Promised Land. In Joshua 3, the Israelites are looking across to Canaan with the River Jordan at flood level standing in their way (Josh. 3:1–17). The river’s edge was becoming a swamp (Josh. 3:15). It seems that God had brought them to the east bank of the River Jordan at a most unpropitious time. The more they looked, the more impossible the crossing seemed. No boats, no bridges, no way!

Faced with this improbable and impossible situation, God tells the Israelites to take a step of faith by following the priests who bear the ark into the river (Josh. 3:11). God promises them that if they will march forward by faith in obedience to Him, then as soon as their feet rest in the waters of the River Jordan, He will dam up the river, enabling them to cross—not unlike the Rea Sea episode (Josh. 3:13–16; Ex. 14:15–16). Trusting God, they did take that next step toward Canaan. As they passed through the waters, God proved that He was with them and for them in a most marvelous way (Isa. 43:2).

Got any rivers you think are uncrossable? Well, this story teaches us that there are no God-sized solutions until we get our feet wet, boldly and believingly taking the next step in what we know to be the will of God for us. Heaven moves to help when we step out in faith to obey. Focusing on the ark—that is, looking to the Lord—is good (Josh. 3:11). Sanctifying yourself—that is, prayerfully preparing—is good (Josh. 3:5). But, these are not enough, for we must also be willing to get our feet wet in bold action (Josh. 3:13). If we are going to do anything for God, and God for us, we must take that first step into the swelling tide, showing our faith to be large and our God to be big. Without faith, it is impossible to please God, and without God, things remain impossible (Heb. 11:6).

In 1994, June and I decided to pack up and leave N. Ireland with our three small daughters for The Master’s Seminary. It was a big and bold move. But God encouraged us with a paraphrase of the words in Proverbs 4:12: “As you go, the way shall open up to you.” As a trustee of that school, God has proved that promise to us in an unbelievable way. But it all started with a step of faith. Go get your feet wet!

[hymnrevival]

ARE YOU EXPECTING? George Mueller 1805-1898 “It is not enough to begin to pray, nor to pray aright; nor is it enough to continue for a time to pray; but we must patiently, believingly continue in prayer, until we obtain an answer; and further, we have not only to continue in prayer unto the end, but we have also to believe that God does hear us, and will answer our prayers. Most frequently we fail in not continuing in prayer until the blessing is obtained and in not expecting the blessing.” https://www.instagram.com/p/CriidDpA-hq/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[yellingintothedarkness]

C. H. Spurgeon

"He will feed His flock like a shepherd. He will carry the lambs in His arms, holding them close to His heart. He will gently lead the mother sheep with their young." Isaiah 40:11

Who is He of whom such gracious words are spoken? He is the Good Shepherd.

Why does He carry the lambs in His arms, holding them close to His heart? Because He has a tender heart, and any weakness in them at once melts His heart. The sighs, the ignorance, the feebleness of the little ones of His flock--draw forth His compassion. It is His office, as a faithful High Priest, to consider the weak. Besides, He purchased them with blood--they are His property. He must and will care for those who cost Him so dear.

"I am the Good Shepherd. The Good Shepherd lays down His life for the sheep!" John 10:11

Then, He is responsible for each lamb, bound by covenant engagements not to lose one. Moreover, they are all a part of His glory and reward.

But how may we understand the expression, "He will carry them"?

  Sometimes He carries them by not permitting them to endure much trial. Providence deals tenderly with them.

  Often they are carried by being filled with an unusual degree of love, so that they bear up and stand fast. Though their knowledge may not be deep--they have great sweetness in what they do know.

  Frequently He carries them by giving them a very simple faith--which takes the promises just as they stand, and believingly runs with every trouble straight to Jesus! The simplicity of their faith gives them an unusual degree of confidence, which carries them above the world.

"He will carry the lambs in His arms, holding them close to His heart!"

Here is boundless affection. Would He hold them close to His heart, if He did not love them much?

Here is tender nearness. So near are they, that they could not possibly be nearer.

Here is hallowed familiarity. Here are precious love-passages between Christ and His weak ones.

Here is perfect safety. In His bosom who can hurt them? They must hurt the Shepherd first. "I give them eternal life, and they will never perish--ever! No one will snatch them out of My hand!" John 10:28

Here is perfect rest and sweetest comfort. Surely we are not sufficiently sensible of the infinite tenderness of Jesus!

[heighes]

* @ledieu 〞you're alive. 〞

〞day five thousand and something. 〞 an episode of quick maths on that will show me up as a tween though my body and brain keenly dictate that i am not. being alive, however, it doesn't prove quite so believingly unless the uncanny valley is on pause and hughie dey as a reanimated corpse works. eyebags for days and a flailing gait to beat, disjointed arms and legs that act like it's their first day on the job: it begs to be questioned. 〞mum said i look as bad as i did last week. it takes me forever to get over a cold but reality calls. 〞

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

by W. Robert Godfrey | God says to us today, as He said to Israel of old and says to every generation of His people: “O Israel, if you would but listen to me!” Let us pray that the Holy Spirit will open ears in our churches and throughout our land. And let us listen carefully and believingly. Such listening…

[twinkle-littlestar24]

„If you don’t know what you’re doing, pray to the Father. He loves to help. You’ll get his help, and won’t be condescended to when you ask for it. Ask boldly, believingly, without a second thought. People who “worry their prayers” are like wind-whipped waves. Don’t think you’re going to get anything from the Master that way, adrift at sea, keeping all your options open.“

‭‭James‬ ‭1‬:‭5‬-‭8‬ ‭MSG‬‬

„If any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God, who gives generously to all without finding fault, and it will be given to you. But when you ask, you must believe and not doubt, because the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea, blown and tossed by the wind. That person should not expect to receive anything from the Lord. Such a person is double-minded and unstable in all they do.“

‭‭James‬ ‭1‬:‭5‬-‭8‬ ‭NIV‬‬

„So aber jemand unter euch Weisheit mangelt, der bitte Gott, der da gibt einfältig jedermann und rücket's niemand auf, so wird sie ihm gegeben werden. Er bitte aber im Glauben und zweifle nicht; denn wer da zweifelt, der ist wie die Meereswoge, die vom Winde getrieben und gewebt wird. Solcher Mensch denke nicht, daß er etwas von dem HERRN empfangen werde. Ein Zweifler ist unbeständig in allen seinen Wegen.“

‭‭Jakobus‬ ‭1‬:‭5‬-‭8‬ ‭DELUT‬‬

„Wenn es jemandem von euch an Weisheit mangelt zu entscheiden, was in einer bestimmten Angelegenheit zu tun ist, soll er Gott darum bitten, und Gott wird sie ihm geben. Ihr wisst doch, dass er niemandem sein Unvermögen vorwirft und dass er jeden reich beschenkt. Betet aber im festen Vertrauen und zweifelt nicht; denn wer zweifelt, gleicht den Wellen im Meer, die vom Sturm hin- und hergetrieben werden. Ein solcher Mensch kann nicht erwarten, dass der Herr ihm etwas gibt. In allem, was er tut, ist er unbeständig und hin- und hergerissen.“

‭‭Jakobus‬ ‭1‬:‭5‬-‭8‬ ‭HFA‬‬