#the miz imagines

[nevereverafter45]

Never Ever After Masterlist

Pinterest

Playlists

More will be added once I find all my old google docs

Seth Rollins

Stronger Than Yesterday

Roman Reigns

I'm Yours

Dean Ambrose

Live Fast Die Beautiful

Drew McIntyre-

Trio of Angels

Shane McMahon

One For The Money (also a Randy Orton story)

John Cena

Never Ever After

Chris Jericho

Another Trip Around

Christian Cage-

State of Affair

The Miz/ John Morrison

Lessons That Are Meant To Be Learned

[litaskick]

• the miz masterlist •

.*•…………………..•⊹•…………………..•*.

{ ☆ } smut  

masterlist • request page • prompt list

nothing here yet...

[mitzysmitzy]

i think the dwarfs are older than neige. i mean, the dwarfs from the original movie were older than snow white, plus it'd be funny to think its an elric brother situation where people keep assuming that neige is the older one when actually he's the youngest (also i keep imagining gran with edward's voice lmao)

[shdwtouch]

I've decided that miz would be a changeling, with primary forms as a drow, a tiefling, and a githzerai. this is her tiefling appearance; I'll try to make her other forms as well. I like the concept of her as a changeling because she can just fit herself into any life she wants, which is perfect for her research. I think she's going to be a cleric of knowledge x some sort of wizard, maybe warlock ? though, to be honest, she has enough power to be a patron herself. honestly now I'm just imagining her adopting wyll and gale like. ya'll need power ? have some, no strings attached as long as you don't get in the way of my research. and its like. you know those screens you get sometimes when using something that is like do you want to let developers see how you use this ? its basically that. she's just keeping tabs on what they're doing out of curiosity.

[mizbnuuy]

i wish i was (and my art was) as pretty as i present myself

[wammbam]

im going through cagematch just to see like History and for fucks sake, 2016-2017 dean is the most fucking overworked fucker i have ever seen

constant house show matches that are all the fucking same, barely any rest between show days, for fuck sake there are multiple months where he worked like 12 fucking days in a row, All with the exact same or close to it match set-up, just in different fucking cities

[itjazzbicch]

Rated R

Kinktober Day: 2/31

Pairing: The Miz x Fem reader

Kink: Sex Tape

Theme/Motivation:

Warnings: (Smut) (18 + ONLY)

Word Count: 1.3k

Taglist: @demonqueen29 @peachy-satan00 @new-zealand-chic @crowleysqueenofhell @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin @thatpanpal @damnnhausen @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch @linziland13 @xxx-jazz-xxx @writtingrose @legit9thlunaticwarrior @seeingstarks @rubyred1980

I DO NOT OWN THIS GIF:

“Y/N! Miz! Just one more photo, please!”

It’s been a while since I had this many cameras flashing around me like this and of course, I smiled right along with Mike, doing a few more poses while he opened the door of the his sports car for me.

“Our phones are gonna be ringing off the hook, tomorrow,” I giggled, our successful movie premier now at an end.

“That movie is guaranteed to be a hit!” Mike smiled, hopping in and I always had to flaunt, crossing my legs and flipping my hair:

“Well of course, I’m in it.”

“And damn, did you look delicious,” Blowing a kiss and his hand on my thigh, we headed back to the hotel and sure enough, paparazzi were still there.

Nights like these were fun, but I was nearly blind from all the flashing lights. The hotel was on it though, escorting is through.

After blinking nearly a million times, I kept Mike’s hand in mine, sighing:

“I don’t remember the last time I was surrounded by this much paparazzi.”

“Looking that fine, what did you expect?” Tilting his sunglasses to look at my black dress, throwing a seductive smile, and his hand finding my hip, it showed all of his intentions.

“Paparazzi wasn’t the only one watching me, huh?” Leaning in closer, I let the lust settle in my voice too, Mike making the next move:

“What can I say? It’s hard to keep my eyes off of you, but I’ll get to see something paparazzi will never see.”

