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Fade Rift Mods ([personal profile] faderifting) wrote in [community profile] faderift2022-11-29 07:54 pm

MOD PLOT ↠ HOME FOR RIFTMAS

WHO: Everyone (more or less)
WHAT: Rifter Show & Tell & Steal.
WHEN: Early Wintermarch 9:49 (forward-dated!)
WHERE: The Crossroads and BEYOND.
NOTES: OOC post. Please use appropriate content warnings in your subject lines.



Since Corypheus began opening the Gates, Riftwatch has been noticing pockets of instability in the Crossroads—crumbling platforms, paths newly blocked by rubble or broken bridges, sections where gravity has been shifted and altered in ways unusual even for the Crossroads, with new intrusions of green-tinged rock outcroppings or corners of temple walls. The barriers between the Crossroads, the Fade, and the world are thinning. It's a problem.

But more recently, Riftwatch has been made aware of an ancient artifact known (now; one hopes this isn't its original title) as the Sealing Stone, now in pieces scattered throughout the Crossroads, and the approximate locations of those pieces. If brought together and activated, the Stone may stabilize the barrier between the Crossroads and the other realms and may provide a model Riftwatch could use to reinforce the Veil elsewhere.

So Riftwatch ventures into the Crossroads to retrieve the pieces of the Stone. It's an intensive effort undertaken by large teams, due to the many now-familiar hazards of the Crossroads, the potential for encountering the Venatori that also use the eluvian network, and the need to cover ground as quickly as possible in hopes of finding the artifacts before the Venatori notice the increased Crossroads activity and come join the hunt.

It's not as simple as merely locating the pieces, however. Whenever a group of Riftwatchers get near enough to one of the artifacts, they're alerted first by the triggering of a sort of protection mechanism. In some cases—specifically, on teams without any rifters—spirits suddenly swarm from the metaphorical woodwork in numbers so great and with such hostility that retreat is the only viable option. The spirits chase the teams only as far as necessary to push them away from the artifact's location, then mass into a circling shoal, guarding the spot until they're left alone long enough to decide the risk has passed.

But for groups containing at least one rifter, something with the mechanism goes wrong. Or right, arguably. Rather than being overwhelmed by spirits, they instead find themselves abruptly engulfed by what appears to be a rift, opening suddenly and rapidly large enough to swallow entire masses of people before contracting again to lie in wait like a carnivorous plant for anyone else who comes too close. Those caught in its radius tumble out into what appears to be a new and unfamiliar world–for most. For one or more of the rifters in each group, it will be perfectly familiar.

The first group to encounter this effect will be one including Tony Stark and Stephen Strange, and will drop them and their compatriots straight into midtown traffic. Any groups attempting to travel to the same spot in the Crossroads to investigate the apparent vanishing—whether they have rifters with them or not—will find themselves drawn through the same "rift" almost as soon as they get within sight of the place, before anything can be discerned about their lost fellows. They will likewise emerge into Stark & Strange's United States.

Subsequent groups including other rifters will be seemingly drawn into their companions' worlds by the same effect. In each, Riftwatch will have to navigate local hazards and retrieve a distinctive lyrium-etched artifact, at which point the world will dissolve around them like a dream and they will find themselves back in the Crossroads where they began, in possession of a carved chunk of stone glowing with lyrium runes.

1 ↠ MCU Earth-199999

Alternate-universe Earth, New York and Los Angeles, 2012-2025, Tony Stark & Stephen Strange.

Earth-199999 is very much like contemporary Earth as we know it, featuring the same historic events, same nations, same conventions. For the average person, there is no difference, except that they know magic and aliens and gods and superpowers are all real and have been causing problems for a while now, with NYC as the hub for most of the shenanigans. MCU Earth has also made leaps and bounds in all science fields as compared to real Earth, although these leaps and bounds are not widely accessible, primarily exclusive to private organisations like Stark Industries, mad scientists, and the likes of SHIELD, but can range from interactive three-dimensional holograms through to biotechnology that turns people into supersoldiers.

It's commonplace to see or hear about criminals causing havoc in the streets with superpowers or gadgets, and crime-fighting vigilantes trying to stop them. The Avengers, as the world's first superheroes, became widely-known commercialised celebrities in-universe with merchandise, documentaries, book deals, and memorial murals to the deceased Iron Man.

Special Abilities: Everyone is nerfed to regular human, unless you want a sudden onset of mutant powers. 1 individual themed ability per character; like pyrokinesis, superspeed, superstrength, etc.

Arrival: One main rift opens in the middle of New York City, ejecting our rifters into midtown traffic… except thanks to Strange’s own multiversal mishaps, people in this world will seem astonishingly accustomed to this sight! Bystanders will be startled, but then the rifters will likely be dogged by strangers snapping photos and videos and tweeting about their arrival.

The Fade-constructed timeline will be a little off: the old Avengers tower and its penthouse is still standing and still accessible to Tony, and Strange will also offer up the Sanctum as a sanctuary, and these will be the main mission hubs while the team gets their bearings and tries to locate the artifact. In the meantime: relax, take in the sights, maybe check out a Broadway show, wrangle your new superpowers.

A secondary rift also opens up on Hollywood Boulevard, in case people want to do some helplessly stranded on Earth RP. Tony can very easily find out this has happened and go collect them, with various degrees of efficiency according to what people want out of that OOCly. As this universe will be available to explore for a few IC weeks, people can assume some degree of Stark-provided financial freedom for basics (i.e. clothes and food, burner phones, etc), and they can stay in the Avengers tower and/or the Sanctum.

2 ↠ Shifterverse

Original alternate-universe Earth, Midwest US, 2022, Jude Adjei.

Real-world 2022, but what if Shifters?

Special Abilities: All superpowers are unfortunately nerfed. However, everyone's a Shifter now. Your choice of animal. Enjoy.

Arrival: Everyone will arrive in Yellowstone National Park, which is wholly staffed and operated by Jude's pack, but... not in an area where tourists are routinely and happily welcomed. Welcome to the deep woods and canyons and plains, where Jude's pack has built their den for some several hundred people. Characters will immediately be found by scouts in fur and feathers, who will be guarded and curious, but not hostile. The wolves and ravens will greet the interlopers as equals, and if they aren't offered any violence, they'll be treated as guests. Hundreds of pack members live in a mixture of hand-built cabin homes and meeting places, portable tiny houses and various shared spaces. There is wifi, a greenhouse, lots of tasty food and warm clothing to wear. If they stay several days and prove themselves trustworthy, they might even start to see children out and about, and there's nothing cuter than a toddler who can become a wolf pup at will. (Mind the raven toddlers and the bear cubs. They're less cute.)

