#lord burgle

[spooksicl-e]

a little bilbo for the soul bc i’m trying to break out of art block

#he’s just a little guy!!! #a little guy who burgles from giant angry lizards played by benedict cumberbatch #my art #the @ is my insta #fanart #fanartist #art #the hobbit #bilbo baggins #thorin oakenshield #thorins company #martin freeman #jrr tolkien #lotr #lord of the rings #idk how to tag the hobbit so this is a mess #it’s p ugly but i haven’t drawn in weeks so i’m trying not to be too critical #edit: i got rid of the bg impulsively sorry if you liked it better lolzies

[secretmellowblog]

Blorbo from my books <3

#'be gay do crimes' --bilbo baggins #lotr #lord of the rings #the hobbit #bilbo baggins #but yeah!! #after rewatching the Fellowship of the Ring i remembered I really love this little dude #really is a blorbo for me #this is a little sketch from chapter 9 that i decided to post aksjdfslf #I just think hes neat #fussy little gentleman who became a gay burgling adventurer #he walked so stede bonnet could run

[badass-queer-couples-battle]

Gay wrongs tournament, round 2 of the minor bracket

Propaganda:

For Lord Hater and Commander Peepers :

Lord Hater is the self-proclaimed "universe's awesomest evil-doer", an immature, attention-seeking manchild with electric powers and a short temper. He rules the Hater Empire with Commander Peepers as his second-in-command (technically third, after his beloved pet spider-xenomorph, but who's counting), however it soon becomes *very* clear that the cunning, remorseless, hardworking Peepers is the *real* brains behind the empire. Peepers might be frustrated at Hater's incompetence at times and isn't above manipulating him to reach an end goal, but he'd never dream of usurping him because, well, he's really gay and in love with him (as much as he can be in an early-10s Disney cartoon, anyways). Hater might take Peepers for granted a lot of times, but as his oldest friend and closest confidante he's the one who Hater is closest to. Whether it's invading other planets or kicking puppies for fun, these two are *delightfully* terrible jerks and the epitome of gay wrongs. 

Commander Peepers is both Lord Hater's right hand man in villainy AND his jilted stay-at-home-wife-guy (Also in villainy. Hater is really good at getting distracted from productive and efficient villaining.) Lord Hater was the greatest villain in the galaxy thanks to how well he and Commander Peepers worked as an evil team to run the Hater Empire!

Lord Hater conquers planets and is such an edgy bastard. Peepers is the actual brains behind the operation. Peepers is often pushed aside by Hater, they are besties and yet Peepers is always pining for this guy who will never notice. Peepers is so horribly gay for him if you watch the show he wants his stupid boss so bad. Peepers is so scared of him season 1 but then starts yelling BACK in season 2 and has to deal with him like a babysitter or something and yet STILL idolizes him and that’s just such a fun dynamic. His password is H8RNP33PRS43VR (Hater and Peepers forever). They are so evil and everyone fears them and they are villains and they are gay and the side of the fandom that draws them as a married couple that needs counseling is absolutely correct. The fanart of Hater openly liking him back is wonderful but I swear you don’t even need that. They are so gay and villain you have to love them they are

Villains that conquer planets and do evil stuff, my favourite characters, not really canon but they are the best :)

For El Mariana x Slimecicle:

They are married and on their first day together they accidentally killed their neighbor's kid.  When Slimecicle was trying to murder people and failed it because he didn't have Mariana by his side to back him up.

Well Slimecicle's canonically murdered a child/egg in order to give his and Mariana's daughter a gun. He also accidentally murdered his niece but that wasn't really his fault. Mariana has killed their daughter twice - the first time they were able to bring her back via a court trial and Slimecicle planted tnt under the court in case he lost. Mostly it's Slimecicle committing astrocities (like when he tried to kill more kids after his daughter died the first time, or when he constantly breaks windows in order to get into people's houses, or when he disguised himself as a child/egg in order to burgle his neighbours and proceeded to run for president as this child) but Mariana doesn't exactly have a clear conscience. Also they both love and hate each other. They're simultaneously married and divorced. They've had live minecraft sex at least twice.

#minor bracket round 2 #qsmp #wander over yonder #lord hater #commander peepers #el mariana #slimecicle

[docgold13]

Batman: The Animated Series - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

The Terrible Trio

Warren Lawford and his two friends. Armand and Gunther, were a group of trust-find layabouts.  Each born into fabulous wealth, they lived the high life and wanted for naught.  The three saw themselves as better than others and had grown bored by their leisurely lifestyle.  Warren suggested that they turn to crime as a new challenge, a sport that could curb the tedium.  His friends agreed and the threesome endeavored on a string of burglaries.

Warren’s family had made its fortune in real estate; he saw himself as lord over the grounds and thus chose the fox as his totem mask.  Whereas Gunther Hardwicke’s wealth came from the shipping industry; he saw himself as lord of the seas and thus chose the shark.  And Armand Lydecker’s family fortune was made in the building of airliners; he saw himself as lord of the skies and hence chose the vulture.   

The trio’s criminal exploits were mainly harmless and they often gave away the money they stole.  When they burgled Warren’s girlfriend’s home, however, her father walked in on them and Warren savagely beat him.  Warren’s girlfriend was able to figure out what he and the others had done and they decided they needed to stage an accident to kill her in order to maintain their secret.  

Fortunately, Batman had already picked up on the trail of the terrible trio and intervened before the young woman was killed.  Batman made short work of the three cads and handed them over to the authorities.  With rock solid evidence, no high-priced attorney was able to get the three men off and each were sentenced to long prison terms at Stonegate Penitentiary.  

Actor Bill Mumy provided the voice for Warren Lawford; with Peter Scolari voicing Gunther Hardwicke and David Jolliffe voicing Armand Lydecker.  The threesome appeared in the sixteenth episode of the second season of Batman: The Animated Series, ‘The Terrible Trio.’  

#batman the animated series #Batman #Terrible Trio #cut-outs #paper art #DC Comics

[on-a-lucky-tide]

I just love the concept that Aiden was older than Lambert, perhaps a lot older. He might be a bit grumpy, perhaps witty, perhaps with a dark sense of humour, but there is something inherently good there. Lambert said Aiden didn't take human contracts, he was the best man he's ever met, so I imagine someone who had been kicked and beaten down by life, someone that struggled often, but still tried to rise above. Still made a choice to be good in a way that Lambert would appreciate.

It would be a bunch of small, consistent things, no big acts of heroism or showy sacrifice. Maybe, helping an old lady with her pixie problem and accepting a bowl of soup as payment, using his intimidating physique to stop an abusive father even though 'flashing his fangs' loses him work, burgling a lord whose rent has tripled in the last two years, being loyal to his brothers even though it would be easier if he turned his back on Dyn Marv for good, cutting the fingers off a john who wouldn't take no for an answer.

Aiden didn't get it right all the time; sometimes Aiden got angry, or low, or lashed out because life is fucking hard. Sometimes he slipped up, because Aiden was a man. Not an effigy. Not a symbol. He was a man. An imperfect, but good man. And he never used the shit hand life dealt him as an excuse, because fuck letting the past govern his future. They would drink, and laugh, and move through the hard bits together.

Perhaps Lambert saw some hope in that, maybe even a way to forge his own path. With Aiden. There was more to life than the Path and Kaer Morhen and the demons in his head. Aiden was tangible, realistic proof that life could be something more. Something better.

Losing that? Yeah, I'd be pretty fucking angry and bitter too.

#lambert #witcher lambert #aiden #lambden #my Aiden changes a lot #and there are so many ways to interpret that line #it leans so heavily on who you view Lambert to be

[ellie-andthemachine]

The Rookie: Echoes of the Past (Chapter Two) Synopsis: From oldest rookie to T.O., John Nolan takes on training the newest rookie, Officer Ellie Moore. In her first 6 months on the force, an unresolved case catches up to her, putting her survival to the ultimate test. A tale of mentorship, resilience, and facing one's demons head-on.

Read Chapter One here: Chapter ONE

“Hey, I’ll take the wheel for the first half of the shift if you’d like,” Lucy offered.

“You’re the boss, go for it,” Aaron chuckled.

Lucy started the vehicle and pulled away from the station, heading out onto the busy streets of L.A.

“7-Adam-07, show us on patrol,” Thorsen radioed in.

“So, you and Nat are going on another date, then?” Lucy asked, curious. “You said that you two hit it off really well.”

“Oh yeah, next weekend. It’s crazy; she knows all about me and doesn't even have an issue with any of it.”

“Well, why should she? You proved your innocence in more ways than one, especially with the documentary. You're a really stand-up guy.”

“Thanks, Luce,” Aaron said. “She knows the money I come from, and she doesn't care. It’s like nothing bothers her about it.”

“That’s Nat for sure: down to earth, humble, and super sweet.” Lucy smiled, “I’m so glad that you two hit it off well. Just FYI, I want an invite to the wedding.”

Aaron laughed, “Hell, you’ll probably be in the damn wedding. Matron or Maid of Honor and all that shit.”

“I wouldn’t say no. She’s an amazing friend and deserves to be happy, and maybe that’ll be with you. Who knows?”

“I hope you’re right. I’m ready for a lifetime of happiness; that’s for damn sure.”

The two rode in comfortable silence, with dispatch radioing other units in the background.

"Hey, can I ask you something?" Lucy asked.

"Sure, what’s up?"

"Have you noticed anything going on with Ellie? You two talk sometimes."

"All I know is that she’s been having some trouble sleeping. I mentioned how tired she looked the other day after the shift. Apparently, she deals with insomnia a few times a year; she says it's nothing she isn't used to."

"Do you think it's enough to affect her work?"

Aaron looked over at Lucy. "No, I don't. Why? Are you concerned that it might?"

Lucy sighed. "Not overly, no. I do worry about her. However, at the same time, I want to make sure it doesn't impact her while she's on patrol. We have to leave our personal issues at the door when we come in, no matter how difficult it is."

Aaron nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Hell, I'm sure every single one of us understands the danger it poses if we don't."

"Exactly. Look, if she talks to you—which I doubt she will, because Lord knows she barely opens up to us girls—but if she does, could you keep me in the loop?"

"Of course. Though I'm pretty sure you have nothing to worry about. She seems levelheaded enough."

"You know as well as I do that things can always change."

"True."

Lucy and Aaron pulled into the circular driveway of their alarm call.

“This is 7-Adam-07, dispatch, show us on scene,” Aaron radioed in. “False alarm, dead body, or burglary? Where’s your bet?”

“It's super quiet. I don't think it's a false alarm; we would've gotten a call from the owner. The owner may not be home, which leads to a possible burglary.”

“...or he could be dead and burgled.”

“Yeah, let’s not take any chances,” Lucy said, leading the way to the front door of the home. “Uh, Aaron, I’d say your bet is the closest; look,” she pointed to the steps, motioning to the blood droplets.

“Blood and the front door ajar. I’ll take back?”

