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   I have made the decision to not write any romantic ships outside of those that I have with @onlycertainty / @truthsecn. In truth, I’m not that great with people OOC and I don’t believe I would make a great ship partner because of that. I am always open for platonic relationships, antagonistic ones etc. I will be updating my rules in just a moment.

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truthsecn‌.

     She likes her Uncle James. He was always the gentlest of all the people that she’s ever encountered. And at the same time, the tallest. It was a wonder when in all the stories the big people were always the scary ones. But not Uncle James. And now slowly now, spending more and more time with him was becoming a norm. Especially when it meant doing new things. Oh- she pauses when he stops her from pricking herself. “Uncle Jam, did you fish like this all the time when you were the same age as me, with grandpa?” Minnie asks, unable to help herself as he did the correction.

  contrary to the sullenness of his demeanour, James held a certain fondness for children - they saw things far prettier than most did when they grew up and not for how ugly they were from an adult’s standpoint. he longed to have that innocence again, where his eyes hadn’t seen the brutality of war, and to think that everything in the world was interesting again. the ranch was his mother’s pride and joy, but he’d imagined that he would outgrow it and fall onto his won path eventually. his hands are gentle when they take hers again, his won guiding the fishing wire around the little hook. “all the time. don’t suppose he ever told ya about him takin’ your gran fishin’, did he? they thought the fish was lost and mam went and jumped in after it. accordin’ to granda, I did the exact same thing, too.” there’s a small, affectionate huff of laughter. “we’re many things, Minnie, but wise ain’t one’a them.”

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truthsecn‌.

     When Mary shifted away to work on the dough, Minnie set about finishing up on slicing and dicing up the vegetables. And in this particular case it was bits of potatoes that she figured made her hands ache after one or two of the spuds. Mary was more than a cousin to her, with how close they were raised, she was more like that of a sister, and Jimmy a brother. They had played together long before Liam was born, and little Mark before that. So with the situation with Mary taking a turn for the horrid. She was more than sympathetic, she was seething. Yet with her sister, she made sure that she remained tender. She wanted to go over and finish the job that Mary had done, show him a thing or two about hurting their family.

      “She didn’t say-.. reckon it just might be- saw her shootin’ earlier, think she might be intent on doin’ just that.” Minnie responds, figuring that Nan intended on making Mary’s favorite. She was always good at handling the worst situations.

   if there was any rage in Minnie’s eyes, Mary likes to think that she caught it. a brief enough flash in the dark of her eyes is all she did, and she wonders if she was expecting her to return to the family ranch with her head bowed and her lips full of apologies. there was no shame in having loved, Anne had told her. men were horrid, brutal creatures at times and it had taken everything in her power to stop her nan from getting her guns from the shed and parting the lad with his own fingers. a small part of her had wanted her to, just so he might suffer as she had with the stiffness in them; suffer the same rage that burns in her even now as she lay out the dough against a floured table. mary’s hand clenches into a fist and the first thumb of her fist against it makes the table rattle.

   “either that or pigeon,” she replies, using the palm of her hand to stretch the malformed ball, “i really hope not, ‘cos that shite’s a bit too ... grisly for my likin’. Like gnawin’ on the fatty bits when the good stuff’s gone.”

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truthsecn‌.

     “Hey, there-…it’s okay.” Words are comforting as she gently reaches over and sets her hands along the undamaged part of Mary’s wrists. There had been a gentle weight in the air since Mary had returned home to their Nan’s door with her face black and blue and bleeding on her hands to show for the night’s scuffle. Nan had pulled Anne aside and had told her very clearly to not say anything, to not press the matter or push for answers. So she didn’t, and instead she came to her in hopes to get her mind off of everything with conversation, it’s the least she could do.

      “I got it, I’ll finish cuttin’ this, how about you roll out the dough for Nan?”

       @blednite​ / Mary Kidd, cause I still love you.

    if there were anything that would remain consistent in her life, it would always be the love of her family. there was a small part of her that figured that she got what she deserved for chasing after a love that wasn’t good for her. Nan never liked him, and for the most part, nan liked everyone. Mary’s hands are still red-raw, and while the state of her face had raised an eyebrow or two, Mary thinks that they’d been told not to mention it. for that, she would be completely and utterly grateful when push came to shove. as much as she longs to laces her fingers with Minnie’s, it hurts. “Could do,” she replies, moving to the large ceramic bowl where aforementioned dough was resting. 

    “what pie we havin’ for tea, Min? i really hope it’s the rabbit one, i like that one the best.”