3 ↠ Tassia

D&D Original World, Loxley & Richard Dickerson

Tassia is an original Dungeons&Dragons inspired world, a single continent divided into four nations that is otherwise completely isolated from any other possible world beyond it. These nations are Lloryndell, Sylvica, Ifrin, and Promias, and at its centre lies the Cruxal, a university-city of diverse cultural influence.

While Tassia resembles Thedas in its day-to-day technology levels, including its anachronisms, it is more heavily laden with fantastical elements. Along with humans, elves, and dwarves, there are goblins, dragonborn, tritons, tieflings, sentient robots, bird people, centaurs, and more (https://www.dndbeyond.com/races) (but no qunari). There are many different kinds of magic users who wield their powers openly. There are shops full of magic items, potions, and spell scrolls. There are monsters of countless kinds that lurk just about everywhere. Most cultures in the material plane are polytheistic and worship themed gods from the default D&D (Faerun) Pantheon. Some smaller cults and individuals worship ancient fey, fiendish, and eldritch beings who dwell on the outskirts of their respective planes and may provide power to the exceptionally loyal -- for a price.

Special Abilities: You can choose to be a normal depowered person, but you are equally encouraged to take on magical abilities, whether you're a mage or not. In brief, you can be a wizard, whose magic comes from spellbooks and knowledge, a sorcerer, who have innate magical abilities, a bard, who draws their magic from music, words, and performance, a warlock, who has made a pact with a powerful entity in exchange of magical ability, a druid, who draws their magic from nature, and a cleric, whose divine abilities are gifted to them by a deity. (Other classes have magic too, but it might be easier to pick one of these major ones if you are unfamiliar!)

Rather than overthinking it, we recommend you pick whatever sounds fun to flavour your magic with, and then browse magical spells using classes as a filter. (Eighth and ninth level are off limits, and it may be easier to limit yourself further due to how many spells there are.) Given the temporariness of these powers, don't worry too much about how many spells you get or how frequently you can do them, but know that higher level spells (anything above fifth) can only be cast one or twice a day.

Your character may be Tassia-ised, in terms of their race, but in a limited capacity. All humans will stay human, but elves may adopt D&D traits like seeing in the dark.

Arrival: Rifts will open in the streets of the Cruxal. People will be startled by the sudden appearance of rifters and stand offish, but otherwise: they've seen it all before! No one will be calling the guard on you, unless you decide to start something, so please don't. Or enjoy jail.

The Cruxal is a labyrinthian melting pot built up in concentric rings around a massive central university and library. Goblins scarper among humans, elves, and dwarves in the street. There are tusked half orcs and horned, scale-clad dragonborn mixed in among more familiar silhouettes. This is a university town, but while a large portion of the population are students, academics, and staff, it is also self-sustaining, with taverns, shops, temples, brothels, residences, and marketways.

The university itself is guarded and degrees of entry closely regulated due to the school’s extensive collection of dangerous artifacts -- one of which just so happens to have gone missing last night. News of the theft has been suppressed, but every temple, tavern, and brothel on the outskirts of town is abuzz with the rumor. The entire corridor, they say, was scorched black.

Loxley and Richard won't be too concerned about herding everyone but can provide some coin as needed for inn rooms and food. They appear to have a near bottomless stash, at least as far as living costs go.

4 ↠ Sulleciel

Original fantasy world, Petrana de Cedoux.

What if magic was real and holy emperors still kissed the ring in Rome, until someone beheaded the fucking pope? Welcome to Sulleciel, and specifically to Lamor City, capitol of Lamorre and the seat of the Lamorran empire, ruled over by Empereur Marius IX and his consort, Empress Petrana Solene. A nation and empire in the throes, still, of great upheaval — think Versailles or Orlais, but lurching ungainly out of its dark ages into a theoretically more enlightened time, control of which is being actively fought in the halls of power and at grassroots levels of social influence. Power vacuums abound, thanks to the fall of the church and the rise of a conqueror who is less interested in ruling than he was conquering; women are still the often-illiterate property of their fathers and husbands, but now there are more alternatives to family and marital homes, and dedicated studies of witchcraft are being encouraged, with pilot programs across the empire primarily in those early sanctuary cities, figuring out how this is all going to work. Known for her efforts to lean on the scales in the people's favour Petrana herself is, in this era, rumored to be imprisoned; graffiti of her crowned likeness can be found in some places in the city, with the epithet ""la reine du malheur"".

Special Abilities: In Sulleciel, magic is a skill that may be pursued like any other — and there are those of more or less talent, as if someone were to attempt the violin, or swordplay. It is practised primarily through incantations and foci, with more elaborate spellwork for more ambitious results sometimes requiring particular items or a full coven to achieve. As magic is limited in Sulleciel only by the will, imagination and stamina of those practising it, no one coming here will be subject to any nerfs; all mages and otherwise magical or powered individuals will be able to use their powers as they're used to using them. In addition to this, anyone who is as magical as a chair-leg ordinarily can feel free to have a go at Sulleciel's magic — it's up to you if they have a knack for it or not. Simple spells like casting a light or telekinesis of small objects can be mastered by toddlers; a powerful enough witch or coven might be able to summon a thunderstorm and alter weather patterns, but ""can"" and ""should"" are different and it's generally advised that you try not to do a climate change.
"
Arrival: The rift will open into a spacious, luxuriously-appointed tower on the grounds of the imperial palace but not visibly connected to it above-ground. It was at one point the sole domain of the previous arciduc's personal astronomers, but is now the primary residence and working space of the Queen's Coven. The Queen's Coven is a particular group of women, so named for having been among the first witches to come beneath the new regime's protection in the first city-state to bend the knee where Petrana was first installed as Queen Regent; they are private, secretive, and increasingly cut off from the power-struggles of the imperial court, having been actively distanced from the Empress herself by a variety of other players in the game. Both relatively prepared for sudden magical happenings and inclined to keep shit in the tower on lock, they will be prepared to pass you all off as "foreign witches, seeking our enlightenment" and see both you and the sudden access to Petrana as potentially useful in their maneuverings. Which will make moving around easier, but will probably be an active hindrance to getting where and what you need. An underground tunnel connects the tower directly to the palace, though there are also pleasant, covered pathways to walk across the palace grounds; guards at the main, above-ground entrance to the tower will inquire about movements to and from, and will be skeptical but limit their interference initially ... as long as they don't see Petrana.

5 ↠ Kalvad

Original fantasy world, Wysteria Poppell.