Curse that charm he had, instantly melting at the touch of his lips, my hand finding his tie as the elevator came to a stop.

“You know what?” Mischief was all over my face, leading him out of the elevator, “We still have some work to do.”

“Work, huh?” Following right along and getting the key, he was ready, but still curious as to what I meant, “I know you’re not acting, babe.”

“No, but-“ Throwing him in and shutting the door with my heel, my lips found his again, finding his pocket and resting on his phone, suggesting, “How about we both have our first Rated R scene, hm?”

“You wanna make our own movie?” He loved that thought, that devilish smile saying it all.

“The bed is the stage and I’m your shining star, baby,” I kissed with my tongue, “Want to get the camera ready and direct a little?”

“Say less,” He tapped my ass, watching while I went to the bathroom, my heart racing with excitement.

I was getting straight to the point, fixing my hair up into a high ponytail, leaving a slight side bang, taking off my dress and wearing nothing but my heels.

You couldn’t hear a thing as I stuck my hand out of the door, finding the light switch along the wall, using the knob to make the lights dim, knowing his eyes were waiting for me.

No words, just a smile on his face, seeing his bulge growing against his pants while I stepped out, posing and tightening my ponytail while making sexy steps towards him.

“Don’t get me wrong, this suit is sexy,” Sliding his jacket off of his shoulders the unbuttoning the top of his shirt, I could spot the camera, making sure it had the perfect view of him stripping down, “But I like you in just skin so much more.”

“Like all of that?” His confidence was beaming, hand running across his chest while sharing a kiss, undoing his tie then finding his belt buckle, my eyes falling down to the sight of his cocky once his pants were undone.

“Mhm,” Licking my lips and getting more thoughts, he could see my thinking:

“Wanna show the camera the bad girl that you are, hm?” Kissing up my neck and nipping at my jaw, I smiled at the camera, taking him by surprise when pushing him to the bed.

“I’m not just bad,” Falling to my knees, I looked up through my lashes, tongue stroking up his shaft, “I’m the Baddest.”

“Baddest baby there is,” Licking his upper lip and his eyes locked on mine, I could see his chest heaving already, tongue licking up to his tip and swirling like it was a lollipop, taking it in and immediately downing his entire cock, pulling up slowly before doing it again.

I didn’t want to get the better of him just yet, but made sure he felt it, sucking his tip hard while stroking his shaft as quickly as I could, adding a few bobs in.

“This lollipop your favorite flavor?” He couldn’t get enough of me, gasping slight as his tip popped free from my lips.

“There ain’t one that’s better,” Smiling back and standing up, I hit one of my favorite poses, flaunting my body at him, “Ready for your favorite?”

“Always ready,” He smiled back, sitting up till I pushed him back down.

“This is for you, you know?” Massaging his shoulders softy while I climbed on top of him, adding some kisses up his neck and straddling, “You want something good to watch when I’m not around don’t you? I’m the star of this movie.”

“Don’t you know who I am?” He chuckled slightly, trying not to give into my kisses, “But, I’ll let you have your turn.”

“Yeah, you better,” I giggled, raising my hips and sitting on his cock, still kissing his neck and arching my back, grinding down against his hips, leaving some hickeys along his chest before sitting up, rocking myself slow at first before going faster and harder.

“Or what?” He teased with a smirk, tapping my ass and I hit him with my own:

“Or your sexy Cupid will stop giving you the best scene you’ve ever filmed. You want me to be your sexy Cupid, don’t you?”

“That’s just cruel,” He chuckled, laying his head back with his eyes shut tight whenever I started bouncing and moaning louder, smiling with his hands all over me.

“Don’t be so serious, baby,” I cooed softly, rolling my hips, “I’ll be your sexy Cupid all night long.”

“That’s what I thought,” He was having fun joking around, making me squeal whenever he flipped us over so he was on top.

That drove me crazy, kissing with all tongue while his hips hit me with immense strength, gripping his shoulders while my back began to arch.