“Yeah, radio if you find anything.”

“You too.” Aaron said as he unholstered his weapon and headed towards the rear of the home.

“7-Adam-07, our alarm call has turned into a suspected homicide and burglary. Standby.” Lucy radioed into dispatch and removed her weapon as well. Pushing the front door open, she called out, “LAPD!” Hoping for some kind of response, she received none.

Going room by room, she quickly but effectively clears them, noting nothing out of the ordinary in any. Upon coming to the bottom of the stairway moments later, she notices smeared blood on the wooden handrail. “Thorsen, I cleared the downstairs. There’s blood on the handrail. I’m heading up. What’s your status?”

“Clear. No sign of any forced entry. Nothing out here to indicate that anything happened. I’m heading around front to come in. Be careful.”

Lucy starts heading upstairs, her gun raised, ready for any altercations. “LAPD, is anyone up here?” She calls out once more. She receives no response again.

The first room she comes to is a bathroom. Nothing out of the ordinary. The next room is a guest room. Same. The third room’s door is ajar. She notices blood droplets on the white carpet, blood on the doorframe and knob.

Pushing the bedroom door open, she’s greeted with the sight of what she guesses is the homeowner—deceased. Lucy checks for a pulse and finds none. Sighing, she notices a closet and the master bathroom, and works carefully to clear the interior rooms.

“Chen, where are you at?” Aaron calls, entering through the front door.

“Upstairs, master bedroom on the left,” Lucy yells out. “I cleared the other rooms up here. I think I found the owner.”

Aaron quickly makes his way upstairs, heading for Lucy. “Aw, what the hell is that?”

“I’m going to guess our homeowner,” she says as she pulls out her radio. “This is 7-Adam-07, dispatch, notify detectives that our alarm call is a homicide.”

“7-Adam-07, copy.”

“Luce, look. There’s a message carved on his chest,” Aaron points out to Lucy.

Lucy walks over to the body of the homeowner and notices the bloody message that he has pointed out.

“'GiVe Me MOre,'” she reads aloud. “Give who more, and give them more of what?”

Aaron and Lucy look at each other, both curious and concerned.

"Victim’s name is Anton Yelkavich. Age 34. Has ties to Sureno 13," Lopez said, informing Chen and Thorsen. The scene was busy with crime scene techs.

"Sureno 13?" Lucy asked.

"Local gang. I noticed the number 13 burned into our victim’s flesh, back of his leg," Aaron said. "They’ve only been around for like, I dunno, 5 years?" he explained. "Any idea who’d want him dead?" he asked Angela.

"I’m guessing any of the other members of the gang, maybe even their leader, Victor Martin. We busted Anton months ago, and he flipped on the leader. Word has it Anton was going to get the others to also flip on Victor."

"So, you think that the others might also be in danger?"

"Possibly. We’ll have to check the list on the others and follow up with them. Are you guys able to help with that?"

"Of course," Aaron spoke up. "Hey, the message that was carved into Yelkavich, any idea what it means?"

"No. It doesn’t ring a bell. Maybe combing through the file might help some," Lopez said.

“We’ll meet you back at the station and split up the names,” Lucy said.

“Sounds good. See you two then.”

Aaron and Lucy stepped back over to the other side of the yellow caution tape. “You think we’ll have more victims before the day is over?” Aaron asked.

Lucy sighed. “I do. That’s why we need to get that list of names and act fast. I just can’t figure out the message he left. He wants more. More of what, exactly?”

“You know as much as I do. Are you still driving?”

“You can, if you’d like.”

“Sure thing, let’s go.”

“7-Adam-07, show us returning to the station,” Lucy radioed in.

“7-Adam-07, copy.”

Nolan and Ellie arrived at the location of their domestic dispute call. The home was small and quaint, nestled in a nice neighborhood. It was surrounded by a white picket fence with a small open gate, giving it a clean and tidy appearance.

“Nice neighborhood. What do you think the dispute is about? Burnt cookies? Cold dinner? Warm beer?” Ellie scoffed, a hint of cynicism in her voice.

Nolan raised an eyebrow, looking at her. “Nice neighborhoods turn you off, boot?” he teased.

Ellie rolled her eyes at the nickname. “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me that the nice white picket fence isn’t just a façade for what really goes on behind closed doors? It’s all a lie.”

“Well, until this call is settled, let’s just do our jobs,” Nolan replied, his tone more serious.

“Yes, sir,” Ellie said quietly, falling in step behind her training officer as they ascended the porch steps. She took the lead and knocked on the door. “LAPD!”

Waiting to see if anybody would answer the door and let them in, Ellie could hear signs of an altercation inside. “I hear yelling. Should I try again or go in?”

“Let’s try one more time,” Nolan decided, knocking on the door once more. “LAPD, open up!”

Still no response.

Then, a sound of breaking glass came from inside the house.

“Alright, go,” Nolan ordered, giving Ellie the green light to take action.

Ellie unholstered her weapon and turned the knob, her heart racing as she found the door surprisingly unlocked. “LAPD! Hands up!”

“Woah, don’t shoot!”

“What are you doing here?” Ellie demanded.

“We got a call regarding a domestic disturbance, and I’d say we’ve got one in front of us,” Nolan interjected, his voice steady and authoritative. “Now, can anybody tell us what’s going on?”

The man in the room finally found his voice. “My wife here filed for divorce and is suing me for full custody of our two kids,” he explained, pointing toward a scared young girl and boy huddled on the couch.

Ellie, feeling the tension begin to ease, holstered her weapon and exchanged a nod with Nolan. “Hey, kids, my name is Ellie, and this is John. We’re here to talk to your mom and dad, okay? Can you go upstairs for me until we’re done?”

The young girl nodded, her wide eyes showing a mix of fear and curiosity. She took her younger brother’s hand, and they hurriedly ascended the staircase, disappearing behind a closing door.

“Now, let’s talk,” Ellie said, her tone softer as she addressed the couple before her. “Can we talk?”

The wife nodded, her expression a mixture of anger and hurt. “My name is Laura; this here is Patrick. He’s a lying piece of cheating shit. Narcissistic to boot too.”

“What the fuck, Laura?!” Patrick shouted, his face turning red. “I told you I’m not cheating on you. And I’m NOT narcissistic, that’s your mother!”

“I’ve got all the proof, Patrick. Phone records, credit card statements, you name it. It’s over,” Laura spat, her voice shaking with frustration.

“Guys, come on. Have you guys ever gone to marriage counseling? Any remediation at all?” Nolan interjected, attempting to steer the conversation towards a more constructive direction.

“I tried to get him to go. He wouldn’t. Hell, all he would ever say is that he wouldn’t cheat on me again, and that was that. Even if he wasn’t, the mind games! The mind games are enough for me!” Laura's voice trembled as she spoke, the emotional turmoil evident in her words.

“What mind games, ma’am?” Ellie asked, her voice gentle, as she sought a way to shift the course of the argument.

“Always talking about how I would be nothing without him, how I was only ever meant to stay at home, mind the house, mind the kids, have dinner and a beer ready for him the moment he got home. Well, that shit might have worked back in the 60s and maybe the 70s, but it doesn’t work on me,” Laura explained with a mix of anger and exhaustion.

“That’s not true, and you know it,” Patrick said, his voice lowered, a hint of remorse in his eyes. “Laura, I love you. I fucked up before, but I swear, I’m not...” He trailed off, his words heavy with the weight of his emotions.

“Then why am I getting phone calls from Patrice, saying how you took her out to Antonio’s and to her house to fuck her?” Laura demanded, her voice quivering with a mix of anger and hurt. “I’ve got the proof, Patrick. The phone records with her phone number, the credit card statement.”

“Laura, Patrice is screwing with you. She’s been calling my number. I’ve only answered it to tell her to leave us alone. The credit card used at Antonio’s was me buying lunch for a coworker and myself, weeks ago.”

“I don’t believe you!”

“I've got proof. It's in the other room, in the office. Can I go get it?” Patrick looked at Ellie, seeking her permission.

“Yes, go ahead.”

Patrick walked away, his steps heavy with the weight of his own distress, and Ellie turned to address Laura, her tone gentle but firm. “Laura, maybe hear Patrick out? Look, I’ve been through situations like this before, and Officer Nolan and I only want what’s best for your family.”

Laura's expression remained hardened. “With all due respect, Officer Moore, I’m making the best decision for our family. I’m getting us away from him,” Laura spat back, her words laced with a combination of anger and determination.

“All I’m saying is –”

“Gun!” Nolan's voice boomed, his eyes widening as he saw Patrick re-enter the room with a gun in his hand. “Patrick, put the gun down.”

Ellie had her gun out, her hands steady but her heart racing, her mind processing the rapidly unfolding situation. “Patrick, come on, put the gun down.”

“Yeah, Patrick, what are you gonna do, shoot me?” Laura's remark carried a tone of bitterness.

“Shut up, Mrs. Reynolds!” Ellie's voice snapped, her attempt to regain control of the room evident. “Come on, Patrick, you don’t want to do this. Think about your kids.”

Patrick's grip on the gun seemed shaky as he turned it towards Nolan, tears streaking down his face.

“Wait, stop!” Ellie's voice was sharp and commanding, her body moving to step in front of Nolan, acting as a human shield.

“Officer Moore, out of the way,” Nolan's voice cut through, his tone brooking no argument.

“I’ve got this, John,” Ellie insisted, taking a cautious step closer to Patrick, her eyes locked onto his. “Hey, things can be fixed. Don’t do this. You don’t want this hanging over you; it will make it harder to fight for your kids.” Her words were a mix of urgency and empathy, an attempt to reach a desperate man through the fog of his emotions.

Patrick's sobs wracked his body, his shoulders trembling as tears streamed down his face. “I only cheated once, early in our marriage. She’s never let it go. Laura and I were literally on a date last week, and we were happy. I don’t recognize my wife anymore.”

“We can help, Patrick. Please, let us help you both,” Ellie pleaded, her voice laced with empathy and a hint of desperation. Her eyes filled with genuine concern as she stared at the distraught man before her. “Let me help.”

“I’m sorry, but you can’t. She has friends in high places. Higher than you. I will never see my kids ever again,” Patrick explained, his words weighed down by the heaviness of his despair. His vision blurred as tears continued to blur his sight.

“I understand what you're feeling, but fight against it. She may have influential friends, but that's okay. We can still help. Patrick, let me help,” Ellie's voice held a mixture of determination and compassion as she began to slowly extend her hand toward the gun he held, her breath held in anticipation.

“You can’t. I’m so sorry,” Patrick's voice was a quiet murmur, his grip shifting as he turned the gun and, in a heart-wrenching moment, shot himself in the head.

“No! Dad!” Ellie's anguished cry echoed through the room as she watched helplessly, her heart pounding, as he fell to the living room floor. The shock of the tragic scene unfolding before her was overwhelming, leaving her frozen in a moment of disbelief and sorrow.

“Ellie!”

