the modern au where maeve ends up with a baby after a one-night stand be like
maeve 6 months after her divorce has been finalized: wow i’m gonna spend some of this insane money on a nice new apartment, some fancy ass furniture, dozens of books, a fuck ton of smart devices, maybe some- maeve a year later, 6 months pregnant, sat on her living room floor surrounded by half-built baby furniture and dozens of books for her kid and for her on parenting: well this is. not exactly what was planned
not me thinking about giving tony a witch verse
@notte-la-lagna said: “ are you okay with me touching you? “ || INJURY
“...Sure.” It’s a lie, obvious from the moment it parts his lips and breathes, but Nero decides against retracting it regardless--pride and all be damned, the wound gaping in his flank is better looked at by wiser hands than his than left to fester. Though his body is open and vulnerable, his eyes are defensively elsewhere--gazing after any unwanted interlopers or otherwise just looking for somewhere else to settle his wary glance. The hand once coveting his torn side surrenders its cover, with nary a flinch or so little as a hiss as blood runs dark and thick from the maw of his wound.
“Just don’t get any bright ideas, pal. It looks ugly, but I can still fight.”
I’m just saying the song “There’s a fine, fine line” is perfect for some post-mountain Geraskier angst. I mean -
“There's a fine, fine line between a lover and a friend There's a fine, fine line between reality and pretend And you never know 'til you reach the top if it was worth the uphill climb There's a fine, fine line between love And a waste of time”
(”There’s a fine, fine line”, Avenue Q)
❝ -- Instead of blaming the fool that can’t follow instructions -- who, by the way, ended up poisoning the town’s water supply -- blame the otherwise blameless vendor! ❞
An entire speech had been prepared long before Astarion ever set foot on the cottage’s steps: His reason for being there, who he was, and most obviously, highlighting the idiocy of the humans he spent a majority of his time around. ( Well, used to. ) A company he no longer kept, as he was quickly ran out of the village he hated to admit became something like a home.
The next steps then became to establish himself elsewhere. So, here he stands, pleading his case, fully engulfed in the pointless details of his tangent:
❝ If you give a man a sword and he kills someone with it, are you to blame for its creation? No. ❞ A dramatic huff to catch his breath, as he disappointingly shakes his head, lamenting the unfortunate events that have befallen him. Feigning his grief, however, is a ploy, and all too easily, anguish is replaced with unsettling glee, ❝ But I’ve heard wonderful things of you, Master Regis... The flock you’ve so expertly integrated into... They love you. ❞ He cannot deny his jealously at being revered, respected, and selfishly he wants the same. ❝ Despite my frustrations, I admire your willingness to serve and perhaps that is where you and I differ. ❞ His mouth twitches into a frown as the tone of his words change: Reflective, apologetic. ❝ I placed my eagerness to earn coin first, before the responsibility I have as an apothecary: To ensure my patrons fully understand the dangers of using poisons. That is where I have failed; now I am without a home, without the trust of the people I used to serve, and am now forced to start over. Forced to ‘ learn the hard way ‘, as they say. ❞
A wrinkle creases his forward, as he holds Regis’ gaze, attempting to understand if his words are having an affect. ❝ One vampire to another: If you’ll have me, I would be more than happy to make my amends under your tutelage. ❞
@rohellec / plotted!
v: TRAVELLING WITCH
Melinda was sixteen years old when Wyatt sent her into a parallel universe after her defiance against him. The world she found herself in has her on the run. She refuses to bow down to the Brotherhood, much of the magic they practice is dark to her. She is dedicated in protecting innocents and refuses to use her powers for personal gain.
At least in the beginning, then the world seems embroiled in war, dare she say it, a world war. Melinda tries to help where she can, protecting innocents from evil Witches and an empire that seeks to devour everything in its past for some damnable prophecy.
Crossover with Season One of The Witcher
Deus Ex, Novigrad style
I am still not wild about this piece but-
In my mind this is absolutely Onlyfans!Jaskier. (As soon as I'll start drawing again it's first more lettenhove!Jaskier and then, finally... More Onlyfans!Jaskier)
𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ―
vegoia was the fourth ancient vampire clan brought to the world after the conjunction of the spheres. leadership of the clan has always been under a female vampire, and often times there is a familial relation between leaders, but not always.
all higher vampires of the clan are known to have the ability of foresight -- the prediction of future events -- and it is a common trait found amongst all subraces of vampire in the clan. this is an ability unique only to them, and they amplify their abilities through the consumption of blood. vegoia vampires have been labeled as being reckless and overindulgent due to their belief that the quality and quantity of blood consumed directly influences the clarity of their visions. the clan places a heavy emphasis that “haunted” individuals, those that are preyed upon by a vampire through their dreams, thus inducing nightmares, are best suitable for feeding.
the event that nearly led to the complete extinction of the clan was when its current leader, variel -- who had aspirations to become the unseen elder, and likely deluded by her own beliefs -- conducted a ritual with powers far beyond her knowledge. as a result, the clan was cursed through their blood, killing off a majority of the clan while prolonging the deaths of others.
the task to save what remained of the clan fell to variel’s great-nephew as he drew ever closer to his own end.