“Hell yeah,” He whispered in my ear, holding my back and looking at the camera with me, “Show that camera how you can still move it.”

Rolling my hips upward, my head shot back with whines, scratching at his back some while he started kissing my neck and returning the marks that I left on him.

“Harder, Mike,” I asked softly, feeling that swirl he always created in me whenever I got close.

“Getting to the best part, huh?” Pressing his hands deep into the mattress, he slammed his hips into mine, having my head nod frantically:

“Uh-huh! Mike!”

Suddenly, he hooked my legs over his arms, pushing them to the sides of my head, pounding at a new angle and giving the camera a better view, edging me on:

“Gonna make a mess and give me real good to watch?”

“Yes, baby! So fucking good!” I managed to get out before gasping hard, quickly holding onto the back of his neck while screaming out in moans, his thrusts not slowing while I gushed around his cock, both of our thighs slicked, hips rocking together to ride out the bliss.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” He panted through his laughs, rolling his hips quickly while his cock got pulled deeper from my spasming, freeing my legs and pressing his chest into mine, letting out a small moan with me when we felt his heat, seeding flooding into me.

“Fuck, Mike. You’re so hot,” I whined softly, eased down with some of his kisses.

“We’re both hot,” He smiled, nudging our heads over to the camera, making sure to get one last shot of my lustful face, but making me giggle as he finished, “And, scene!”

[t4tstarvingdog]

in love with the guy in the drive thru who talked with me about books <3

[queenielacy]

I wish WWE was open to working with other promotions because they could have a reoccurring bit of R-Truth “accidentally” showing up at shows and Miz having to come get him. Imagine Tony Khan trying to explain to Truth that this is AEW and Matt and Nick Jackson walk up and Truth refers to them as The Hardy Boyz or Truth at NJPW and he sees Moxley and he’s like “Where’s the rest of the Shield” or he shows up in TNA and sees Jordynne Grace and is like “Beth Phoenix! It’s been a long time!”

[fruity-pontmercy]

Les Mis adaptations and apolitical appropriation

I think it's no secret on this blog that I love the original Les Mis 1980 concept album in French, and that I also love comparing different versions of the stage musical. I've noticed that Les Mis seems to get progressively more vaguely apolitical as time goes on, not only in the way it's viewed in our culture, but in the actual text as well.

It's natural for specifics to be lost in adaptation. It's easier to get people to care about 'the people vs. the king' in a relatively short musical rather than actually facing the audience with the absolute mess that were 19th century french politics (monarchist orleanists vs monarchist legitimists vs imperialist vs bonapartist democrats vs every flavour of republican imaginable). Still, I feel that as time goes on, as more revivals and adaptations of the stage musical come out, the more watered down its politics become. Like, Les Mis at it's core is just meant to be a fancily written, drawn out political essay, right?

In a way I feel that the 1980 concept album almost tried to modernise it with its symbols of progress. Yes, through Enjolras' infamous disco segment (and other similar allusions to the ideals of social change), but perhaps most interestingly to me, through one short line that threw me off when I first heard it, because it seems so insignificant, but might actually be the most explicitly leftist line of all of Les Mis.

"Son coeur vibrait à gauche et il le proclama" (roughly "His heart beat to the left and he proclaimed it" i.e: he was a leftist) Feuilly says, while speaking of the now dead général Lamarque in Les Amis de L'ABC.

What's that? An actual mention of leftism??? in MY vaguely progressive yet apolitical musical??? More seriously, this mention of leftism, clashing with the rest of the musical due to it's seeming anachronism, is interesting not because it's actually more political than anything else in Les Mis, rather, because it's not scared to explicitly name what it's trying to do.

But we've come a long way from the Concept Album days, it's been 43 years, and Les Misérables is now one of the most famous and beloved musicals in the entire world. It's been revived and reimagined and adapted in a million ways, in different mediums, in different languages and countries, and it's clear that it's changed along with it's audience.