“Patrick!”

Nolan and Laura both yelled out simultaneously, their voices laced with shock and grief. Laura's desperate steps propelled her towards Patrick's lifeless form, but John moved quickly to intercept her, his firm hold preventing her from reaching the scene of the tragedy. “Officer Moore are you okay?” he inquired urgently, his gaze assessing her for any injuries.

Surveying the somber tableau before him, John noted Ellie on her knees beside Patrick's motionless body, her uniform and face stained with blood, and her face an emotionless mask. The weight of the moment hung heavily in the air.

“He’s gone,” Ellie's voice was steady but carried an undercurrent of sadness that echoed through the room.

With a heavy sigh, John instructed Laura to go upstairs and check on her children, offering her a brief but supportive nod as she complied. As he reached for his radio, he summoned the necessary assistance. “7-Adam-15, I need an RA on site for our domestic dispute call, a suicide.”

“7-Adam-15, copy,” came the response, the acknowledgment a stark reminder of the heart-wrenching reality they were grappling with.

Ellie sat on the retaining wall at the perimeter, her face a mask of exhaustion and turmoil. She responded to Bailey's questions as best she could, her voice carrying a weariness that matched her expression.

“How is she?” Nolan approached them, his concern evident in his voice, having finished briefing the other officers on the scene.

Bailey motioned for John to step aside with her, creating a bit of distance from Ellie. “She’s in shock. She answered the questions I asked her, but it's clear she's exhibiting the classic signs. It's all there.”

John let out a heavy sigh, his weariness reflecting his emotional state. "I figured as much."

Curious and deeply concerned, Nolan asked, “What happened?”

“She tried to diffuse the situation, but it escalated rapidly,” John explained, his voice tinged with a mix of frustration and sorrow. “She even stepped in front of me, literally in the line of fire. She believed she could get through to him. To both of them.”

Bailey’s expression shifted to one of understanding mingled with empathy. “Oh man. No wonder she’s in the state she’s in. That’s a lot to carry.” She shook his head slowly, grappling with the gravity of the situation they had witnessed.

Nolan and Bailey both turned their attention as commotion arose behind them, witnessing Ellie confronting Laura directly.

“You drove him to suicide! You threatened that man's children! What kind of mother does that?” Ellie's voice carried a mix of anger and accusation, her finger pointed accusingly at Laura.

“You wouldn’t understand. You’ve never been in my shoes!” Laura's voice wavered; her emotions raw as she fired back.

“I have! I have been in your shoes!”

“Officer Moore,” Nolan's voice boomed, a commanding force aimed at diffusing the escalating situation. “Stand down, now!”

Unfazed, Ellie continued to vent her frustration, her arm extending upwards toward the house. “Your husband explained everything in that room,” she yelled, her voice rising with each word. “And you just kept going at him!”

“Officer Moore! I said stand down!” Nolan's voice carried an even greater authority, the urgency in his tone unmistakable.

“Bitch, I will have your job if you don’t leave me alone. Like Patrick said, I have friends in high places. I’d watch yourself if I were you,” Laura's voice was laden with a warning as she turned and walked away, the tension in the air still palpable despite her departure.

Ellie began moving towards Laura with determination before being firmly restrained by John's grasp. “You disobeyed a direct order. You need to get back to our vehicle before I strip you of your badge. Now.”

The frustration radiating from Nolan was unmistakable, and Ellie's realization of her error hit her hard. She had indeed messed up. “Yes, sir,” she replied, her voice quiet and remorseful as she turned away and headed toward their police unit, slipping into the passenger seat.

“John, given the circumstances –”

“Bailey, she literally went after the victim’s wife. I wasn’t the only one who saw that. I won't be able to explain her way through this,” John's voice held a mix of exasperation and concern.

“Actually, Officer Nolan,” another voice chimed in from behind them, catching their attention. Another officer stepped forward, offering a different perspective. “Laura went after her. I overheard her saying that Patrick didn't actually commit the things she accused him of.”

Nolan turned towards the officer, seeking her nametag for identification. “Officer?”

“Hernandez, sir,” the officer responded. “Officer Moore was approached by the deceased victim’s wife. Laura started confessing that Patrick was telling the truth, that she hadn't filed for divorce because doing so would leave her with nothing. She mentioned that by his death, she would gain everything.”

Nolan exchanged a look with John, realization dawning upon them both. The situation had more layers than initially apparent, and they now had a more complex puzzle to unravel.

Bailey looked at Nolan, her expression a mix of astonishment and disbelief. “So, she just confessed to murder by suicide, basically?”

“Basically,” Hernandez affirmed, her voice carrying a tone of gravity. “Look, I’ve got it all recorded on my bodycam. You can have the footage for your case.”

“Thank you. I’ll get our Sergeant to retrieve the footage. Can you swing by the station later to give your official report?”

“Yes, sir. Right after we wrap up here, I'll head over.”

“Thank you,” Nolan acknowledged, signaling the end of their conversation. He turned his attention back to Bailey, his brow furrowed in contemplation. “While this development helps Ellie’s situation, I still need to talk to her. There's something that's bothering me about all of this.”

“Just... be careful how you approach it, okay? If you push too hard, she might shut down completely. Approach it tactfully.”

John nodded, his gaze meeting Bailey's with understanding. “I'll see you tonight at home.”

“Of course, hot stuff,” Bailey teased, offering him a playful grin as he walked away.

Observing Ellie's gaze fixed on the passenger side window, Nolan felt a pang of sympathy. The upcoming conversation was one he wished to avoid, but it was necessary. Settling into the driver's seat, he turned to face her.

“I need answers, and I need them now.”

Alright, so, here's chapter two. Much longer too. Sorry for the delay, I ended up growing an extra appendage in the form of a 3 year old little girl. She and hubby are finally in bed and now I am heading that way.

I totally accept constructive criticism. As well as a beta. So, if anyone is interested, let me know!

I hope y'all enjoy. If you have any questions, let me know!

#the rookie #oc #john nolan #lucy chen #tim bradford #angela lopez #aaron thorsen #nyla harper #chenford #nathan fillion

[bottlecaprabbitgames]

Silk, Tea, Moss (Masc Loche)

The dead leaves and brush crunch loudly under your feet, while Loche seems to move like a shadow. Even in human form, he’s still like the leopard beast inside: moving as if he’s always hunting something. 

You nearly jump as his fingertips gently brush your hand. You look up to him as you place your hand in his, smiling. He returns it, those deep blue eyes roaming your face the entire time. You lightly squeeze his hand, his scarred skin rough against yours. That describes all of him, really: he has so many edges, so much roughness to him, from his skin to his personality. Where silk is soft and gives easily, he’s harsh and like a great stone. 

With everyone but you. Even sometimes with the team those edges he has will leave cuts… but never with you. 

“What are you thinking of?” He asks softly, his voice barely more than a rumble. 

“You.” 

“Me?”

“Mhmm.” You run your thumb along his, and you swear you can hear him start to purr. 

“What about me, love?” 

“Just… you. You as a person.” You can’t suppress a small laugh at the confusion on his face. “You have figured out I like you by now, right? Like, I was sure us dating would’ve made that clear, but in case it did not-” 

“I am well-aware that you do,” he interrupts, shaking his head. It’s then you realize his hair has grown out some; when you first met, it was practically sheared to the scalp, and now it’s grown to a little past his ears. “I am simply curious as to what that has to do with me as a person.” 

“I like you? So… I like to think about you?” You can’t keep the teasing note out of your voice, even as his smile turns to a less than amused frown. “Hmm, maybe something’s getting lost in translation here.” 

“I will… ask Fawn about it later.” 

“Probably a good choice.” You notice a small pond to the left, surrounded in an almost pillow-y looking moss, blanketing the entire bank. “C’mon, over here.” 

You gently tug him hand towards the pond and he comes easily, his fingers tightening around yours. Your heart beats a little too fast at that; he always does that. As if he’s afraid your hand will slip out of his. 

You carefully traverse the moss, trying to not damage it. You see him do the same out of the corner of your eye. As you take a seat on a particularly dense patch of moss, you watch him move a small frog out of the way so he can sit next to you. He still has your hand clutched in his, and when he’s fully seated, he pulls your conjoined hands into his lap and oh so carefully wraps his other hand around the back of yours. 

“It’s pretty here,” you murmur, trying to take your attention from how his fingers are making little circles on the pulse point in your wrist. 

“Yes. Your nature in this world is beautiful. I like all the little mosses and afribians.” 

“Er. Amphibians? The frogs?” 

“Ah. Yes. Amphibians.” He smiles as he puts the toe of his boot into the edge of the pond and it is immediately surrounded by a horde of tadpoles. “We don’t really have small, soft creatures there. They don’t… survive in the Wilds. If there are any, they’re probably kept as pets by the Lords or Ladies.” 

You don’t miss the bitter tone in his voice. “That’s unfortunate. Is that why you spend so much time in the woods and stuff when we’re on assignment? To look at the nature we have?” 

“Yes… it’s all very… Pretty.” He makes a face. “Well. Aside from those little creatures with the masked faces. They tend to steal anything I have with me if I don’t keep a constant eye on it.” 

“Ah. Raccoons. It’s okay, I think most people have been burgled by them at least once or twice. They love garbage. And pet food.” 

“I do not see why. It is not particularly tasteful.” 

You slowly turn to look at him. “The garbage or the pet food?” 

His neck darkens, holding a hue of red instead of the usual deep tawny color. “I wouldn’t eat garbage! But… agh… the cats insisted the food tasted okay so I tried one of the little pieces. I believe they were trying to play a trick on me.” 

It takes all of your willpower to not laugh. “I didn’t know you could speak to animals.” 

“Not animals. Just cats and things like them, I think? Either way, the cats lied. It was horrible.” He shudders, as if remembering the flavor right then. You have to bite down hard on your lip to keep your composure. 

“Mhmm. I see.” You pull the thermos out from your bag and take a sip of the tea inside. “Are you thirsty?” 

“No, I’m alright. Thank you.” 

You nod and put it back away. You run your fingers over the mossy bed under you, enjoying the way it softly springs up under your fingers. 

Well, until you feel his fingertips gently ghost over your forearm, sending a pleasant shiver up your spine. You turn to him just as his fingers make their way up your arm and to under your chin. It nearly takes your breath when you find him close.

So, so very close. You can see the slight elongating of his pupils as his eyes roam your face, you can feel his warm breath on your lips. So close. 

You bring your free hand up and gently push a lock of hair behind his ear. His eyes flutter, but stay open. Gazing into yours. 

Yours close the moment he leans in further and his lips meet yours. They’re warm and soft. You can feel the scar that cuts through his top lip against yours, a single point of roughness in his kiss. You push your fingers into his hair, holding him as close as you can as he deepens the kiss, his tongue just as gentle as the way he holds you. 

You can’t think of anything except him. 