[sexualsportswear]

🏆🏆🏆🏆🏆🏆🏆🏆🏆🏆

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he could’ve picked him out a crowd of people, and a big part of him wishes that he hadn’t been able to. sure, he’d have a face on him like three month olf food left to rot in the heat of summer, but he’d not get that lurch in his guts suggesting that he should get his ass outta there. the eyes, the way her carries himself; god - just his luck. seattle was crawling with kindred, and everyone just went about their business like there wasn’t some poncy, silver-eyed jackass sitting up in his ivory tower lookin’ down his nose at people who walked through his doors. sometimes, they never left. that’s where mercurio came in. get the bodies out and get ‘em hidden long before anyone figures out that the person who went in? never came out. 

time to leap into action, he thinks, digging in his pocket for the pack of smokes in there as he pushes away from the wall. “you a friend’a my boss?” he asks, loud enough for him to hear but hardly enough for the drunkards vomiting into the gutter to hear. they’re six sheets to the wind and wouldn’t remember shit anyway. mercurio is certain enough that were it not for lacroix, people would’a had his guts for garters a long time ago. some had tried, and the vamp blood had just pieced him right back together again. whoever said that humpty-dumpty couldn’t be put back together again was a fuckin’ moron. “sent here about some... unfinished business?”     /    @calabrun​ ♥’d for muse roulette  :   mercurio.

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it always felt that the night was in her favour - it had been since the moment of her first kill and how the thrill of it had felt better than a maiden’s first kiss. the excitement of it tingles up her spine like the suggestion of fingertips; brush, brush, brush. it makes her shiver, sometimes. the feel of how the blood makes her clothing stick to her. the politicians were the fun ones. astrid liked to play with those in the same way that they played with the lives of those under their care and command, like they were fat, obnoxious little mice and she was a cat, batting and scratching at them. nothing could ever take away how she felt when they squealed, offered to pay her more than whoever hired her if she would just give her a name and allowed them to live.

tonight might’ve been such a night, had she not crawled in through the window to find the room already empty and nothing but a figure stood within it. curious, the bastard was nowhere to be seen and in his place? oh, this isn’t good. there’s a small flare to her nostrils, though the action itself was well-hidden by her cowl. perhaps her job was about to get that much harder. “you don’t look like you belong here,” she purrs; “or perhaps the person we are looking for is simply nowhere to be seen.”   /  @larosafatale​  ♥’d the muse roulette : astrid.

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  in her years alive, there were few times where she might’ve found her path crossing with a witcher. there were rumours when they stopped into town and the peculiar curiosity that came with having never seen one in person had left her wondering just what they might be like. as a daughter of the moon and the viciousness of wold blood coursing through her veins, she found herself giving them a wide berth. she could smell him before she saw him. her nose is keener than it was before she was bitten, and she’s half a mind to make her excuses and high tail it out of there. novigrad’s noticeboards boast an over abundance of work; some dangerous, some simple fetch quests for nobles far too lazy to get off their arses to get it for themselves. in the curious case of missing persons, aela was well-known for sniffing them out. 

tracking was simple enough, she requested a scrap of clothing with the excuse that her hound might catch its scent, and in some ways that was the truth. the hound was her when the full moon rose, but she would never be quick to admit that. there’s a small turn of her head and her eyes narrow at him. “this job’s taken, witcher. i’d suggest you go and hunt another for your gold.”     /    @wolfpaid​  ♥’d the muse roulette  :   aela.

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so can we please talk about the fact that lucien lachance was hired to assassinate telaendril, only for her to give him the slip and run off to murder her father who’d done the black sacrament to end her existence? It’s a wonder she can sneak with the weight of her massive balls of steel dragging across the floor.

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???

“You would call that ‘resolved’, I however would describe it as ‘destroyed’.” The sorceress was perching like a crow on the windowsill, her slender arms folded tightly across her chest. “Would you like to perhaps stop moving, and listen, and accept my help out of this situation you have managed to create, or would you prefer for me to leave you here and let the owner of this establishment handle you? I think they still use the stocks and rotten eggs on miscreants in this town, actually.” 

open! 

        there had been a plethora of circumstances where one might find themselves feeling like a rat in a cage. the first would be the imperial prison, with the damp and the smell of mould that never quite left after a short stint in there. the second would be barricaded within an abandoned house in the temple district and praying that the guard prowling just outside of the door wouldn’t find her. the stocks didn’t sound too awful, but the accompaniment of rotten eggs and whatever else they saw fit to chuck at her wasn’t all that appealing. depsite being a brilliant thief, the windows were barred and there felt like no way out. not through the sewers, not through the back door (unfortunately barred also). the unflappable methredhel has found herself trapped with no room for escape. 

         would it be worth striding out the front door, wrists held out in a sign of mercy and simply sleeping off the time? she had some septims stashed away, perhaps... “Quiet!” she snaps, idly chewing at a scrap of loose skin around her fingernail as the little wheels begin to turn- by the nine, hang on a moment. “How long have you been standing there?”