On top of pointing out a cool line in my favourite version of the musical, I wanted to write this post to reflect on the perception of the political message of this work. We as a Les Mis fandom on Tumblr are very political, I don't need to tell you that, however, I feel that because this very left leaning space has sprung out of a work we all love so much, we oftentimes forget to revisit it from a more objective point of view.

Les Misérables has a history of being misrepresented, this has been true since it's publication, since american confederate soldiers became entranced with their censored translation Lee's Miserables. However, with it's musical adaptation, this misinterpretation has been made not only more accessible but also easier. As much as I love musical theatre and I think it is at it's best an incredible art form able to communicate complex themes visulally by the masses for the masses, I think it'd be idealistic to ignore the fact that the people who can afford to go see musicals regularly are, usually, not the common folk. Broadway and the West End are industries which, like most, need money to keep them afloat, and are loved people of all political backgrounds (and unfortunately, often older conservatives) not just communists on tumblr. We've seen the way Les Miz UK's social media team constantly misses the mark regarding different social issues, and the way Cameron Makintosh has used the musical to propagate his transphobia, and most of us can agree that these actions are in complete antithesis with the message of Les Misérables as a novel.

But I must ask, how does Les Mis ,as a West End musical in it's current form, actually drive a leftist message, and how are we as a community helping if every time someone relating to the musical messes up if we just claim they "don't get it"?

I'm thinking in particular of incidents like last october, where Just Stop Oil crashed Les Mis at the West End. Whether you think it's good activism or not is not the question I think, this instance is interesting particularly because it shows that, outside of Les Misérables analysis circles and fandom spaces, it is not recognised as an inherently leftist, political or activist work, and instead of just saying they completely missed the point of the musical, I think it'd be interesting to take a step back and look at what the musical as it stands actually represents in our culture today.

I don't pretend to have all the answers, so I won't try to give one, but I do hope we can reflect on this a bit.

[panthere-bleu]

Thoughts while making myself some tea and reading the Jane Austen Center newsletter:

One of my pet peeves is people who misspell Miss Jane's last name with an I instead of an E.

I see "Jane Austin" and I think Westerns, not Regency.

Can you imagine it?

"Oh, Lizzie, lookie here! We're invited to the shindig at Pemberley Ranch!"

Or...

"I gotta say, Miz Bennett, I've taken a likin' to you in spite of you'n your family bein' white trash. Whadda ya say we get hitched?"

"I'd rather kiss a rattlesnake."

[ainyan]

FFXIV Write - Day 5: Stamp

“Alright, please take out your homework from last night for writing.” Kal’istae stood at the front of the room before the chalkboard and gazed out at the six students gathered in the school. They ranged in age from almost five for little Chai-Kai to thirteen for Gaia Augurelt. The class was rounded out by the two Leveilleur twins, Alisaie and Alphinaud, Thancred’s daughter Ryne, and young Cicilie with-no-last-name (because neither of her fathers was willing to budge on top billing).

The sound of zippers zipping, snaps unclasping, and papers rustling filled the air and brought the faintest of smiles to the Au Ra’s lips. She didn’t mind the soft mutters either as the children asked each other what they’d chosen to write about. Some of her classmates in Sharlayan, she knew, were of the school that children should not speak unless spoken to, but that was there, and she was here.

And she was surprised at how much she loved it here.

As the cacophony died down, she began to circulate through the desks. She stopped first at Chai-Kai’s. The small Miqo’te boy sat perched at the edge of his seat, gazing up at her with wide, hopeful eyes. “My ma helped me,” he lisped at her, and she smiled as she slid the paper around to read it.

My favorite person is my daddy, because he makes trains and I like trains. He is very smart and kind and he loves me and my mother very much. That is why my daddy is my favorite person.

Kal’istae’s serene exterior did not change, but inside her heart melted, and it took every onze of willpower not to gather the child up in her arms and cuddle him until he popped. Much like, she thought with amusement, his mother was prone to do with his father. “Excellent work, Chai-Kai,” she praised instead, opening her case and studying the array of stamps inside. She selected one with a train engine on it and inked it, then tapped it firmly against the top of his paper.