Kalvad—specifically the city of Somerset, the magic capitol of the civilized world—is a mashup of Regency Era and Industrial-Revolution-But-Magic! Nebulously England (with the serial numbers aggressively filed off). When in doubt, default to Jane Austen vibes. But if it seems fun to do some weird magic-powered technological advancements, then go nuts.

Kalvad is an imperial island nation ostensibly ruled by three kings, though they're largely figureheads overseeing an upper and lower parliament. The country has made itself rich and powerful by doing a whole lot of war and colonization. As historically one of the most magically powerful regions in the world, magicians have long been a vital tool in the empire's efforts to do both those things.

Unfortunately for Kalvad, the strength of magic in the world has waned considerably in the last 40 years. Where once Talent was rare but reasonably powerful, magic users are both becoming more commonplace and considerably weaker. Even older magicians and hedge-witches who once might have manufactured considerable arcane feats have seen some diminishing of their powers. A popular, but unproven, theory in academic circles is that those with Talent all draw from the same "well" of magic. As more people are born with the ability to tap into that resource, the less there is to go around. Resentment for those with weaker Talents among older generations of magic users is A Thing.

That said, increased availability of minor magics has kick-started a 'minor magic' powered industrial revolution. Parlor witches who perform small arcane conveniences are growing in number; minor charms and enchantments have become more readily available to lower classes. Meanwhile, the non-magical population is slowly being shunted out of their respective cottage industry jobs and into factories powered by great enchanted machines. The empire as the world knows it is clearly teetering on the brink of major social and political upheaval, both at home and abroad. The consequences of all this change just haven't quite played themselves out yet, though you can bet there are people rushing around in an attempt to cover their asses before they do.

Special Abilities Characters will be nerfed of any abilities they had in Thedas, but can be Talented in Kalvad terms or not. Any Talented character under 40 is likely to be able to produce only minor magics (think lighting fires in fireplaces, being able to heal minor injuries, and temporarily being able to enchant objects to do one specific thing). Anyone over forty can be a little flashier (think appearance altering glamors, temporary invisibility, transfiguration and significant healing). General magic flavor is: Brothers Grimm fairy tales and Arthurian legends, except that someone somewhere made all that weirdly pliable magic adhere to a strict ruleset. Easy, thoughtless channeling of magic is a secret lost long before the arcane powers in the world began to diminish. Now, all magic must be carefully and deliberately designed and constructed. The magicians most accomplished by Kalvadan standards are methodical and patient. Think clockmakers and mathematicians, not wizards on the side of a van.

Arrival: Members of Riftwatch will arrive through a rift and find themselves on the wooded outskirts of a sprawling city. Luckily, no one will witness their initial arrival. Even more convenient: once they've gotten their bearings and made their way into the city, they'll discover they aren't the only weird strangers in town (although they may want to strongly consider indulging in petty theft to make themselves stick out less—particularly as it comes time to infiltrate places). It seems that a sprawling months-long academic conference turned party turned cover for political intrigue and cold warfare has descended upon Somerset.

In the aftermath of what everyone is claiming to be a major military victory somewhere, delegations from a number of implicated countries have converged on the city at the invitation of the Kalvadan Crowns in order to share and demonstrate their various technical and arcane achievements. The World's Fair-like atmosphere has drawn a number of non-Talented tourists, scheming politicians, and cutthroat spies along with the legitimately academically and/or magically inclined.

While Somerset is something of a city of wonders by the world's estimation, it's still first and foremost a dirty and crowded industrial hub in a world that has yet to bother with paving all its major roads. The conference has quadrupled that effect, transforming it into a riot of sights, sound, and (often to its detriment) smells. At this point, finding a room and board in the city has become less a question of where you want to stay and more one of how many other people you're willing to timeshare a bed with.

Luckily, it doesn't seem like Riftwatch will be sticking around long. Some snooping around the of pamphleting/gossip will reveal that the artifact they're after is likely to be found in the grand exhibition hall, and that there will be an opportunity to get their hands on it that evening.

6 ↠ Abeir-Toril

D&D Forgotten Realms, Astarion

The D&D continent of Faerûn is loosely based on Eurasia—if it ran entirely on magic, was roughly stuck somewhere in the 14th century forever, and was filled to the brim with elves, dragons, gnolls, faeries, gods, demi-gods, and just about any myth (or mythological creature) you’ve ever encountered in your life. For the purpose of simplicity, everyone from Riftwatch is going to get plunked down in the titular Baldur’s Gate: the city is massive, it’s known as the jewel of Faerûn, and its cultures, districts, trades and pastimes reflect that remarkable splendor. Still, think of it like Kirkwall in that there are some pretty damn rigid socioeconomic divides separating the city via districts. QUICK GUIDE.

The Upper City is the fancy part of town where nobles (known as Patriar) and their servants live, and it also houses the city’s government and key recreational buildings. There are no bars, pubs, taverns or drinking halls. Anything rowdy happens behind closed doors, and if you don't have an invitation, you'd better look for fun somewhere else. Magical enchantments and lanterns make it beyond stunning at night to stroll through. Lower City is more varied: you’ll find taverns, shops, tons of entertainment and ample trade, as well as pirates by the docks (and their ships), and the harbor waters are absolutely gorgeous for sailing on calm days. Doors are shut and locked during nighttime hours aside from taverns, inns or gambling parlors. Visibility is also lower at night when harbor fog rolls in, particularly where poorer residents can't afford oil, tallow or magic every night. The Undercity stretches deep (and hidden) beneath both the Upper and Lower Cities: it begins at its most shallow within the city as sewers and along seawall cliffs as open-mouthed caves. The deeper you go, the worse it gets: undead catacombs, cultists, temples, blood sport and bloody magic prevail alongside monsters too dangerous to clear out. Outer City sucks. There's almost next to no law or order, and is inherently dangerous to explore. Treat it like Lowtown for the most part, and you'll be pretty smack on (slavers and actual kind impoverished poor included).

CULTURE: Baldur’s Gate is primarily run by humans, and to a lesser extent, elves. Other races aren’t really considered a foothold here, but they’re more than welcome in the city and treated exceptionally well with a few exceptions here and there (ogres, trolls, more ferally inclined goblins, etc). This is not at all like Thedas: someone more familiar with discrimination against non-humans, certain pairings and particularly mages wouldn't find it here. Most of the time if you dress nicely and carry yourself well, you’ll be well respected. Or robbed. Or both!

Special Abilities: Characters will be adjusted to fit D&D, and powers are optional for all. For D&D’s magic/power/race everything, please take a look at some basic classes.