#agent loche #mind games #ro scenario #scenario #snippet #poll rewards

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

22nd January >> Fr. Martin's Reflections / Homilies for Today's Mass Readings (Inc. Mark 3:22-30) for Monday, Third Week in Ordinary Time: ‘If a household is divided against itself, that household can never stand’.

Monday, Third Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Except USA) Mark 3:22-30 A kingdom divided against itself cannot stand.

The scribes who had come down from Jerusalem were saying, ‘Beelzebul is in him’ and, ‘It is through the prince of devils that he casts devils out.’ So he called them to him and spoke to them in parables, ‘How can Satan cast out Satan? If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot last. And if a household is divided against itself, that household can never stand. Now if Satan has rebelled against himself and is divided, he cannot stand either – it is the end of him. But no one can make his way into a strong man’s house and burgle his property unless he has tied up the strong man first. Only then can he burgle his house.

‘I tell you solemnly, all men’s sins will be forgiven, and all their blasphemies; but let anyone blaspheme against the Holy Spirit and he will never have forgiveness: he is guilty of an eternal sin.’ This was because they were saying, ‘An unclean spirit is in him.’

Gospel (USA) Mark 3:22-30 It is the end of Satan.

The scribes who had come from Jerusalem said of Jesus, “He is possessed by Beelzebul,” and “By the prince of demons he drives out demons.”

Summoning them, he began to speak to them in parables, “How can Satan drive out Satan? If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot stand. And if a house is divided against itself, that house will not be able to stand. And if Satan has risen up against himself and is divided, he cannot stand; that is the end of him. But no one can enter a strong man’s house to plunder his property unless he first ties up the strong man. Then he can plunder his house. Amen, I say to you, all sins and all blasphemies that people utter will be forgiven them. But whoever blasphemes against the Holy Spirit will never have forgiveness, but is guilty of an everlasting sin.” For they had said, “He has an unclean spirit.”

Reflections (8)

(i) Monday, Third Week in Ordinary Time

You have heard the expression, ‘United we stand; divided we fall’. One of the reasons we came through the pandemic so well as a nation was that we were united in our response to the challenge of the pandemic. We looked out for one another, rather than going our own way. There was good communal solidarity. People accepted all kinds of sacrifices for the good of others as well as for their own good. In today’s gospel reading, Jesus declares that if a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot last, and, likewise, with a divided household. He said this in response to those who claimed that the power behind his healing work was the power of Satan. It is hard to imagine a greater misjudgement of Jesus than to declare that the spirit at work in his ministry is the spirit of Satan, when in reality it was the Spirit of God, the Holy Spirit. Jesus goes on to suggest that those who identify the work of the Holy Spirit in Jesus with the work of the evil spirit have placed themselves beyond the reach of God’s merciful and healing love, if they stubbornly persist in that view. There are guilty of an eternal sin that cannot be forgiven. It is not that God is unwilling to forgive all sin, but, rather, that God’s merciful love cannot penetrate hearts that persist in calling Jesus an agent of Satan. The Lord needs some opening in others, no matter how small, some chink in their armour of resistance. The tiniest chink is all the Lord needs to do his saving work in our lives. As Jesus says elsewhere in the gospels, God can work powerfully through faith the size of a mustard seed, the smallest of all the seeds. Although the Lord needs some opening in us, even if as small as a mustard seed, he is always totally for us. As today’s first reading declares, he ‘offers himself once to take the faults of many on himself’.

And/Or

(ii) Monday, Third Week in Ordinary Time

We live in a world in which goodness and evil are to be found. Sometimes the evil in the world is very obvious, as in the taking of a human life. Goodness can also be very obvious; we recognize it in the willingness of people to give generously of themselves on behalf of others. In this morning’s gospel reading the scribes make the very serious mistake of mistaking goodness for evil. Jesus was the ultimate example of obvious goodness; most people recognized his goodness and declared that in and through him God was visiting his people. A small minority attributed Jesus’ goodness to an evil source, declaring that Satan, not God, was working through him. This is the blasphemy against the Holy Spirit, the eternal sin that Jesus speaks about at the end of the gospel reading. Such people failed to recognize that it was the Holy Spirit and not an evil spirit that was at work in the life of Jesus. An important part of our calling is to recognize the Holy Spirit in the lives of others and in our own lives. Saint Paul reminds us that the Spirit works in all kinds of different ways in different people. Some aspect of the rich fruit of the Spirit is likely to be visible in our lives and in the lives of others; one of the Spirit’s many gifts will grace our lives and those of others. The gospel reading calls us to be attentive to the many signs of the Spirit and to rejoice in those signs wherever we find them, in whomever we find them.

And/Or

(iii) Monday, Third Week in Ordinary Time

The gospels suggest that different people responded to Jesus in very different ways. Some recognized God at work in him and responded to him with great openness. Others saw him very differently, however. In this morning’s gospel reading, some experts in the Jewish Law declare that it is Satan who is working through Jesus, not God; this is the unforgivable sin that Jesus speaks about at the end of the gospel reading. Jesus seems to be saying that those who look upon complete goodness and declare that it is evil are beyond repentance and therefore beyond forgiveness. They have closed themselves completely to God’s approach. The gospels suggest that human beings are capable of every conceivable response to God’s presence in Jesus, from tremendous openness to complete rejection. We spend our lives growing in our response to the Lord’s presence and the Lord’s call. There is always another step to be taken in our relationship with the Lord, as someone like Peter learnt. The good news is that the Lord continues to call us and continues to wait on our ever more generous response and will exploit any opening we give him for our ultimate salvation.

And/Or

(iv) Monday, Third Week in Ordinary Time

In the gospel reading Jesus speaks of a kingdom divided against itself not being able to stand, and likewise a household divided against itself not being able to stand. He was refuting those who claimed that the power at work in his life was the power of Satan. How could Satan, he asked, be driving out Satan? Why would the kingdom of Satan seek to be divided against itself? That would be a recipe for its collapse. It is extraordinary to think that some people were of the opinion that the power at work in Jesus was the power of evil. Here was Jesus doing good, healing the sick, seeking the lost, feeding the hungry, proclaiming God’s mercy to sinners. It was the power of God that was at work through Jesus, not the power of Satan. The scribes who came down from Jerusalem and who accused Jesus of acting in the power of Satan were blind; they saw white and called it black. It is easy for any of us to see what is not there or not to see what is there. We need ongoing healing of our blindness. We need to keep coming before the Lord with the prayer, ‘Lord, that I may see’. We ask to see as Jesus sees, to see with generous and compassionate eyes, recognizing the good that is in people even when it is hidden.

And/Or

(v) Monday, third week in Ordinary Time

The final verses of this morning’s gospel reading seem rather harsh to our ears. Jesus speaks of an eternal sin, a sin that is beyond forgiveness. The sin in question is to attribute the work of God’s Spirit in Jesus to the Spirit of Satan, which is what the scribes who came up from Jerusalem were doing. They were saying that the power beyond the good work that Jesus was doing was the power of Satan. Those who say such a thing are so closed to God’s presence and activity that even God’s power to forgive will not penetrate their heart. The gospels are clear that God’s mercy is boundless and that Jesus is the revelation of the boundless mercy of God. Yet, even the boundless mercy of God requires some little openness on the part of others to receive it. Those who see only evil in the obvious good that others are doing, while seeing no sin in themselves, will struggle to allow themselves to be embraced by God’s merciful love. The good news is that even the slightest opening on our part is all God needs to bring us to himself. The Lord has done and is doing most of the work; all he needs is a little from us, but that little is very important. One expression of that ‘little’ is expressed in the prayer of the tax-collector in the parable Jesus spoke, ‘Lord, be merciful to me a sinner’, a prayer we can all make our own.

And/Or

(vi) Monday, Third Week in Ordinary Time

We can all find ourselves being misunderstood or misjudged. We do something and it is interpreted in a way that is completely different to what we intended. We say something and it is heard in a very different way to what we wanted to say. It can be very upsetting when we are misjudged and misinterpreted in this way. The gospel reading suggests that Jesus was misinterpreted in the greatest way imaginable. Jesus was doing the work of God, healing the sick and releasing people from their demons. The Holy Spirit who came down upon him at this baptism was powerfully at work in all he said and did. However, some of the religious experts of the time held the view that the spirit at work in Jesus was an evil spirit, not the Holy Spirit. ‘It is through the price of devils that he casts devils out’. It is hard to imagine a more serious misjudgement of others that to confuse the work of the Holy Spirit in their lives with the work of an evil spirit. It is what Jesus calls in the gospel reading, blasphemy against the Holy Spirit. These religious experts were completely blind to the presence of the Holy Spirit in the life of Jesus. We might be tempted to think that we could not be so blind. Yet, we too can fail to recognize the presence and working of the Holy Spirit in the lives of others. We can be so focused on what we perceive to be their failings that we fail to see the presence of the Holy Spirit in them. The gospel reading calls on us to be alert to the signs of the Holy Spirit in each other, even when those signs are not always glaringly obvious.

And/Or

(vii) Monday, Third Week in Ordinary Time

The final verses of today’s gospel reading seem rather harsh to our ears. Jesus speaks of a sin that is beyond forgiveness, an eternal sin. The sin in question is to attribute the work of God’s Spirit in Jesus to the Spirit of Satan, which is what the scribes who came up from Jerusalem were doing. They were saying that the power beyond the good work that Jesus was doing was the power of Satan. Those who say such a thing are so closed to God’s presence and activity that even God’s power to forgive will not penetrate their heart. The gospels are clear that God’s mercy is boundless and that Jesus is the revelation of the boundless mercy of God. Yet, even the boundless mercy of God requires some level of openness on the part of others to receive it. Those who see only evil in the obvious good that others are doing, while seeing no sin in themselves, will struggle to allow themselves to be embraced by God’s merciful love. The good news is that even the slightest opening on our part is all God needs to bring us to himself. The Lord has done and is doing most of the work; all he needs is a little from us, but that little is very important. One expression of that ‘little’ is expressed in the prayer of the tax-collector in the parable Jesus spoke, ‘Lord, be merciful to me a sinner’, a prayer we can all make our own.

And/Or

(viii) Monday, Third Week in Ordinary Time

In Matthew’s gospel Jesus speaks of himself as gentle and humble in heart. In today’s gospel reading from Mark, Jesus uses the image of a burglar who enters a strong man’s house and ties up the strong man before burgling his property. Jesus is referring to himself, even though it may seem a strange image for Jesus to use for his ministry. His work consists in entering the property of the strong man, Satan, and binding him up. Jesus is the stronger one who has come to launch an assault on the domain of Satan. The gentle one is also the strong one who is ready to wage a spiritual warfare against the powers that enslave and dehumanize people. Although Jesus’ opponents claim that the power at work in his ministry is the power of Satan, in reality the power that moves Jesus’ ministry is the power of the Holy Spirit. Those who identify this power of the Spirit as the power of Satan are sinning against the Holy Spirit, in the words of Jesus. It will be almost impossible for God’s forgiving and healing love to penetrate hearts that are so blind and prejudiced. They will never be forgiven because they are completely closed to the gift of Jesus’ forgiving love. The same Holy Spirit that shaped the ministry of Jesus has been given to us all. One of the signs or fruits of the Spirit in our lives is that strong gentleness or gentle strength that characterized the life and ministry of Jesus. This will often involve for us, as it did for Jesus, standing up against all the forces and powers that enslave and dehumanize people and that prevent them from living that full life that the Lord desires for them.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[jabbage]

#Letters from Watson #lettersfromwatson

[gwillwrites]

Baked In

Lord-Veritant Peonas Hydesmith is diligent and exacting in his Sigmar-given duties hunting down the cults of Chaos and expunging them wherever they try to hide. A chance meeting, witness to a petty theft, offers Hydesmith the lead he needs to begin his next hunt.