“Train!” he exclaimed, impatiently blowing on it so he could touch it without smearing the ink. “Thanks, Miz Mi-rani.”

Feeling her lips curving involuntarily, Kal’istae hurriedly turned away, moving to the next child, Cicilie. She wondered which of her fathers the girl had chosen and turned the paper to study it.

Neither, as it turned out.

My favorite person is my uncle Haurchefant.

Well, Kal’istae thought as she skimmed through the girl’s praise, that was a bit unexpected. She’d never met the man in question; he lived in the family’s original home of Ishgard. But if he was half of what Cicilie said, then the man was certainly a paragon of virtue, and twice as handsome. It was easy to see the girl adored her uncle greatly, and, just as important, had conveyed that fact neatly and with a strong use of figurative language. “Perfect,” she stated, and watched the pleased flush come to the girl’s cheeks. Opening her stamp case once more, she selected another - a unicorn, as she knew Cicilie favored them - and inked it, then pressed it to the paper.

“Thank you, Miss Miurani,” she replied, carefully smoothing the paper as she waited for the ink to dry so she could stow it carefully away in her bookbag once more. Would she share it with her fathers, Kal’istae wondered as she approached Gaia’s seat, or would she avoid the argument her choice was sure to spawn? Not that Emmannelain de Fortemps and Sicard Spence didn’t find plenty to argue over anyway - all the more reason to make up, she imagined.

Hardly her concern, as long as Cicilie was well-cared for and loved. “Good morning, Gaia,” she said as she came to stand before the girl’s desk. The girl - the young woman, really - looked up at her with large blue eyes and a sulky pout on her lips and sighed as she thrust the paper at the teacher with every evidence of uncaring boredom.

Kal’istae knew better, and took no insult from the charade.

She did, however, take the paper and lifted it to read.

It is stu foolish to attempt to choose a favorite person. Everyone in our lives has something that makes them special, or why keep them around? But if I must choose someone, as Miss Miurani says I must, then I shall choose Ryne.

Unsurprising, Kal’istae laughed to herself. Not that she’d have been any more surprised had Gaia chosen her father, Urianger, or his wife, Moenbryda, but the two girls were all but joined at the hip. Ryne was the light to Gaia’s brooding darkness, the enthusiasm to the girl’s studied insouciance. They couldn’t compliment each other better than if the gods had made each for the other.

And compliment Ryne Gaia did, if in an understated, almost backhanded manner. There was little doubt in Kal’istae’s mind that Gaia had not allowed Ryne to read this - or that Ryne would be delighted if she did. She placed it back down on the girl’s desk and said nothing, only pressed a stamp shaped like a bird onto the top of the paper. Meeting Gaia’s eyes, she allowed her lips to curve just slightly, and was met with the faintest of smiles in return before the girl’s habitual sneer fell back into place.

She checked the twins next - first Alphinaud, then Alisaie, and was unsurprised to see that they had each chosen the other - though she’d thought perhaps one of them, at least, would choose their mother. But squabble though they might, she’d never seen so tight a bond between siblings as she saw in the two Leveilleur children.

To Alisaie, she gave a stamp in the shape of a sword. To Alphinaud, a book. They both looked pleased and she left them putting away their stories to approach the last student.

The look on Ryne’s face was apprehensive, but then, the girl was eager to please, and had no doubt been fretting over the paper since the moment it was assigned. Kal’istae imagined it wasn’t easy living with a taskmaster like Sheriff Waters for a father; all evidence suggested that he drove himself and those around him with equal fervor. That could very well include his daughter - though she had heard rumor here and there that he had a particular soft spot for the lovely little red-head.

Whatever their relationship, it was evident that Ryne doted on her father. Kal’istae was unaware of the faint smile that curved her lips as she read the girl’s fervently written - if not entirely grammatically correct - paper.