Arrival: Characters will arrive via rifts torn into the Outer City, just along its riverfront sprawl. They won’t be too far from the city gates, but witnesses to the scene will be inclined to gossip and gawk, assuming everything from a freak magical incident to believing the new arrivals are wealthy travelers from somewhere far and exotic, who simply missed their mark in teleporting to the Upper City for sightseeing. Anyone wearing Thedosian clothes will be fine to go without changing— wearing something more modern or say, nothing at all for some reason, will definitely require staging some kind of Terminator II style clothing (theft) acquisition in order to fit in.

Ideally, the team will at least want to make their way into Lowtown in order to begin snooping around, but it’s a big damn city to say the least, and information is expensive. Astarion will help within reason, but being a vampire means that he can only afford to fund so much on his own.

Might be a good idea to do some fetch quests or live your best Adventuring Party life, because you’re all going to likely be here for a (time distorted) relative while.

7 ↠ Orphan Black

Alternate-Universe Earth, 2014; Toronto, Canada; Cosima Neihaus.

Real-world mid-2010s, but secret unethical biology/biotech experiments including viable human cloning in the mid 1980s. Carrying out such technologically advanced work is a combination of international organizations including a private research company, at least one paramilitary organization and a shadowy organization that oversees both. (Orphan Black also features minor differences from our world typical of its genre, such as plot-convenient hacking and variably competent law enforcement, but the cloning project and related scientific offshoots are the most salient differences.) Relevant to this plot in particular, the Dyad Institute is a private organization, considered ""fringe"" by the mainstream scientific community, devoted to research related to human evolution and biotechnology. Some of its many employees had connections to the ""neolutionism"" community, the members of which believed human evolution should be actively shaped by scientific and technological intervention. The organization was responsible for the project that created Cosima and her sisters roughly 30 years before in-world present day. Also at the moment they're jumping to, Cosima works there, it's complicated. (If anyone is familiar with the canon, we're jumping in circa season two.)
A tiny pinboard.

Special Abilities: None, you're all just unpowered humans. Sorry/you're welcome.

Arrival: The group arrives at what turns out to be a nondenominational winter party for a local school; there are some mild shenanigans as Cosima clocks that it's a school attended by children she knows, and more pressingly, partially overseen by their mother, who has Cosima's face. Cosima press gangs one or more other people into helping her hide her own face while negotiating with Alison to borrow her minivan. She shuttles the group to Alison's large suburban Toronto home, which becomes the FR group's base of operation. (It is perhaps telling that while Alison finds this frustrating, she and her husband Donnie do sort of roll with it also.) If desired/depending on how big the group is, Cosima could also stow some Riftwatchers with Felix, the foster brother of one of her other clones, who has a big artsy loft downtown. She is not against taking anyone to her place, but she's a grad student; it's not huge. Everyone who knows how to use a phone or can be trusted to figure it out with a tutorial gets a burner phone for convenience. (Perhaps additionally telling how quickly Alison gets everyone a burner phone. She also decorates the protective cases for them. No, it's not optional.)

8 ↠ The Last of Us

Post-Apocalyptic Earth, Spring 2038, Seattle, Abby Lasterson & Ellie Williams.

This world was ours until 2013, when a worldwide pandemic broke out overnight. A fungus (cordyceps) that had originally infected mainly insects adapted to infect human beings. Anyone bitten by an infected person or who has breathed in a significant or concentrated amount of fungal spores becomes infected themselves. Over a maximum of two days, they utterly lose their humanity and deteriorate into violent monsters, eventually sprouting spores and fungal plates. There is no known cure, and the only human being ever known to be immune is Ellie Williams. 25 or so years later, humanity has crumbled into various factions in a struggle to survive. First came the Federal (FEDRA) response, resulting in Quarantine Zones and martial law. Life in the zones is highly regulated, with work assignments and rations that often aren't enough to go around. Many citizens are forced to turn to crime just to make ends meet. Orphaned children become wards of the state and are trained to become FEDRA soldiers by the time they're sixteen.

Various civilian groups rose up to rebel against FEDRA, forming factions such as the Fireflies (rebels who recruited scientists in an effort to find a cure), and the Washington Liberation Front (a militia-minded organization who overthrew FEDRA in Seattle). There are other smaller groups such as the religious zealots called the Seraphites, or the violent slavers known as the Rattlers.

Few and far between are independent human settlements like Jackson of Wyoming, where small communities have managed to gain self-sufficiency and safety with tireless group effort and highly vigilant defenders. They bolster their numbers by welcoming peaceful outsiders and engaging in trade with travelers.

Living outside of these groups, people are largely on their own, vulnerable to packs of hunters, bandits and even cannibals that prey on anyone brave enough to risk travel.

The infected are an ever-present threat everywhere, and the world is a ruin quickly being reclaimed by nature. (cw: body horror in the link) See board for world aesthetic and depictions of the Infected.

Special Abilities: Everyone is a normal human here. No supernatural powers, no magic, no non-humans.

Arrival: Welcome one of Ellie and Abby's least favorite places: Seattle. The Space Needle is visible in the distance, so despite the advanced state of decay, it's actually recognizable. Except it's been bombed, and rotting, and nature's reclaimed it for the last quarter-century. This adventure won't be for the faint of heart; there are no home bases and no safe space to be had. All clothing, supplies, weaponry and food are things you'll need to find yourself. Everyone can assume they'll get a quick lesson in gun safety and a rundown on various types of infected. Multiple rifts will open, so feel free to appear anywhere in the city (even apart from others) but expect to find no native allies. The city of Seattle is embroiled in civil war between the Seraphites (a religious cult who rejects anything "old world" and scars their faces, called "Scars") and the Washington Liberation Front (a ruthless mercenary coalition, called "Wolves") and both sides will assume you're with the other group and attack on sight. Better pick up a brick.
illithidnapped: (A17)

2/3

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2022-12-21 05:09 am (UTC)(link)
....Leto.