Taken from prompts on Twitter. The prompt "Bread" supplied by @freebirdcreates

The boy came out of the darkened alley, running so fast one might be forgiven for believing the very hounds of Khorne were hot on his heels. He was dirty, his cheeks soiled with muck and his hair matted down with enough grime to obscure its natural color. He was dressed in a pair of denim coveralls common to the fishmongers that plied their wares in Sapphire City’s wharf district. The coveralls were as dirty as the boy, the knees ripped and torn. One strap hung loosely down the boy’s chest, the button responsible for keeping it in place long lost. The boy wore no shoes, and his bare feet padded wetly against the flagstone street, as if the boy had run through his share of puddles following the thunderstorm that had doused the city earlier in the night.

Lord-Veritant Peonas Hydesmith watched, his disinterest growing the longer he studied the boy. Barbaras, Hydesmith’s diligently loyal gryph-hound, was only marginally more interested as he had not yet determined if the boy was prey or not. The boy could not have been more than ten or twelve summers old, but Hydesmith had never been the best at judging the age of mortals on physical appearance alone. The Lord-Veritant noted, with interest that waned as quickly as it came, that the boy clutched a loaf of bread tight to his chest as he ran. Stolen, no doubt. It was not uncommon for the street urchins of Sapphire City’s sea level districts, to resort to such methods to make ends meet. It was often a vicious cycle, the poor robbing the dispossessed, only to be burgled in return a day or a week or a month later. 

The boy kept looking over his shoulder with great frequency, clearly more concerned with what was behind him than what was ahead. The behavior further supported Hydesmith’s hypothesis that the bread was pilfered. It also meant the boy did not see the Lord-Veritant in his path until it was too late. He struck Hydesmith with such force, he recoiled off the brass plate of the Lord-Veritant’s armor and landed on his backside with a pained yelp. The bread, dislodged from the boy’s grip thanks to the force of the impact, landed on the flagstone street between them.

The boy looked petrified, terrified gaze going to the gryph-hound before rising to make eye contact with the Lord-Veritant. Hydesmith’s face was obscured by his helm. Hydesmith was statuesque, unmoving. The collision had not forced him to take so much as a half step back to steady himself. He was rooted as firmly to the ground as his faith was to Sigmar. As Hydesmith stared back down at the boy, all the youth could see was the aggravated sternness sculpted into the death mask of Hydesmith’s crested helm, and the cold, judgemental eyes behind it. Something of a muted whimper managed to claw its way from the boy’s throat, but it was nothing intelligible. 

Barbaras crept closer, beak clacking as he slipped between his master’s legs and sniffed at the boy and then at the loaf of bread.

“Oy!” A shout rang out from back down the alleyway. “Where did you go, you little- ah-ha!”

A man appeared from the gloom, following in the boy’s steps. He was portly, clearly used to a mostly sedentary life. His bulk was confined to trousers and a shirt discolored by grease underneath a flour dusted apron that was equally grimey. The man’s hair was thinning. What little he had atop his head was combed over in a poor attempt to cover the bald spot there. The man lumbered forward, wheezing through dry lips and Hydesmith noted his eyes were sunken and his skin was sallow, though it glistened with the sweat of the exertion put forward by this chase.

“There you are, you little shit.”

The man reached for the boy, only to stop midway when he finally noticed Hydesmith standing there. The man, a baker if the flour was any clue, took a step back, as if physically struck by the Lord-Veritant’s presence. He gawked for a moment, and Hydesmith stared silently back in return until the man found himself again.

“Lord-Veritant,” he said. Hydesmith noted the baker’s voice was wet, as if he were just catching a cold, or just getting over one. The baker rubbed his hands together nervously, and Hydesmith noted the man could not quite bring himself to meet the Lord-Veritant’s gaze. It was not an uncommon affliction. Many mortals in Sapphire City viewed the Stormcast garrisoned there as gods in their own right. Averting their gaze was often a sign of respect. But the baker’s behavior was somehow different. It was not reverential, but Hydesmith could not place a finger on what it was.

“Thank you,” the man continued. “For stopping this little thief.”

Hydesmith looked down at the boy. Barbarass clacked his beak at the baker, hissing quietly. Hydesmith silenced his companion with a wave of his hand and the gryph-hound retreated behind his master’s legs.

“The bread is yours?” Hydesmith asked the baker.

The man nodded. “Yes. Baked it myself for sale tomorrow.” The baker looked down at the boy. Realizing the boy no longer had the load of bread, the baker began casting about for it.

“You baked it this evening for sale tomorrow?” Hydesmith repeated, a question instead of a statement.

The baker looked up at the Lord-Veritant, as if perplexed, before spying the loaf on the street near Hydesmith’s feet. He moved to step over the boy, still seated on the ground, and reach for it, but the Lord-Veritant was faster. Hydesmith bent low, reaching for the loaf of bread and causing the baker to flinch backwards. As he moved, the shutter of the lantern set upon the top of his staff moved just enough to let a beam of light from within sneak out and light the dark street. The baker shrunk back, lifting his arm to shield his eyes. The boy did the same before the lantern closed again and Hydesmith straightened.

“This bread will be stale by tomorrow,” the Lord-Veritant said, turning the loaf over in his hand. “I am no baker, but is it not common practice to prepare your wares early in the morning so they are fresh when the shops open?”

Barbaras clicked his beak, looking up at the bread. It was hard to tell if the gryph-hound was as studious of it as his master, or if he was simply hoping he might be given a piece of the loaf as a snack.

“It, uh… I…” The baker seemed perplexed for a moment. He cleared his throat, the sound phlegmy, before continuing. “You see, Lord-Veritant, I wasn’t going to be able to prepare the bread as I normally would. I have to tend to my sick sister on the morrow. So I made the bread tonight so my clerk can at least have something to sell. So the day isn’t wasted. You understand.”

Hydesmith looked at the baker and then down at the boy. He let his staff fall into the crook of his shoulder, his newly freed hand reaching for a leather pouch on his belt. “How much for it?”

The baker blinked. “Lord?”

“How much?” Hydesmith repeated. “I would purchase it while it is still fresh.”

The baker balked. “I…um, it’s…”

Hydesmith lifted the bread, as if he were going to smell it, but instead, he took both hands and ripped the loaf in half. Crumbs tumbled free from the broken ends. Crumbs and something else. Something that wriggled and squirmed as they landed on the stone street. Barbaras hissed aggressively, pouncing on one of the wriggling things and tearing it open with his beak.

They were maggots. Fat and bloated, they struggled to right themselves and flee. The boy screamed and scooted away. The baker went even paler and looked ready to bolt. Hydesmith slowly and casually lifted his boot and stamped down on a pair of the corpulent insects. The burst under his weight, the stone street suddenly painted with innards the color of snot and soured milk.

“Baked this evening, you said?” the Lord-Veritant asked, his tone casual enough to suggest this was not an uncommon event for him.

The baker fled. He turned on his heels and bolted down the alley, back the way he had come. For a man of his size and apparent ill health, the baker moved with a surprising swiftness. Hydesmith already knew why. As the Lord-Veritant stepped into the alley to give chase, he threw open the shutter of his lantern of abjuration. White light, bright and holy, filled the narrow confines of the alley and scoured away the shadows. The baker, though swift, was not faster than Sigmar’s illumination. The blessed lantern light struck him, scorching exposed skin and causing him to scream as he tumbled to the ground.

Hydesmith dimmed the light as he approached, but did not shutter his lantern completely. He kept enough light free to beat back the shadows as they struggled to return. He could feel the eye of something greater trying to watch him, but the light kept that gaze away too. The Lord-Veritant stopped as he reached the baker. The man squirmed in discomfort at Hydesmith’s feet, torn between shielding his eyes from the lantern and tending to the burns that covered his face and forearms. Hydesmith bent low, gripping the man by his dirty apron, and hoisted him to his feet, and then lifted him clean off them so that the baker was eye to eye with him, boots kicking fruitlessly in the air.

“You and I have much to discuss, it seems, baker.”

The man snarled, spitting a glob of phlegm into Hydesmith’s masked face. “You won’t stop Grandfather, and I won’t help you,” he said. 

He moved his jaw sharply to the side, and Hydesmith heard something in the man’s mouth come loose. Before he could stop him, the baker had bit down on the capsule. The effect was immediate, yellow foam spilling forth across the man’s lips as he began to jerk and convulse. Hydesmith dropped him, and the baker landed on the stone street like a sack of potatoes. He continued to spasm, his skin turning dark. He began to dissolve, skin and muscle sloughing off bone before degrading farther into a pool of dark gore. Hydesmith played his lantern across the stain, and the remnants of the baker evaporated under the light’s touch.

“Disappointing,” Hydesmith said.

Barbaras called and the Lord-Veritant turned towards the gryph-hound. Barbaras sat beside the young boy, who was in turn still seated on the street where he had fallen, still processing everything that had just happened, it seemed. Hydesmith fully shuttered his lantern, and strode over to the child.

“Boy,” he said.

The boy looked up at him, eyes wide.

“Do you have a name?”

“E-Errol, my lord. Errol Costin.”

“Errol, did you know about the bread?”

Errol looked at the broken loaf and the maggots smeared across the stone. He shook his head rapidly and hugged his legs closer to his chest.

Hydesmith sighed. Kneeling down, the Lord-Veritant reached up and removed his helmet. The face underneath was stern but of noble bearing. Dark hair cut short to his head, dark eyes that could pierce the soul, a hawk-like nose, and a bearing the suggested Hydesmith did not know how to genuinely smile. Errol’s expression shifted from one of fear to one closer to surprise.

“Have you ever seen a stormcast before?” Hydesmith asked.

Errol shook his head again. “No, my lord. Well, I have but, never without a helmet on. I didn’t know that… Are you all…?”

“Human?”

Errol nodded.

“Yes. Or we were, once. Before Lord Sigmar chose us.” Hydesmith reached for a pouch on his belt. From within he produced a roll of cloth and handed it to the boy. It smelled of cured meat. “Here,” Hydesmith said. “You were hungry, yes?”