I have chosen Thancred as my favorite person. He saved me, even when he didn’t have to. He took me, when maybe he could have found someone else to take me. He loves me, I know he does, even if he doesn’t know the words to show it. He works too hard and he needs someone to make him slow down, but he’s still the best person I know.

Kal’istae read in silence as Ryne described all of the things she found admirable about the man who had become her father - and it was a lengthy list, much longer than the teacher would have expected. As she came to the end, the Au Ra lowered the paper and met Ryne’s anxious blue eyes. “Beautifully written,” she told the girl, and couldn’t help but smile as the red-head heave out an explosive sigh of relief. “As always, Ryne, you have excelled.” 

She placed the paper down, then sorted through her stamps until she came up with one embossed with a cowboy hat. Tamping it down on the paper, she smiled at Ryne’s exclamation of pleasure, then tucked the stamps away in her pocket. 

Stamps of approval given, it was time to get class started. “Now, ladies and gentlemen,” she said, calling the class to order as she strode to the podium at the front, “let us discuss what we discovered about writing down our thoughts with this little exercise…”

FFXIV Write 2024 (Daily Prompt List)

Day 5 - Stamp

OC: Kal'istae Miurani

NPCs: Ryne Waters, Gaia Aurugelt, Cicilie Last-name-will-vary, Chai-Kai, Alisaie Leveilleur, Alphinaud Leveilleur

AU: Stars over Western Waters

[jone-slugger]

When I first started watching Voyager and read the word Maquis I almost spat out my drink because, being from Spain, that's the name of the anti-fascist forces that fought against the dictatorship during the civil war. I understand it was also used in France to name the resistance against the nazi but in my mind I always imagine Chakotay and B'Elanna fighting the fascists in the mountains of Spain.

Like, I know the Star Trek writers were probably thinking of France, as their ship is a Les Miz reference, but for a second I allow myself to think that they might also be referencing Spain. After all, many Americans (notably Hemingway) fought in the Spanish Civil War, which was seen in a way as a rehearsal of what was to come just when it ended in 1939.

In any case, I love they used that name for the resistance against the Cardassians.

[sgiandubh]

La poupée qui fait non/ The doll that says "no"

Thanks to @rosfrank, we have another pearl, re: Marina del Rey #BlueBikiniChick:

As I explained at length and width, that was a work thing. Our shipper extraordinaire friend is not sure about this, but it's interesting, nevertheless.

Sometimes, a picture does not speak a thousand words. Sometimes it is just a snippet of nothingness someone focuses on deliberately. And sometimes it's just that nagging sensation, months afterwards, that you saw that guy somewhere and then the coin drops... or not. We shall see.

Oh, and while we're at it - which is: speculating -, a short blast from my past. Once upon a time, I was keeping myself busy during uni recess, just picking up a random seat in the Jardin du Luxembourg with my best (gay) friend and trying to imagine what the hell the random passerby was doing with their life (job? family? social status? pets?). It was endless fun for the bored cynical idiots we were at 20.

I played this little game again tonight, with #BlueBikiniChick (BBC, hehe):

Waitress? Nah, sunglasses looked expensive enough. Gym coach? Unsure. Escort? That would be insulting. The cheapo influencer wannabe next door?

My money is on the wannabe. Or maybe even someone else's guest?

At any rate, the derailed merry-go-round has the same modus operandi as for Miz Hotel Costes:

Dropped by Anon -> private IG account (how can *urv tell what is inside, I wonder) -> some half-hearted innuendo (maybe she is, maybe she isn't) -> silenzio stampa -> buried until -> reactivation.

There once was a French singer, Michel Polnareff, with a sheep haircut and the same sunglasses: a fine voice, but a shitty brand image, for sure. One of his biggest hits is La poupée qui fait non/The doll that says no.

Non, non, non, non...

[cleolinda]

"Strength (Bell Donner Gives Her Word)"

I posted this short story on LJ back in 2007, and I said I'd repost it here for Halloween. I did an audio reading 15 (!) years ago that I'd like to redo in better quality in the near future; I'm also curious to see what it would sound like now that I'm the age I imagined the main character to be. This version is lightly revised, but the story is mostly the same.