[Like the pulse he lacks. Like the false breath in his lungs that slips out before he has a chance to stop it, frostlike fingers still pinning hair out of the way as his opposite thumb takes to tracing out the line of those dark brows— stalled out entirely by the sight of what he feared (oh, he can finally admit that now) he might never see again. His amatus. His beating heart. The first real sense of warmth Astarion can ever remember clutching to his chest. The one precious, impossibly beautiful, painfully mortal wedge driven between an eternity of suffering and light finally kissing the gaps between his fingers at long last, washing away the urge to scream when he woke up fitful in the dead of night, and never asking for anything more. Clinging to him now as though it might shield. Gods— oh gods—

Oh, gods—
]

Edited 2022-12-21 05:18 (UTC)
illithidnapped: (80)

3/3

[personal profile] illithidnapped 2022-12-21 05:14 am (UTC)(link)
[Oh, gods—]

You—

[His grip twists, running sharper for a single, guarding beat: it has the added effect of outright flattening Leto against the wall behind him, hips and legs and ankles caught together at the harshest angles— ]

You breath-damned idiot— what in the Hells were you thinking running around out here in the dead of night? [A hiss. A brandished flash of bloodied fangs before his palm rushes to close over the injury carved into a tattooed shoulder.] I almost left you, I thought—

[Tch.]

Asking after vampires. Asking after— weeks. Bloody weeks. [And note: his fitful scolding doesn't stop the second that he pushes his lips to Leto's own in a kiss that must taste awful even to a mouth not attuned to the intricacies of sanguine flavor. Instead it slithers between the knocking of their teeth. The insistent slide of a tongue soon curling around incensed snippets of deconstructed thoughts. Fasta vass— stubborn, reckless— and I was going to eat you— and Cazador might've— and don't, don't you dare pull away—

Don't you dare think to pull away, now.

You brought this on yourself, Leto. You get to live with the consequences.

....the entirely kiss-laden, sharp-fanged, bruisingly profile-scuffing consequences.
]
Edited 2022-12-21 05:23 (UTC)
overharrowed: (how long have I been sleeping)

[personal profile] overharrowed 2022-12-21 04:30 pm (UTC)(link)
"In the unlikely event anyone asks, I'll say you did," Julius responds, equally low. "Quiet night so far?"

Presumably he'd know it if it hadn't been, but the muted conversation itself feels normal and grounding in a way he wouldn't have fully anticipated. Although he wouldn't have credited in advance how the most unsettling things about this world are the ways it doesn't feel strange to him. He wishes it were more foreign, if he's honest with himself.
overharrowed: (in the middle of the night)

this is fine

[personal profile] overharrowed 2022-12-21 04:44 pm (UTC)(link)
A part of him has expected this since the second world they visited. But the reality of it, something he's only glimpsed in other corners of the Fade in the smallest ways, is still more than Julius finds himself fully braced for.

His first instinct is immediately put himself by Petrana's side (always), but he resists the urge, letting her take the lead and trying to look as reputable as he can manage in clothes he'd selected for field work and not looking like he fits somewhere this fine. He hopes posture and manners can make up the difference for now. Instead, he keeps his attention on Petrana, so that he can follow her lead.

(To the extent he's absorbing details about her home, it's not evident in his demeanor. Maybe they'll talk about it later, in defiance of their history, but either way it's not useful to openly gawk.)
wearyallalone: (we are watching you)

[personal profile] wearyallalone 2022-12-21 04:49 pm (UTC)(link)
[For all he doesn't know her well, her focus is somewhat ... unexpected, if not entirely unwelcome. He lets her steer them through the crowd.]

A diversion is a reasonable enough plan, but I confess I am not familiar enough with the exhibitions to know how easy or difficult they are to disrupt.

[He speaks low enough that his words are hard for bystanders to overhear through the surrounding chatter.]

Did you have any suitable targets already in mind?

youwonscience: (I feel it all)

cw eye stuff

[personal profile] youwonscience 2022-12-21 04:54 pm (UTC)(link)
It gets her to crack a small smile. "You're lucky you got me after a few years in Thedas. Straight out of home, my self-defense skills were... you know, I was going to say non-existent, but I suppose I did put someone's eye out once. But I had time to build a machine, and I didn't pull the trigger myself. I think in the grand scheme of things, that doesn't really count."

Debatable, but whether or not it counts, it's not an approach that the world they're in would allow her to replicate either way.
Edited (adding cw to subject line) 2022-12-21 16:54 (UTC)
youwonscience: (was it how she kissed you)

[personal profile] youwonscience 2022-12-21 07:39 pm (UTC)(link)
Cosima absolutely would have started helping sooner, but the ability to fly in her new hawk form was incredibly distracting. Not only flying, but the hawk's eyesight, the way it sensed the world. She's a bit heartbroken that she won't be able to take an notes back with her, because the ability to experience the world as another species is something she could easily spend a lifetime thinking about if given the opportunity.

Eventually, though, she settles in enough that her instincts to pitch in assert themselves again. She's working on a pile of mending this evening, reattaching buttons and patching tears ably enough. She doesn't push it, especially with the locals, but she's always happy for conversation while she works if it's on hand. It's a different feel than the last world, for sure, but there's something pleasant about something so relatively calm and it puts her in a steadily good mood, for all they know this time that they won't be staying indefinitely.
cozen: (o021)

[personal profile] cozen 2022-12-21 07:44 pm (UTC)(link)
[ Bastien is here, too. Still. At first because he's leaning his head past the perimeter of the wagon, eyeing the crowd they're leaving in their wake, but the resurgence of music brings his head back inside. He twists around to put his feet in the aisle between the seats, but pauses there. Can Richard heal? Does he need to? Bastien is in a prime position to check his pupils after all. He ducks his head closer to do that, squinting back and forth between eyeballs—

Which exhausts his ability to look for internal injuries. He smiles—a strained thing that suggests he might say something cheeky, if he found himself on a lap in other less dire and blood-leaking circumstances—and then slides off, into a cautious kneel between the seats, and picks through his layers of clothing to produce a handkerchief to set on Richard's knee, for whenever he'd like it.

To the people up front: ]


Madame de Foncé has a map.

[ He is still kneeling. Not only because it feels a little safer here in the middle, away from the other large and heavy and fast wagons just beyond the walls of theirs. It also keeps him closer to the music.

The distant, slowly amplifying, oscillating howl of sirens probably has nothing to do with them. That's probably just what things sound like here. ]
Edited (sorry sorry sorry) 2022-12-21 19:48 (UTC)
portalling: ᴍᴜʟᴛɪᴠᴇʀsᴇ ᴏf ᴍᴀᴅɴᴇss. (pic#15781087)

[personal profile] portalling 2022-12-21 09:12 pm (UTC)(link)
Strange doesn’t catch who her gaze landed on — from a certain angle, it possibly just looks like a haunted stare into generalised space — but his eyebrows arch at hearing that answer, a mute kind of surprise. He’d been expecting practically anything but that. ‘Cut them off’ or ‘shot them off’, maybe, but ‘bit them off’ is something unexpected; is sharp and visceral and animalistic; is, also, fucking filthy because the human mouth is a cesspool of bacteria. Human teeth aren’t sharp enough to be made for that kind of cut, either. Requires brute determination. He can’t help the way his own gaze falls to Ellie’s hand, the stumps of her fingers, the way it’s long-healed over.