𝐒𝐘𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐎𝐌𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄
the curse specifically targets the blood; it turns a vegoia vampire’s blood into a poison which affects organ health and function, essentially rotting them from the inside.
their skin may turn grey in colour as their blood becomes discoloured, and they may also begin to show patches of discolouration on their skin. likewise, depending on the stage of infection, they may emit a smell that is a putrid and foul; the scent of decay is usually a sign that the vegoia vampire is close to death.
infecting other vampires outside of the clan may be a possibility, however, the details are unknown. lastly, consuming the blood of a higher vampire not within the clan can temporarily stay the symptoms.
i’m forcing myself to think about others productively today but there’s so much mention of the b&w dlc on my dash that i am once again thinking about maeve & toussaint
compilation of all the times people have shot romance scenes with maeve and kept going on with the making out with her even after the director’s called cut bc she just has that effect
honestly? morrigan and valentin are just "what if yen and istredd had a healthy relationship"
The Young Witcher
I want to talk about young witcher Zelda and how her role as a monster slayer is greatly romanticised by her, in a very “Sir Lancelot in his gold shining armour comes to save the damsel in distress” kind of way (actually, the entire description of Sir Lancelot from Alfred Tennyson’s ‘The Lady of Shalott’, 1832, is very reminiscent of how a twenty-something year old Zelda would have envisioned her role as a witcher). And it is an entirely fantastical illusion but she’s naive, and wilfully ignorant, and envisions herself as a hero. Because of course she is! She slays monsters! She protects people! Why shouldn’t she be lauded a hero? And praised? And be showered in gifts? She’s blind to peoples’ fear of her, has no reason to think that they would be intimidated by her because she knows in her mind that she does not intend to cause them harm. All of the warnings that the likes of Eskel and Vesemir give her regarding human opinions on witchers falls on deaf ears, because she has never experienced any of the vitriol from people as they say she will. (You could argue that, for the most part, as she starts her journey into the world of monster hunting that she really does have only ‘good’ experiences with contractors etc.,) but that inevitably comes to its end at some point. Because it has to. Because she has to learn her lessons, like every youthful, brazen and arrogant person must.
As she reaches the more impoverished and remote villages throughout the Continent, peoples views and beliefs on witchers (hexers, wiccans, witchman) is more devout or superstitious, less “educated” compared to the bigger cities with their more contemporary and “civilised” ways of thinking. As a young witcher in her early to mid twenties, she approaches one village and is overjoyed by how welcoming they are of her. Praising her, thanking her, offering her food and drink and a warm place to stay. Pretty women are batting their eyes at her and asking her questions about her adventures. It goes to her head because she craves the attention, and she trusts them because she has had no reason not to. She’s untouchable because she’s a hero, and who would want to hurt a hero? Zelda spends the night with two village women, and it is great in the beginning as they strip her of her things, her swords, her clothes, until she feels a sharp punch to her side mid-kiss and looks down to see a small knife plunged into her body. She doesn’t remember the rest of the night, but to this day she is haunted by the image of herself, naked and vulnerable, coated in filth and her own blood in the middle of the village like some poor animal, clutching at her wound, surrounded by villagers with hate filled eyes… and it shattered the illusion of her being this dashing, untouchable Sir Lancelot-like monster slayer for good.
But played a large part in making her the witcher she is in later life.
I’ll add the excerpt from The Lady of Shalott below if anyone wants to read it.
Part III A bow-shot from her bower-eaves, He rode between the barley-sheaves, The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves, And flam'd upon the brazen greaves Of bold Sir Lancelot. A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd To a lady in his shield, That sparkled on the yellow field, Beside remote Shalott. The gemmy bridle glitter'd free, Like to some branch of stars we see Hung in the golden Galaxy. The bridle bells rang merrily As he rode down from Camelot: And from his blazon'd baldric slung A mighty silver bugle hung, And as he rode his armour rung, Beside remote Shalott. All in the blue unclouded weather Thick-jewell'd shone the saddle-leather, The helmet and the helmet-feather Burn'd like one burning flame together, As he rode down from Camelot. As often thro' the purple night, Below the starry clusters bright, Some bearded meteor, trailing light, Moves over green Shalott. His broad clear brow in sunlight glow'd; On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode; From underneath his helmet flow'd His coal-black curls as on he rode, As he rode down from Camelot. From the bank and from the river He flash'd into the crystal mirror, 'Tirra lirra, tirra lirra:' Sang Sir Lancelot.