That fall a number of people in Chesterville were mauled to death by some kind of wild dog or coyote—the kind that apparently wasn’t too afraid to go right up to people as they took out their trash at night, or let their own tame, domestic dog out not too long after dawn. But it was a small town out in the sticks, verging on farm territory: quiet. Not like a wild animal was marauding up and down Times Square or anything. Not like it was in plain view. So people just started being more careful—not venturing out alone until midday, or not venturing out at all without a loaded shotgun—and things were all right for a while. Then, in late October, the animal came back, and this time, someone survived.

An old lady by the name of Edna Mayhew—well, yes, she lost her arm from the elbow down, but she came out of it a damn sight better than any of those who’d come before her. And she said that it was a wolf, definitely a wolf, but it had come at her on two legs, and when she had smacked it in the face with a veiny little fist, it had held her down with two arms and bitten her forearm clean off. The only thing that saved her, she declared, was her neighbor Bill “Thursday” Thurston, who had heard her screaming and come out with both barrels blazing. He claimed that the thing he saw ran away on four legs, but that it was, in fact, Goddamn Huge. This was about the time that that new photo of Bigfoot lumbering around on all fours came out, which several professors and scientists swore up and down was just a bear with mange. Eddie at the Red Brick printed out the picture and taped it up by the bar, and the next time Thursday came in for a beer, he said, yeah, the thing he chased off Miz Mayhew kinda looked like that. Maybe it was a wolf with mange. Mange was a terrible thing, after all. He’d managed to hit it with at least one shot, though, so he didn’t think it’d trouble people too much after that.

So, going into November, that was where things stood. Whatever it was, it had mange, and it had probably gone off and died quiet somewhere. Bell Donner wasn’t terribly worried about it when she went outside one morning to get more wood for her kiln. She threw artisan pottery out on a little farm a few miles to the west of Chesterville anyway; every week or so, she’d go into town for groceries, mail out her online orders, maybe stop at the Brick for a burger and a drink, and hear what was to be heard. She had little to tell about herself, but folks like to tell their stories, and she knew Miz Mayhew from the post office. She learned that people were keeping their guns out, their doors locked, and their pets inside; she heard the recitation of tales. But whatever the thing that Bill Thurston shot had been, it and its mange were not likely to bother Bell. Or so she thought, until that morning when she was piling kindling into the crook of her arm, looked up, and saw it standing at the edge of the yard.

It didn’t have a human face, but it was standing—on two long, lanky legs that curved back into hocks like a dog’s. One—arm?—was held close to its belly. Probably protecting wherever Thursday shot it, thought Bell, her brains feeling thick and logy. That was the best reaction she could dredge up: Yeah, six-foot man-shaped wolf thing hunched over in my yard, probably not feeling too good right now. It didn’t have a human face, but it did have a very human expression—desperate, she thought, and cranky. Maybe resentful, even. And hungry.

Bell put down her armful of kindling and picked the axe back up.

The thing staggered forward a step or two. It was still a good twenty feet away.

“Go on, now,” she said. “Get. Ain’t nothin’ here you want.”

The thing gazed at her, its eyes watching the axe; it almost seemed to—calculate? She’d seen it, after all, and it was hungry. A human murderer wouldn’t have let her live, and this wasn’t even human.

Bell hardened her voice and rode over a quaver like it was a speedbump: “Go on now. I won’t tell nobody if you just go.” It was on the tip of her tongue to offer it some food—she had a pot roast from the other night, and she was still knee-deep in leftovers—and then she thought, You dumbass, you feed it once and you’ll never get rid of it. “G’on now,” she said, her hands tight on the axe handle. “Just get. You got my word. I won’t tell nobody.”