“A bite is unusual. I’m surprised didn’t get infected— unless it did. You must’ve done a good job stitching it up and keeping the wound clean.”

A clinical kind of compliment, insofar as he can compliment what happened. It’s a safer thing to touch on than that ugly vengeance, the attempted murder.

Throughout their journey here, he’s continually having to mentally revise and recategorise what he knows about this girl. He knew Ellie was capable — but knowing is different from seeing it, viscerally, firsthand.

He doesn’t really know how to ask the next bit. But. He just goes ahead and rips off the band-aid anyway, his own voice just as neutral, as non-judgmental as he can make it: “Did you manage to drown them?”
portalling: ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ sᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ. (pic#15624641)

[personal profile] portalling 2022-12-21 09:54 pm (UTC)(link)
The corners of his eyes crinkle, somewhere between a smile and a little pained; so many years removed from shoveling manure on the farm, he had become clean and tidy and meticulous (and, yes, a little spoiled). But that fastidiousness took a hit in Thedas, and Seattle has been even worse: everyone has dirt under their fingernails, everyone’s hair is getting greasy and lank, their clothes are a horror, and he has to eat with his hands. So. He rolls with it.

Strange accepts the can and takes a seat on the frame of something which had once been an armchair, the cushions now gone, relocated to those sleeping nests in the back. “Thanks. Zombies really aren’t in my skillset.” Pop culture keeps creeping in, so he adds after a moment: “Do you even call them zombies? Or are they just ‘infected’?”

Even now, an incorrigible part of him feels that kick whenever they come across another one of those shambling, sobbing wrecks: he wishes he could crack open those skulls, peer through a compound microscope, see what the fuck is going on in that diseased brain tissue. But in their passing through abandoned houses, Strange has rifled through enough scattered notes and letters and disintegrating newspaper clippings to start to understand: there hadn’t been time. There wouldn’t have been time, before everything fell apart.
notathreat: (106)

cw: injury/gore/medical talk

[personal profile] notathreat 2022-12-21 09:59 pm (UTC)(link)
"Seawater and grain alcohol helped," Ellie admits, turning her wrist to look at the stumps of her fingers. "And it wasn't a clean bite. I had to level it off myself, with a knife. That probably helped too."

It's also flat, and farther than she'd go if he weren't a doctor. Part clinical reality and part the aftermath of trauma. It had to be done if she wanted to live, so she did it. Really nothing more to say.

(His words open up the possibility she's flirted with, over and over. There are so many times she should have had an open wound get infected. Her gut wound, especially, should have killed her. Have the cordyceps inside of her somehow edged out other types of infection?)

The next question is harder, but she shakes her head.

"No. I ended up letting her go."
laruetheday: whole-ass one thing. (never half-ass two things.)

[personal profile] laruetheday 2022-12-22 12:27 am (UTC)(link)
It's exactly the kind of dumb shit Clarisse likes in a movie, and she's content to listen to Ellie's description while simultaneously planning which movie she's going to talk about (it's 300. it'll always be 300. gods, what a masterpiece), but then Ellie has to go and derail her thoughts by making that groaning noise again.

"Is it good?" She raises her eyebrows and tries not to look too smug, since it isn't like she had anything to do with the creation of this milkshake, actually. It's hard, though.
laruetheday: (i can't take another farm story.)

marvelverse | ota

[personal profile] laruetheday 2022-12-22 01:23 am (UTC)(link)
arrival (kinda) ((cw for minor self-inflicted injury bc we lack coping skills))

Probably just bad luck, for the first universe they end up in to be one so similar to the one Clarisse is from, at least on the surface. And in New York City, of all places. She has no time to talk herself down so she won't be disappointed, and by then it's too late. Once hope exists, it's hard to squash without definitive proof.

So maybe not the first day, but definitely the second, she disappears for a while. When she comes back, she's not visibly upset anymore, but it's pretty obvious that something has bummed her out tremendously. Oh, and a couple of the fingers on her right hand are bruised and swollen up, obviously broken on closer inspection. Knuckles bloody, too.

It's fine, this is fine.

tower (of terrifying food)

But you know what? She gets over that first, initial disappointment relatively quick, and decides that while she's back in a world full of electricity and modern media and (most important) shitty junk food, she might as well make the most of it.

Which is why she's got a sickening combination of food sitting in front of her: a PB&J, some cheese puffs (the curly kind, not the balls, we're not cheaping out here), a pint of rocky road ice cream with a can of whipped cream on the side, a jar of pickles, popcorn, a bottle of hot sauce, a huge container of Mountain Dew Code Red, annnd some orange juice.

"What?" she says to anybody who might be looking at her in a way that implies judgment of any kind. "I missed this shit."

wildcard!
laruetheday: and i love your butt. (i love your face.)

tlou

[personal profile] laruetheday 2022-12-22 01:39 am (UTC)(link)
general prepping
By this go round, Clarisse has wisened up to the fact that her powers will probably be gone. It's weird, since she doesn't feel any different. Weird and hard to tell, sometimes, what was a god-given ability and what was just hard work and what was some combination of the two.

She can't lift like she used to (figured that out early on), or move quite as fast, but she's still no weakling and she's pretty fucking good with a weapon. Good to know that the knowledge hasn't just... leaked out of her brain, or something. She'd be in real fucking trouble then.

Since she doesn't have that to worry about, Clarisse makes herself useful, volunteering to scavenge for loot or help others figure out what the hell they're doing with modern weapons. And she's good on watch, too, sitting up at night without complaint. Even if she is a little freaked out. Or a lot freaked out. Shut up.

wildcard!
luaithre: (1)

[personal profile] luaithre 2022-12-22 03:52 am (UTC)(link)
Marcus has been a quiet presence, at first stand offish in that pensive way of someone who has entered this world without close companions of his own to gravitate towards, and is unsure as yet as to when they will leave. Then, in the days that followed, some synchronicity. Battle-scarred and given to brusque dialogue, it may be surprising to find him participating in tasks like washing dishes or gardening or requesting to be brought along on supply runs into town, where he mostly carries heavy things in obedient semi-silence. Uncertainly navigating his way around gas station coffee.

And then another handful of days pass in which no one sees him at all.

But not difficult to locate. The presence of a large timber wolf exploring this territory is not subtle, and even if he does not range too close to the Den itself, his presence is probably more obtrusive than the man. Carcasses left in the brush, scent marks, and then, eventually, a minor scuffle between a furred scout that had gotten curious about this outsider carving his own small patch of territory within the larger one.