Errol nodded. He reached slowly for the salami, pausing midway and looking up at Hydesmith as if he expected the Lord-Veritant to change his mind and withdraw the offer. When he did not, Errol grabbed the food and brought it close to his chest.

“Errol,” Hydesmith said.

Errol looked up at him. Barbaras clacked his beak.

“I need you to do something for me.”

“Yes, my lord?”

“I need you to show me the location of the bakery you stole the bread from. Can you do that?”

Errol paled slightly, as if the thought of returning there was distressing to him. But then he straightened, his lips pulling tight as a look of resolution crossed his face.

“Yes, my lord. I can do that.”

#warhammer community #age of sigmar #stormcast eternals #writers of tumblr #black library #fanfic #fanfiction #writblr

[sereia1313]

Chapters 81-90

Read it on Ao3, Dokuga, or FFnet for daily updates!

Summary: Some memories fade with time, lured away by a passing breeze. Others are so ingrained in our hearts that we cling to them with every fibre of our being. To the point where it’s all we remember.

Inspiration: Forget Me Not by Marianas Trench

Burgle

They sat in silence as Kagome continued to stroke the muzzle of the female youkai, Sesshoumaru staying far enough away not to interfere but close enough to step in if something went wrong.

"How long has this been going on?"

Inuyasha shrugged. "She's been sneaking out at night but never said why."

"And you're not worried?" Kouga asked, rolling so his head was in his lap.

"Even I was, you know K'gome, once she sets her mind on somethin', there's no stopping her."

"But the bastard—"

"You're the alpha of your pack, what do you see?"

Kouga sat up, cerulean eyes widening at the calculated purpose in each of Sesshoumaru's movements. "Oh shit."

Panacea

Kagome took each day for what it was: a possibility.

It was possible that Inukimi would remember her. It was possible that she'd remember Sesshoumaru.

It was possible that she wouldn't remember anything.

There was no cure for this; she'd seen people deteriorate even under the influence of modern medicine and technology, their loved ones withering away at their bedside, all based on the idea that things could change.

She had no connection to this creature, other than the want, the need, to help others.

But as she sat there, Inukimi's head in her lap, her large nose nudging sodden bandages under Sesshoumaru's watchful eye, Kagome began to hope. 

Festoon

It took three days for Inukimi to revert to her humanoid form. And even then, she was skittish and barely made eye contact.

But Kagome wasn't deterred. Sesshoumaru offered to set them back up in the cave, but she told him it would only make things worse.

"We don't want to give her the excuse to hide," she explained, slowly braiding Inukimi's hair, delicate wildflowers woven through the silver locks. "She has to face things head-on."

Sesshoumaru nodded from his usual place, a scroll in one hand as he leaned back against the tree trunk.

Kagome imagined a set of glasses perched on the edge of his nose and had to stifle her laughter.

Credulous

She tried to think of what he would be like in the modern era. A powerful CEO bent on hostile takeovers? Perhaps a writer who spent his days gazing out a large bay window.

The thought of him doing anything messy, like painting or cooking, brought a soft smile to her face and a question to her lips.

"Do you have any hobbies?"

He looked over the top of his scroll at her, and the image of him in glasses reading a newspaper was firmly cemented in her mind.

"I do not have time for such frivolous things," he replied.

She waved him off. "Nobody does, you have to make time for them."

Adulation

They tried a variety of things, much to his chagrin, but nothing seemed to catch his interest. Even Shippou had gotten involved, trying his hardest to impress the western lord.

The kit flourished under Sesshoumaru's watchful eye, his youthful face pinched with fierce concentration during their sparring lessons.

But it was times like these, when the three of them were situated in the library, Shippou pouring over scrolls of folklore and the history of the Inu no Taisho, that Kagome enjoyed the most.

And she had a sneaking suspicion Sesshomaru did as well.

"Why don't you have armour like that?" The boy asked.

"I am not a warlord," he answered simply, and Kagome smiled, forever grateful he spoke the truth.

Oblige

It had taken some time to explain what a warlord was, but even Shippou understood that Sesshoumaru had never had the urge to conquer as his father had.

"The humans go through waves of bloodlust," he explained, Shippou having begged him for a history lesson, "spurred on by delusions of grandeur and fear."

"So your papa was just defending himself?"

Fangs flashed as he smirked. "Father fancied himself a teacher. He wanted them to understand what it meant to cross a daiyoukai."

"Sounds like lots of people got hurt."

Sesshoumaru lay a hand on the boy's head, the touch subtle and fleeting but comforting nonetheless. "No one is safe during times of war."

Redolent

"What about your mama? Did she fight too?"

Kagome and Sesshoumaru looked at each other. They hadn't divulged the identity of the other inuyoukai, though she was sure Inuyasha and Kouga had already figured it out, their noses much more in tune with familial bonds.

Inukimi only returned to her humanoid form when the three of them were alone.

"Mother was more concerned with keeping others safe than actually participating in the battles."

"I bet she was really good at it!"

She grinned at his enthusiasm. "Why do you say that?"

Shippou didn't even blink. "Where else would Lord Sesshoumaru have learned it?"

Emancipation

Shippou explained what had happened with Rin, the girl having told him during one of his visits to Kaede's village.

Kagome had never known the reason behind Sesshoumaru's extreme protectiveness of both Rin and Kohaku during their encounter with Magatsuhi, but the fact that the young girl had had another brush with death painted a much clearer picture.

"And Rin said it was Lord Sesshoumaru's mama who saved her!"

"Was it as simple as that?" she asked.

"Unlikely," Sesshoumaru replied. "Though Mother had always expressed her dislike for the pallbearers sent to collect souls."

Kagome and Shippou shuddered, the memory of the otter demon's revival flashing through their minds.

Garrulous

The kit launched into a personal retelling of the events, talking about the otter child's current life choices in real-time before thanking Sesshoumaru again.

"I still can't believe you listened," Shippou said. They both smirked at his candidness. When had he become so bold as to chastise the Lord of the West?

"Much like Inuyasha's blade, Tenseiga has a will of its own." He leaned back against the wall of the library, one arm resting atop his bent knee.

"But you were walking away," she blurted. "What changed?"

Sesshoumaru met her gaze, lingering long enough that she felt her cheeks grow warm. "What indeed."

Prescience

Shippou came to her rescue, distracting Sesshoumaru with more questions about his father and the origin of the fanged swords, giving Kagome a chance to reflect.

And breathe.

She'd long since healed from Inukimi's episode—she refused to think of it as an attack due to the lack of intent—but the feel of his arms around her was still fresh in her mind.

And watching him now, the patience that he showed as Shippou all but climbed over him while he spoke of how Tenseiga protected him in the underworld, a new kind of hope began to burn within her.

The hope of possibilities and happiness.

Of a future.

#sesskag #forget me not #sesskag drabbles #daily drabbles #sereia1313 #creator: sereia1313 #sereia: my stories #sesskag fanfiction #sesskag fanfic #dementia #dementia tw #mental illness #angst with a happy ending #team happy ending #hurt and comfort #memory loss #bamf kagome #found family #shippou

[iwannawritelots]

That Fucking Prince pt. 1

Originally written March 2022

Ship(s): Lord Diavolo X Mephistopheles

Trigger/content warnings: body horror(?), torture, neglectful parent

Headcanons/notes from the author: In this fic series, Dia and Barbatos are younger, since it takes place before/during/after Barbatos becomes Dia’s butler. I imagine they are in late teens/young adulthood equivalent of demon age for this. Non-binary Barbatos

Brief Blurb: The Demon King finally has the most wanted thief in the Devildom incarcerated.

Lord Diavolo wasn't sure why he even left his room that morning. Mephistopheles wasn't going to come over and he had a stack of homeschool work to do, so going downstairs was counterintuitive. Nonetheless, the prince had made his way into the large living area and sat down by himself. Part of him was hoping his father would show up, and maybe he could convince him to play a game. Even though it rarely happened, sometimes he could convince the Demon King to spend time with him.

The prince quietly sat and read a book he picked from the shelf without really thinking about it. It was a little difficult to read, the language being one he had not spent much time studying. He couldn't remember which one it was, despite being able to understand most of it. "Diavolo, what are you doing in here?"

Lord Diavolo startled, then closed the book and gave his father a big smile. "I'm just reading since I got a lot done."

"A lot, but not all?" The Demon King perked an eyebrow and frowned deeply at his son. "I don't know what you think you're doing, Diavolo, but this isn't cute."

"I-I just wanted to see if we could spend some time together..." Lord Diavolo admitted meekly, fumbling with his hands and dropping his gaze. "You're always so busy, s-so I thought—"

The Demon King snarled, "I have a responsibility, as the king of the Devildom, to ensure our subjects are well. You will someday take this duty from me, and I expect you to act like it. Place your hands in your lap and look at me when you speak." Attempting to keep tears at bay, Lord Diavolo made eye contact with his father and dropped his hands so they were folded in his lap. "Are you seriously trying to pry me away from work to do something unimportant?"

"I-I only wanted to see if you had time..." Lord Diavolo stated quietly. "I just—"

"Shut your mouth." Lord Diavolo quickly did as he was told. "You can make excuses all you want, but that doesn't change any—"

The Demon King was interrupted by a Li'l D. bonking into his leg. "S-Sorry, Your Highness! I just wanted to inform you that the thief you requested be captured is here!"

Growling, the Demon King rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. "Don't think I'm finished talking about this with you, Diavolo. I have to take care of this thief."

"M-May I follow?"

Clearly irritated, the Demon King rolled his eyes and sighed. "Fine, just don't even think about doing anything stupid."

"Y-Yes Daddy." Lord Diavolo stood up and quickly followed his father out the door and downstairs into the dungeons. "Which thief is it..?"

"The Demon Who Sees Both Past and Future," spoke the Demon King harshly. "It's unbelievable, the amount of trouble he has caused me. Stealing from the human world and Devildom, seducing my servants, attempting to burgle the castle... I've had enough. He is to be killed by nightfall."

Silently nodding, Lord Diavolo stayed close to his father. The two passed by plenty of incarcerated demons, but none of them were the one in question. They made it to the end of the first corridor, where a long haired, silent, reptilian type demon was chained to the floor by every appendage possible. None of the other demons in the dungeons were chained beyond their waist...

"The Demon Who Sees Both Past and Future, gaze upon your king," spoke Lord Diavolo's father, voice loud and deep. "Perhaps if you are well behaved, you can live another night."

Lord Diavolo felt his blood run cold when the demon did nothing except chuckle, skeletal horns shaking. "I am no fool, Demon King."

"You dare laugh in the face of your king?"

The thief snickered and coughed, but outside of a tremble was unable to move. The chains dug into their skin when they tried to move their head and neck. "You surely are aware I cannot move in my current condition. This is just a way for you to prove to yourself that you're stronger than me." They let out a weak yelp when the Demon King snapped, feeling their ankles twist with a small pop. "You only give me more reason to be grateful I need not meet your eyes."