It was still standing there, reckoning. And then it stepped back, making a tactical withdrawal into the brush at the back of the yard. She saw it drop back down on four legs and lope away awkwardly towards the thicket out behind the farm, a scrubby bit of forest that led into some of the foothills. Probably some good caves in there, she thought. The wolf-thing wasn’t the only one out there who could calculate. And when the attacks started in Chesterville again, and then moved a bit north—northeast of Bell’s farm, and then back down to Chesterville, and then southeast of her farm, and then back to town again—she knew it was being careful. It knows better than to shit where it eats, she thought to herself. Or eat where it slept, more precisely, but the saying held the same. There were some people at the sheriff’s office who probably would have given a lot to know about a thicket in the foothills west of Chesterville, particularly since Edna Mayhew was still the only survivor. But Bell Donner had given her word; she valued her word almost as much as she valued her life, and they were pretty much the same thing in this case, she decided. After all, it’s one thing to know where something lives. It’s another when something knows where you live, and a deal was a deal where Bell Donner came from.

[ganondoodle]

need help for rewrite

so ... im still stuck trying to decide who fits what sage role best, mainly its a tie between purah and monk miz kyoshia for the role of spirit sage, current plan is that the spirit temple is located beneath the forgotten plateau and is accessed via shrine of life/the DLC dungeon from kyoshia but its broken and leads into the temple

purah pro

female character in a mostly male cast in the sages roles

tech enthusiast = tie in with mineru

kinda hinted at in the game to be a sage but then isnt (imo)

possible tie in with josha so she actually gets something to do

possibly fun companion for a dungeon

con

already gives link his shiekah prosthetic arm and its abilities + upgrades

doesnt seem that spiritual all things considered

what would her ability be?/would a guardian laser fit her??

doesnt seem to have any magical capability without her tech (then again does mineru?)

monk kyoshia pro

hes cool :)

very spiritual

would be a very unexpected choice

located right where the temple starts

can do a guardian laser just like that

having a floaty mummy monk in the sage meeting would be kinda funny

possibly having funny interactions with koga as he/the yiga seem to take after the original shiekah alot before they were split (plus my HC of koga having been a monk from the same time as well ... should they know each other ..??)

con

he was a DLC character

another male character, making zelda and riju be the only sages

duplicated moveset with koga, what would be the most logical ability to gain from him and in turn whats more iconic for koga? (as in AoC tho non canon koga does a laser thingy too, would be neat to pick that up here, then again kyoshia and koga both teleport like nobodies business)

lore clash bc he should know too much, he could tell everyone whats going on robbing away alot of the mystery (and if not mentioned, is there a good excuse?) plus would render alot of the research into new tech useless bc he might know all of that .. unless being monk doesnt mean also knowing the tech ..

possibly less fun companion for a dungeon

additionally, zelda mainly being the sage of light (perhaps the time thing being just an inate thing the shiekah arm can do bc its a more developed version of the stasis rune) could also mean she could do a laser attack as we see rauru do, then again the moldora attack is not part of the rewrite so if ever used by rauru its when he and ganondorf fight one on one in one of the new memories which brings up the problem of what would be the most logical ability to gain from either, is the teleport the yiga do not a little .. to little impactful for someone like koga? also kyoshia can do the same, again a moveset overlap and .. if it was purah instead, what is her ability (same problem with paya, she doesnt have any ability either .. tho i could imagine giving you a shield like sidon does in canon and change sidon ability to be something healing related bc of mipha?)

if i took kyoshias ability to make clones of himself as an ability (since you dont have the sages running around you in the rewrite) as a distraction tech and battle support, would it fit koga more to have a laser attack or the teleport? i kinda like the idea of giving zelda the laser attack bc she rarely gets an overly offensive role

more thoughts, if it was kyoshia, couldnt he just waltz around with you all the time bc he doesnt have any leadership roles he needs to furfill? or perhaps he cant leave the area of the shrine of life, hes a mummy after all, would that be a good excuse? (thought about impa too bc it would be cool to have an old character kicking ass in the main team, but after giving her role to paya she doesnt have any reason why she wouldnt be able to tag along everywhere too)