Nothing deadly, this clash, but perhaps notable, reported back that a somewhat misapplied moment of compulsion (an impolite request to be left alone) following some flashing fangs and warning bites signalled that this could be a problem.

There is a river that runs nearby, a wide and shallow stream of water that burbles over rocks and is the home to river fish and those that might dine on them. A wolf emerges from the brush, mud spattered, a confident trot in his pace. He keeps his head low as he dips his nose at the very surface of the water, drinking deeply.

He only pauses this action when a noise of something else nearby gains his attention, going still save for the swivel of one ear.
foolsmakeitcolder: (43)

[personal profile] foolsmakeitcolder 2022-12-22 04:41 am (UTC)(link)
Oh, it's a problem.

To be fair, it's not one that Jude hadn't been ready for, hadn't brought up to Adrianna near-immediately in his meeting with her upon his return. Shifter instincts are overwhelming even for full-grown adults who have had a lifetime of practice with their animal, and any of them can be dangerous.

Jude has brought a band of what amounts to psychic toddlers carrying flamethrowers into his pack's territory.

Like it or not, the members of Riftwatch are his responsibility, and he knew what it would entail. But it doesn't mean he enjoys it.

Somehow, it doesn't surprise him that Marcus is the first one he hears about. He can practically feel the dominance simmering around the man even in his human form. It's no wonder that he goes a little sideways, drunk on instinct. For the first few days, Jude is content to watch, biding his time.

But when Leif comes back all scuffed up with his tail between his legs, Jude knows it's time.

Jude comes with a pocket full of jerky snacks, two peanut butter cookies in a plastic bag, a bottle of water and a bag with some spare clothes. When he hits the makeshift border of Marcus' slapdash little territory he feels it shiver over his bones, but pushes through without hurting himself.

He is at home with the implicit danger. The tearing, hurting push of Marcus' dominance find no purchase in Jude's soul. This was his job, long before Thedas.

Jude approaches with his hands in his pockets, barefoot and in a loose sweater and comfortable pants. It's cold.

"Hey, Marcus," he says, lifting one hand to greet him, hooking his thumb in the bag at his shoulder.

"My guy, you cannot be beating on our scouts."

He very much doesn't expect Marcus to be lucid enough to hold a conversation about this, but it's nice to be able to establish a baseline.
luaithre: (bs408-0480)

[personal profile] luaithre 2022-12-22 05:08 am (UTC)(link)
It could be innate skill on Jude's part or arrogance on Marcus' that the other man slides through the invisible borders of this territory without notice until just now, but it happens, and here he is.

Water and saliva both trickle from his muzzle as he lifts his head, deathly serious as he locks focus on the man emerging onto the riverbank. Fur, muddled grey and brown, hackling over high shoulderblades, body moving so as to face Jude more squarely. It is, as predicted, the first indication that the wolf has moved to the forefront and taken control in its yellow fangs, slowly simmering hostility in response to such an affable greeting.

The words mean something. Language still translates, sinking through, even if he has no words in response. Ears pin back at what is easily interpretable as a challenge, the suggestion of what he cannot do, what it means if he continued.

The snap into the air is a warning, protruding fangs, wet snarl, and with it, the invisible push of will that he would expect to drive Jude backwards. The attempt, anyway.
foolsmakeitcolder: (55)

[personal profile] foolsmakeitcolder 2022-12-22 05:26 am (UTC)(link)
Jude doesn't really have to engage his sentinel for others around him to feel it. It's a part of who he is, as easy to notice as his height, but oh. He can lean on it.

Marcus pushes out with his dominance, and Jude feels it around him, crackling and crashing like thunder, warning and ward. He's strong. It's no wonder he's Danny Phantoming it.

Sucks.

So Jude lets the dominance pass harmlessly through him, big and loud and without the bite that by all rights should accompany it, and leans on his sentinel.

Where Marcus might be a storm, Jude's an undertow. A deep leviathan passing far below, churning the current of the world around them. It doesn't push, doesn't drown, but it could.

"This land isn't yours, Marcus," Jude says, his voice a low register. His irises haven't changed. They're still the same warm human brown. "It belongs to the Yellowstone pack. You could be a part of that, if you wanted. But you don't get to keep it from us."

There's nothing of anger or threat there. But he does refuse to move.
luaithre: (bs408-0422)

[personal profile] luaithre 2022-12-22 05:26 am (UTC)(link)
There'd been a dream that Marcus only halfway recalls, a faint glimpse into the life Petrana had once led. It is baked into her manners, her turns of phrases, the sharp edge of her intelligence and force of personality beneath it all, but—

Well, seeing a thing trumps even understanding it.

Marcus is also caught on a delay, forced to stay his best ("best") instincts. He has been in two strange worlds, now, and has learned to various degrees of force that enacting his will on its environment and its people, particularly right away, is often the probably thing he should do. So he is frozen in place, an ever-unfriendly sight in armor and bladed staff and the hunting scope of his study around the room.

It grazes over Julius, settles on Petrana, wills himself to relax and take the conversation currently transpiring as a sign that he really should.
Edited 2022-12-22 05:30 (UTC)
luaithre: (131)

[personal profile] luaithre 2022-12-22 05:41 am (UTC)(link)
Later, Marcus might compare it a little to a Silencing, a dispelling of magic and closing off of the ability to access it, but not the roil of feelings and intent that produced it. A lower growl rumbles out of him when Jude does not respond in the way he had predicted.

Different to the clash of wills with another dominant personality, the inevitable hurricane of conflict that sort of push-pull would cause. There's space for Jude to talk as Marcus process this shift, this sense of something shadowy passing by beyond where he can influence it, unease rippling through him.

Isn't yours. Belongs, a part, keep. Us.

Part of him grasps after these meanings, trying to make sense of them in a way more nuanced than the wolf standing on the riverbank, but they are fragments, sharp edged pieces of memory and association. Painful. Irrelevant.

The wolf has delivered his warning, and so all that is left is to make good on it.

Jude has seen it plenty. A more experienced animal may do something to mask its intent, to act swiftly and trade on agility and cleverness instead of brute strength. In this case, Marcus borderline projects his intent in the coil of muscle and distribution of weight onto back paws that follows launching himself forwards, fangs bared.
Edited 2022-12-22 05:42 (UTC)
foolsmakeitcolder: (26)

cw: body horror/injury

[personal profile] foolsmakeitcolder 2022-12-22 05:57 am (UTC)(link)
Jude shifts before Marcus can fully coil.