A knot was forming in Lord Diavolo's stomach. The demon was covered in their own blood, saliva, and tears. Their hair was disheveled and sticking to their bare shoulders. Despite the state they were in, powerful magic emulated from their body. Lord Diavolo had only felt something nearly this strong from his father. "You will suffer until everything you have stolen is returned."

"I stole only what was left unattended. I would say that isn't stealing at all."

"Of course you would. You are a thief."

Lord Diavolo watched his father draw a circle with his fingers, then stared in horror as the demon before them screamed in agony. Their hips dislocated and twisted themselves, but never tore out of their body. Usually his father would only break a few bones or kill the incarcerated immediately. "Some king you are," the demon wheezed, "torturing—"

They were interrupted by their own shrieking and sobbing, the chains digging into their joints. Lord Diavolo heard small pops echo from them, and nausea washed through him. "This is a just reward for your crimes. You're a rogue that must be kept under control." The Demon King laid a hand on Lord Diavolo's shoulder, then gave him a genuine, sick smile. "Son, let this be a lesson to you. Anyone can become a prisoner."

"Y-Yes Daddy."

Reblog divider story divider

#that fucking prince #obey me! one master to rule them all #obey me #barbatos #lord diavolo #lord diavolo x mephistopheles #the demon king #om #obey me! shall we date? #darlingficsbycinna #fanfiction #iwannawritelots #body horror tw #torture tw

[allergictolife09]

Found my old 9th grade english textbook and I remember hating most of the lessons so I looked through it again and found some of these-

"Grandfather believed a tail would add to anyone's good looks."(......)

*talking about a snake* "Was it trying to make an important decision about growing a mustache or using eye shadow and mascara or wearing a vermillion spot on its forehead?" (banging my head against the desk)

"I would get married to a woman doctor who had plenty of money and a good medical practice. She had to be fat; for a valid reason. If I made some silly mistake and needed to run away she should not be able to run after me and catch me!" (questioning my existence as I read this)

"I came running hearing the sound of moaning that was coming from your room…"

"Mother, I wish you taught this child not to appear on the brink of suicide…"

"Poor Father, not so big, after all —" (why)

“Were you at home when the dead man burgled your house?” “Yes, My Lord. He broke in and the wall was weak. It fell on him.” “The accused pleads guilty. Your wall killed this man’s brother. You have murdered a man. We have to punish you.”(istg this whole lesson made me want to tear my hair out)

#ahh 9th grade how i don't miss you #there were even more quotes like that but after a while of looking through that book I was so fucking done #at least we had that lesson abt the sad gay statue and sparrow (ty oscar wilde) #tw suicide mention #<<i think #rambles

[roman-catholic-mass-readings]

22nd January >> Mass Readings (Except USA)

Monday, Third Week in Ordinary Time 

or

Saint Vincent, Deacon, Martyr.

Monday, Third Week in Ordinary Time

(Liturgical Colour: Green: B (2))

First Reading 2 Samuel 5:1-7,10 'You shall be shepherd of my people Israel'.

All the tribes of Israel then came to David at Hebron. ‘Look’ they said ‘we are your own flesh and blood. In days past when Saul was our king, it was you who led Israel in all their exploits; and the Lord said to you, “You are the man who shall be shepherd of my people Israel, you shall be the leader of Israel.”’ So all the elders of Israel came to the king at Hebron, and King David made a pact with them at Hebron in the presence of the Lord, and they anointed David king of Israel. David was thirty years old when he became king, and he reigned for forty years. He reigned in Hebron over Judah for seven years and six months; then he reigned in Jerusalem over all Israel and Judah for thirty-three years.

David and his men marched on Jerusalem against the Jebusites living there. These said to David, ‘You will not get in here. The blind and the lame will hold you off.’ (That is to say: David will never get in here.) But David captured the fortress of Zion, that is, the Citadel of David.

David grew greater and greater, and the Lord, the God of Hosts, was with him.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 88(89):20-22,25-26

R/ My truth and my love shall be with him.

Of old you spoke in a vision. To your friends the prophets you said: ‘I have set the crown on a warrior, I have exalted one chosen from the people.

R/ My truth and my love shall be with him.

I have found David my servant and with my holy oil anointed him. My hand shall always be with him and my arm shall make him strong.

R/ My truth and my love shall be with him.

My truth and my love shall be with him; by my name his might shall be exalted. I will stretch out his hand to the Sea and his right hand as far as the River.

R/ My truth and my love shall be with him.

Gospel Acclamation Psalm 24:4,5

Alleluia, alleluia! Teach me your paths, my God, make me walk in your truth. Alleluia!

Or: cf. 2 Timothy 1:10

Alleluia, alleluia! Our Saviour Jesus Christ abolished death and he has proclaimed life through the Good News. Alleluia!

Gospel Mark 3:22-30 A kingdom divided against itself cannot stand.

The scribes who had come down from Jerusalem were saying, ‘Beelzebul is in him’ and, ‘It is through the prince of devils that he casts devils out.’ So he called them to him and spoke to them in parables, ‘How can Satan cast out Satan? If a kingdom is divided against itself, that kingdom cannot last. And if a household is divided against itself, that household can never stand. Now if Satan has rebelled against himself and is divided, he cannot stand either – it is the end of him. But no one can make his way into a strong man’s house and burgle his property unless he has tied up the strong man first. Only then can he burgle his house.

‘I tell you solemnly, all men’s sins will be forgiven, and all their blasphemies; but let anyone blaspheme against the Holy Spirit and he will never have forgiveness: he is guilty of an eternal sin.’ This was because they were saying, ‘An unclean spirit is in him.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

---------------------------

Saint Vincent, Deacon, Martyr   

(Liturgical Colour: Red: B (2))

(Readings for the memorial)

(There is a choice today between the readings for the ferial day (Monday) and those for the memorial. The ferial readings are recommended unless pastoral reasons suggest otherwise)

First reading 2 Corinthians 4:7-15 Such an overwhelming power comes from God and not from us.

We are only the earthenware jars that hold this treasure, to make it clear that such an overwhelming power comes from God and not from us. We are in difficulties on all sides, but never cornered; we see no answer to our problems, but never despair; we have been persecuted, but never deserted; knocked down, but never killed; always, wherever we may be, we carry with us in our body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus, too, may always be seen in our body. Indeed, while we are still alive, we are consigned to our death every day, for the sake of Jesus, so that in our mortal flesh the life of Jesus, too, may be openly shown. So death is at work in us, but life in you.

But as we have the same spirit of faith that is mentioned in scripture – I believed, and therefore I spoke – we too believe and therefore we too speak, knowing that he who raised the Lord Jesus to life will raise us with Jesus in our turn, and put us by his side and you with us. You see, all this is for your benefit, so that the more grace is multiplied among people, the more thanksgiving there will be, to the glory of God.

The Word of the Lord

R/ Thanks be to God.

Responsorial Psalm Psalm 33(34):2-9

R/ From all my terrors the Lord set me free.

I will bless the Lord at all times, his praise always on my lips; in the Lord my soul shall make its boast. The humble shall hear and be glad.

R/ From all my terrors the Lord set me free.

Glorify the Lord with me. Together let us praise his name. I sought the Lord and he answered me; from all my terrors he set me free.

R/ From all my terrors the Lord set me free.

Look towards him and be radiant; let your faces not be abashed. This poor man called, the Lord heard him and rescued him from all his distress.

R/ From all my terrors the Lord set me free.

The angel of the Lord is encamped around those who revere him, to rescue them. Taste and see that the Lord is good. He is happy who seeks refuge in him.

R/ From all my terrors the Lord set me free.

Gospel Acclamation Matthew 5:10

Alleluia, alleluia! Happy those who are persecuted in the cause of right, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Alleluia!

Gospel Matthew 10:17-22 The Spirit of your Father will be speaking in you.

Jesus said to his disciples: ‘Beware of men: they will hand you over to sanhedrins and scourge you in their synagogues. You will be dragged before governors and kings for my sake, to bear witness before them and the pagans. But when they hand you over, do not worry about how to speak or what to say; what you are to say will be given to you when the time comes; because it is not you who will be speaking; the Spirit of your Father will be speaking in you.

‘Brother will betray brother to death, and the father his child; children will rise against their parents and have them put to death. You will be hated by all men on account of my name; but the man who stands firm to the end will be saved.’

The Gospel of the Lord

R/ Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

[incorrectunrulyprincesses]

Underland’s Unruly Princesses: Go Ask Alice Chapter 1

Ember I

It all started with Alice. The very first time the pesky, golden-haired girl had ever visited Underland, I had not even been thought of. My mother, the Red Queen, had just been freshly coronated as high queen of Underland. After the death of my grandparents King Oleron and Queen Elsemere of Witzend, the crown had passed down to my mother, who was their eldest child. When Alice had arrived, my mother had been queen for about a year and had settled into her role quite comfortably. And then one day came along little Alice. A lost little girl whose mouth was just as big as her wit. She had been led astray by the Cheshire cat and had ended up in the garden at Salazen Grum. According to my mother’s right -hand-man, Ilosovic Stayne, the Knave, Alice had gotten a little too snippy with my mother, and as a punishment, she was ordered to paint red all of the roses that the gardeners had mistakenly planted white. That had been the first time, but the second time had been much more eventful. I had been relaxing in the courtyard, back to a tree, feet up, book in hand. My little sister, Rosalind, was across the way, practicing her croquet strokes. Mum had released us early from aiding her as she governed the land, and we had decided to take advantage of the absolutely gorgeous weather. It had been perfect outside- not too warm and not too cold. There was a gentle breeze. Just as Rosalind had drawn back to send a ball off, a voice rang out across the courtyard. “Girls!” cried the voice of Dahlia, the courtier with the large ears, and, unfortunately, our governess. “Girls! There you are! Come, now, your mother summons you to the throne room.” Quirking a brow, I closed my book and sighed. “It’s ‘Your Highnesses’,” Rosalind spat. My little sister had always been one to assure that people behave well around us. I did have to agree with her, though, we were the Princesses, and we deserved to be addressed as such. Dahlia curtsied. “My apologies, Princesses,” she said smoothly. “Your mother requires your presence in the throne room.” I stood up from the ground and smoothed the front of my gown. “What in Underland for?” I asked. She regained her stiff posture. “It seems that after a long procession, Ilosovic Stayne has returned.” I rolled my eyes. Ilosovic Stayne, the knave, who happened to be Rosalind’s father. He was a man whom I never really could get along well with. Ever since Rosalind had been born, even when Mum was carrying her, Stayne had hardly stepped up and was barely around. I could remember vividly that when Mum was heavy with child, she was often crying, claiming loudly that Stayne didn’t want her child, and that she had been a fool for laying with him at all. Mum had spent most of her pregnancy in tears, and that hadn’t sat well with me at all. Now Rosalind was a blossoming young woman of eleven, and Stayne still presumed to do whatever he could to avoid her. “As if we need to be present to see Stayne,” I hissed. “Bloody deadbeat,” Rosalind muttered darkly under her breath. Dahlia frowned. “I understand your quarrel with your father, Rosalind, but your mother requests your presence and therefore we must obligate her.” Rosalind sighed heavily and flounced off to the throne room. I followed Rosalind smoothly, eyes forward, head up. Anubis the dormouse was stationed outside of the throne room doors. He stood proudly, leaning against the sewing pin he used as a weapon. “Announce us, please, Anubis,” Rosalind directed him sweetly. “Yes, Your Highness,” Anubis agreed. He sheathed his tiny sword and scurried through a small hole in the baseboard of the wall. Once on the other side, everything fell quiet. Behind me, Dahlia ruffled at her skirts. There was a small trumpeting. “Presenting the royal Princesses of Underland,” Anubis said as loud as he could manage. What with being a dormouse and all, he was rather small.   The doors peeled open slowly and Rosalind moved to her position behind me. I was the eldest so I was required to enter first, especially when it came to royal business. I strode as smoothly and ladylike as I could, so as to not draw extra attention to myself. I had a designated wooden seat to the right of my mother’s throne. To the left was Rosalind’s seat. Each of our chairs were made of a heavy wood, had high backs to them and had our first initial carved into them. Mum’s throne was crafted of the purest gold one could find in Underland, complete with the softest red velvet cushions. We, too, had red cushions to sit upon. As I made my way across the throne room, the courtiers gathered before Mum, bowed lowly. As I had been taught, I paid them no mind and kept my eyes straight forward. Gracefully I turned to face them and lowered myself into my seat. To the left of my mother, Rosalind did the very same thing. My Mother eyed me curiously, a small smile on her lips. But she said nothing. Instead she motioned for the courtiers to leave. She reached a pale hand over and patted Rosalind on the head. It was a way of assuring her that all would be well, even if she was being forced to look on as our mother welcomed her deadbeat father back to court. Once again Anubis sounded his little trumpet. “Presenting the Red Knave, Ilosovic Stayne,” he announced seriously. The mighty doors opened behind him and he stepped out of view. The familiar sound of Stayne’s heavy black boots began to ring through the throne room as he strode smoothly down the length of the red carpet. He had a smug look on his face, yet his body was relaxed. His single eye found its way to me almost immediately. It was no secret to me that Ilosovic Stayne secretly bore an admiration for me. It was an admiration that could easily get him killed, if my mother ever found out. In truth, I despised the man for how he treated my mother whilst she was pregnant, and I despised him even more for completely ignoring Rosalind’s existence. Even after all those years, my mother was still deeply in love with the man, and after all those months he tormented her, she still took him to bed with her. Stayne went right to Mum and pressed a soft kiss to her offered hand. Rosalind rolled her blue eyes dramatically. A slight coloring of rose appeared in Mum’s cheeks and she beamed for a mere second. She then stiffened her posture and reverted to her stately air. “Ilosovic Stayne,” she said aloud. “I welcome you back to court.” Stayne dropped down to his knees immediately and bowed his head. “My Queen, it is good to be home once again. I come bearing news from Marmoreal.” At the mention of Marmoreal, Mum’s bottom lip twitched a little. Marmoreal was the home and reigning kingdom of Mirana the White Queen, my mother’s sworn enemy, and, unfortunately, mine and Rosalind’s aunt. “What say you, Knave?” Mum asked him. He got to his feet and reached a gloved hand into his doublet. He withdrew a scroll. “Majesty,” he chided softly. “I have found the Orcaculum.” He then tossed one end of the scroll across my mother’s lap. It rolled past my feet and continued onward. “That?” Mum asked. “It look so ordinary for an oracle,” she observed. Stayne’s single eye scanned the surface of the Oraculum. I was surprised he possessed the capacity to locate an item such as the Oraculum.. I highly doubted Stayne’s abilities, unlike Mum, who doted on them. I was pretty sure that Rosalind felt the same way about him as I did, and he was her father! “Look here, Majesty,” Stayne continued, extending a finger and placing it on the Oraculum near Mum’s feet. I leaned over Mum’s shoulder to see, too. “At the Frabjous Day,” he added. Rosalind’s disturbed expression explained it all. There lay a depiction of Mum’s dearest pet, the Jabberwocky. Before the great beast, was a young girl with a tangled mess of hair, clad in armor. The girl bore what I immediately recognized as the Vorpal sword, high above her head, ready to strike at the beast. Mum loved the Jabberwocky. That was no secret at all. In fact, the creature had been key to her rise to the throne. Mum had told me and Rosalind many, many stories about her ascent to her queenly state. And the notion that anyone could possibly slay it, would drive her over the edge. “I’d know that tangled mess of hair anywhere,” Mum remarked lowly. “Is it Alice?” Rosalind and I eyed one another oddly behind Mum’s head. “I believe it is,” Stayne replied. He brought a hand up to his face, almost as if he were examining. “What’s she doing to my darling Jabberwocky?” Mum asked, her pitch rising into quite the grlish tone. “She appears to be slaying it.” Mum gasped. “SHE KILLED MY JABBER-BABY-WOCKY?!” she demanded loudly. I noticed as Rosalind’s eyes widened in horror. “Not yet,” Stayne chided. “But she will if we do not stop her.” “Find Alice, Stayne!” Mum barked. “FIND HER!” Stayne then marched from the throne room, a handful of red knights in tow. Unable to stand the silence that hung over the throne room, sliding my hands down my skirts, I said: “Well, that certainly was interesting.” “Whoever this Alice chick is, she’s going to feel my wrath,” snarked Rosalind. Alice had made her first appearance two years before she was born. “We shall leave the spiting to Stayne, ladies,” Mum said calmly. She slid from her throne. She reached a pale hand into the hidden pocket that was sewn into the side of her skirt and withdrew her sun spectacles. Placing them on the bridge of her nose, she turned to us. “But for now, let us play a few strokes.” Mum strode gracefully from the throne room, her scepter in hand. I was behind her, hands rested at my sides, eyes front. Behind me, Rosalind marched along, her nose in the air. It had been apparent since she had been old enough to speak that she had inherited Mum’s bitey attitude. Rosalind practically doted on her ability to imitate Mum at whatever it was she doing. As we made our way through the castle, we were joined by the majority of the courtiers. Soon the bunch of us were exiting through the side corridor and out pouring out into the courtyard. Within but a few minutes, me, Rosalind and Mum were lined abreast in the very center of the courtyard. I waited patiently as both Mum and Rosalind received their flamingo playing sticks. When I received my stick, I did as Mum had taught me a long time ago, and took the bird by the neck. Skillfully I knocked the bird upside the head with the side of my foot, stunning the thing. The flamingo then assumed its stiff pose, ideal for croquet playing. “Ready?” Mum asked us. “Ready Mum!” Rosalind said happily. “Ready,” I whispered deeply. The newly hired Page, a white rabbit named McTwisp lay a hedgehog ball before Mum. He then hopped off and stood beside me. Mum licked her lips curiously as she drew her bird back, and let fly. The small furry ball hurled across the courtyard and plunged into some hedges. A round of applause rose from the courtiers. “Splendid shot,” remarked Lord Burgle, the big-bellied lord. Mum beamed at the court as they continued to clap. “Where’s my ball?” Mum asked. “Page!” she called. McTwisp hopped back into the playing field. “Yes, Your Majesty.” With that he disappeared off into the rose bushes. My mind was far off from our little croquet game. It was off somewhere beyond the walls of Salazen Grum, roaming the Tulgey Wood, prancing about the vast flower fields of Witzend, even playing a magickal game of chess in Chesster. Mum was one to keep us within the castle walls as much as she possibly could. Rosalind and I both owned beautiful horses, yet we weren’t allowed to take them out to ride them. If we wanted to ride, we were confined to the training ring out back the stables. Even when Mum went out on processions she left us at home, normally under the watch of Dahlia, and completely bored out of our minds. Mum never knew just how much Rosalind and I craved adventure. Growing impatient with the Page for taking too long, Mum huffed deeply and marched off after him. Rosalind and I looked at one another, nodded, and trotted off after her. Why, in the mass of rose bushes, towered the tallest girl I had ever seen. Standing at least fifteen feet tall, with long, golden hair, the girl’s expression bore down on us, giving me an uneasy feeling. It was clear by what little skin the bushes did cover, that she was stark naked. I immediately took hold of Rosalind and covered her eyes. “What did you do that for!? I wanna see what’s going on!” Rosalind stamped her foot and pouted. I opened my mouth to shush her but was cut off by Mum’s voice. “And what is this?” Mum asked curiously. Rosalind began to wriggle in my grasp. McTwisp began to tremble. “It’s a Who, Majesty, Um….” Mum’s thin eyebrows quirked. “Um?” she inquired. Rosalind shot me a look that said really? Deciding I wasn’t up for a fight, I released her. “From Umbridge,” said the large girl. “What happened to your clothing?” Mum asked. Rosalind sniggered. The girl licked her lips. “Why, I’ve outgrown them. I’ve been growing quite a lot lately. I tower over everyone in Umbridge. So, I’ve come to you, hoping you may know what it’s like.” Mum’s bright brown eyes lit up, much like they did whenever she sprouted a new idea. “My dear girl, anyone with a head that large, is welcome in my court.” She turned to us. “Oh, do cloth this unfortunate soul!” Mum instructed the court. “Use the curtains, if you must, but, do cloth this enormous girl.” Rosalind frowned instantly.

#fanfiction #go ask alice #two angry princesses #princess emberess #lady dahlia #princess rosalind #Anubis the dormouse #red queen #iracebethofcrims #knave of hearts #ilosovic stayne #white rabbit #givens mctwisp #lord burgle #alice kingsleigh #the alice #um from umbridge #alice in wonderland

[prokopetz]

More inadvisable D&D character concepts, prophetic edition:

A worryingly cheerful dwarven ranger who has no survival instincts due to an ancestral prophecy guaranteeing that the scions of their line can only die under extremely specific circumstances, and these are not those circumstances  

A fugitive halfling rogue who inexplicably doesn’t show up in divinations, and who made a comfortable living from their ability to walk past magical security systems until they mistakenly attempted to burgle a wizard who’d simply hired guards  

A foppish gnome cleric who carries an enormous book of prognostications and consults it at every opportunity; the book’s poetic allusions are concise and easily interpreted, but their utility is limited by the fact that they exclusively concern food  

An oracular elven wizard who’s deeply reluctant to employ their talents because their predictions, while 100% reliable, invariably involve something horrible happening to them, typically as a direct result of having made the prediction in the first place  

A dumb, loud-mouthed human fighter who was supposed to be the Chosen One, but has been rendered bereft of purpose because on the day they were to begin their Hero’s Journey, the Dark Lord they were supposed to defeat got run over by an ox-cart and died

#gaming #tabletop roleplaying #tabletop rpgs #dungeons & dragons #d&d #violence mention #death mention #food mention