It hurts like hell to do it this fast, near-instant. Pins and needles all over his skin, rippling inky-black fur brindled with brown. The crunch of bones all at once sounds like a wet gunshot.

Jude's shields are up even before he shifts, locking the pack out of it so he won't cause a mass panic in their rush to defend him. Adrianna will feel it, certainly, and a handful of the very strongest, but they know better than to come.

They're near-evenly matched in size; Jude's large even for a shifter, but light on his feet. He's got a lifetime of fighting behind him, but never the type of battle Marcus has, never the type of experience Marcus has. He might be able to hold him off for a time, but he could never beat him.

Still, Jude wouldn't be Jude if he didn't try to spare him something more painful.

Marcus rips his shoulder open in a hot spurt of blood, nearly tears off the sleeve of his sweater with it as Jude dodges to one side. Jude digs his claws hard into the earth as he pivots and goes for his flank.

Even if this is the "gentle" way, he doesn't hold back. He has to hurt him enough to make him stop.
luaithre: (14000)

[personal profile] luaithre 2022-12-22 06:17 am (UTC)(link)
Jude's teeth find purchase, draw blood, a growing run of crimson that trickles and disperses through dense fur. Marcus twists aside, paws scrabbling over loose riverstones. The split-second calculation of dealing with an evenly matched wolf over the blunt-toothed humanoid does not appear to change his actions, bright eyes vibrant with malice.

He'd accept chasing him off, presenting a show of force too chaotic for the other wolf to want to stick around for. In lieu of that, well, wolves don't fight to injure.

Horrifying, given the conflict. But such is nature.

The slam of his body into Jude's is forceful enough to send them both tumbling, with a graze of fangs across the dense ruff of dark fur protecting the other wolf's throat, but it's a close call, the violent snap of bone on bone from a missed bite as his teeth close on mostly just air just by Jude's ear.

But when Marcus rolls to his feet, he has a minor advantage of subtly higher ground, and launches forwards with another leap that aims to knock Jude down and this time stay.
foolsmakeitcolder: (20)

[personal profile] foolsmakeitcolder 2022-12-22 06:28 am (UTC)(link)
The snap that mostly misses shreds the outside of Jude's ear, and it drips as he backs up. It will heal in minutes. He's in his territory, in the very heart of his pack.

Jude doesn't have time to dodge when Marcus comes for him again, but he does have time to angle himself, brace properly.

Marcus tackles him, and Jude hits the ground with a bone-shaking crush, but he twists under him, refusing to be pinned. For one hair-raising moment he gets his jaws around the ruff protecting Marcus' neck, but the angle isn't good enough.

Instead, Jude goes for his belly with one hind foot. Without a grip it won't have leverage to gut him, but it'll keep him from being pinned, at least.
doggish: when lbr he's lookin for his shirt on the floor (sex ⚔ this is like meaningful)

[personal profile] doggish 2022-12-22 06:31 am (UTC)(link)
[The kiss tastes awful and he doesn't care. Astarion's tongue slips against his own tasting of copper and iron and ash and Leto doesn't care, for right now even fetid blood tastes sweet. Leto moans into the kiss, surging forward as best he can (and oh, how easily Astarion keeps him in place, fingers latching so tight against his shoulder), tipping his head as he gasps into his mouth. More, more, and he groans impatiently for every scolding whisper, not because he disagrees but because he's that desperate to resume their kisses. More please more, tongues tangling together and saliva hanging in slender strands between their lips, his hands roaming over every inch of Astarion he can reach. It's half to be sure he's as hale and whole as Leto remembers (no cuts, no scars, no bruises that he can feel, no telltale bump of bandages or plaster) and half to simply assure himself that he's here.

He's here, an assurance breathed out in the familiar bump of Astarion's ribs, the notches of his spine, the familiar tapering span of his waist. He's here, he's alive, he's all right, he isn't hurt, he isn't captured, he isn't gone, endless echoing assurances as they scuff furiously against one another, Leto's fingers knotting in Astarion's hair, his other planted firmly on his hip as he tries to pull him in even closer. They're flush against one another, legs intertwined and hips bumping together, as all the terrors he'd kept a faltering grip on these past three weeks burst to the forefront of his mind. Astarion dead. Astarion enthralled. Astarion kneeling before a master with limitless cruelty and an endless amount of time— my little runaway, did you think you could flee forever, and Leto has not forgotten Cazador's cold tones, the goading gilt of his tongue. How many times has he imagined Astarion in his clutches again? Chained up or stretched out on a rack, his torso slit and his ribs pried open, his body bloody and broken as he screams and screams— or worse still, packed away in some forgotten place, frantic pleas falling on indifferent ears as he is slowly walled up, please master please I didn't mean to please

No.

No. No, he is here, he is whole, and yet Leto jerks his head back anyway, his eyes darting frantically over Astarion's face as he pants for breath. He's fine, he's fine, but looking isn't enough. Touch, his fingers skittering beneath his shirt to smooth over cold skin, isn't enough.]


I swore that I would find you.

[Breathed out as their noses bump together again and again, desperate scuffing before he steals another kiss— and then another, addicted to the way his mouth throbs with each pulsing push and pull.]

And I do not make it a habit to break my oaths. Not especially to you.

[Another kiss, his tongue flicking out to drag against the swell of Astarion's bottom lip. And oh, his surge of terror is nothing compared to the giddying relief swelling up in him. He's here, he's all right, and right now, Cazador and the other spawn are a million miles away. There's only them, there's only now— and so he's smiling faintly, fondly, the next time their lips part.]

I am only sorry it took me so many weeks to find you . . .
Edited 2022-12-22 06:32 (UTC)
luaithre: (bs401-1816)

[personal profile] luaithre 2022-12-22 06:41 am (UTC)(link)
If a wolf could say 'oof'.

It knocks the breath out of him, anyway, barely escaping from blunt claws catching on flesh but taking the brunt of it through his own momentum, attempted pin aborted. There is the brief flash of memory, somewhat recent, a smart remark followed by his own vision going red, followed by pointless tavern brawling that was barely a hair removed from something more serious, an undercurrent of the blood pounding desire to get his hands around that man's throat, just to have done it—

This feels like that, human rage mingling corrosive with wolfish instinct. He doesn't recall who Jude is, why he is here, just knows there is this wolf here who refuses to capitulate, and it's intolerable.

Marcus is quick to initiate the next clash, front paws raised in renewed attempt to tackle, to get his teeth around flesh and fur and haul Jude down, favouring force over cunning.