LORD, WHAT CAN THE HARVEST HOPE FOR...

...IF NOT THE CARE OF THE REAPER MAN?

[harvestshope]

#HARVESTSHOPE: harvest's • hope, possessive, as in hope of the harvest; as in, don't fear the reaper.

multi roleplay ushered in by death of the discworld, also featuring canon and original characters from d&d, mythology, comics, film, and tv. written by zoe (she/they).

inconsistent activity. i'm slow but my heart is true. mutuals only. mostly by request. 21+.

rules. memes. wishlist. verses. muses below the cut.

for more information, please see the detailed roster. please be aware that pages may contain spoilers.

*voice testing based partly on interest. test characters do not have pages, so please see me for any details or questions.

d&d.

caleb widogast (critical role).  nott the brave (critical role). caduceus clay (critical role).* atticora (critical role-based pc).

literature & comics.

death (discworld by terry pratchett). matt murdock (marvel’s daredevil, multimedia, transfem). martha kent (dc's superman, multimedia).

mythology.

polyxena of troy. hektor of troy. nausikaa of scheria. agido of sparta (original character, affiliated with @helenaus). pallas athena.*

film & tv.

luke skywalker (star wars, primarily original trilogy). alec hardison (leverage). aneela kin rit (killjoys).

other.

the argo (sentient time machine, original character). géraud (immortal evil wizard, original character).

[harvestshope]

@phoenixspirits / for rory!

Something... odd is happening here. Not odd like vanishing gods, or job hunting, or that time that three souls came to him from the same accident involving a natural history museum and a faux-taxidermy sabre-tooth tiger reconstruction. This is different. Something temporal, and temporary.

Death leans down in his pooling black robes, one hand still gripping his scythe. He leans very far down.

ARE YOU QUITE CERTAIN YOU'RE IN THE RIGHT PLACE?

Something of an intimidating query, from a grinning skeleton head-and-bony-shoulders taller than oneself.

[jinxedskies]

Golden Deity aesthetic —  Request an aesthetic 

[elliottlucca]

[thebrazenandbold]

Nicole squints, still unsure what she’s driving at. Or what she wants. But since she hasn’t left, Nicole resigns herself to the extra presence for now, rolling her eyes and dipping her head at the backpack beside her.

“Fff… I got a rag an’ a roll of bandages in the front pocket. Grab ‘em for me an’ I’ll tell you, Nosy.” Since they’re both here already.

[harvestshope]

"Not my name, Leaky."

Never let it be said that the Argo never did anything for anybody. She may, in fact, be saving this young human being's life, for however long the human being in question can hold off further trouble and old age later. Plopping herself down, she unzips the backpack, fishing out the rag and bandages.

At least, she thinks that's what they are. Not having much experience with first aid, herself. "These?"

[harvestshope]

@maybepeace / fynn said: you're not as harsh as you seem.

Her nose wrinkles, and then her mouth flattens, a quick-change of genuine expressions between confusion and offense.

"I'm not harsh at all. I'm—I'm sweet. I'm like sour candy." The Argo has never tasted candy of any description, but communicating with humans requires human metaphors. There's backhanded compliments, and then there's just plain wrong. "Sour is in the name, but it's still sugar all the way down."

[harvestshope]

continued adventures in "yes i AM inspired by the latest thing but only the parts no one else knows or cares about": i would crush writing the vampire maharet

[afieldinengland]

vincent price calling christopher lee a bitch asmr

[afieldinengland]

great work everybody

[emmaswanned]

"subtlety. not your style, i know."

--once upon a time 1x08: desperate souls

[hellpending]

it's been eighty years but here's a starter for @harvestshope 's géraud <3

it did take her a forever to find the cashier. in fact, he found her; she could swear that at some point he'd just surfaced amidst the shelves, like just another bizarre piece of decoration himself, so neat and so short that he could cozily fit amongst most of them. that sated her curiosity for a bit — so that's the kind of guy who would run a shop like this — but ended up irking her all the more when she'd found that while finding him here was hard, shaking him would be even harder.

she'd had her eyes on a handful objects of various intensity, and didn't want to try her hand at obtaining them without knowing where he was. then again, neither did she want to with him right behind her back. for all of his unimposing composure, something tells her this could be dangerous. in a way, he's like her, whether he does it on purpose or not — piling heaps of rubbish on rubbish on rubbish and burying little nuggets of gold inside. actual proper magic. of course, her job would be easier if he didn't know what was actually worth the effort, but she couldn't afford to hope that that was the case. she knew his type. suit and tie... she knew it well enough to know that his and her type did not typically get along.

it's more out of genuine frustration than for any other reason. maybe she doesn't need that enchanted brooch. maybe that one genuine magical crystal in the sale basket was destined to be lost amidst the rest until some happy-go-lucky kind of fellow picked it up himself, and paid real buck for it. ah, but fuck. this was about thief's honor. really, nothing? this menagerie of bullshit and she takes nothing? over a guy her size watching her too intently?

"hey, dude, do you mind not hoverin' so much? i'm just browsin' and all this is makin' me so nervous i might drop somethin'. that crystal ball over there... man, would i just love to check it out! and yet. can't touch it. i know i'd drop it the second yer eye would flash my way. 's too flashy, you see. this... uh... does this work fer you? d'you always follow yer customers around?"

[harvestshope]

"my apologies. i didn't mean to act like a hungry wolf in a fairy tale," he says, although he obviously did mean.

he's sidestepped the question. it's curious to him, how many things in the shop seem to have a pull on her, worthless or worthwhile—with most customers, it's one or the other. géraud is a rare wizard for being just as proud of the junk as he is of the genuine works of power, because things that are ugly to no purpose at all are their own kind of beautiful. but he isn't, actually, concerned that something might wander away with her.

he likes to see what will happen when they do.

"though i do believe you were searching for me. weren't you?"

he reaches over the red hats of an array of gnomes to pick up the crystal ball she pointed out. the base is a heavy porcelain dragon, its pearly coils wound in three loops.

"my eye is too flashy, or the crystal?"

[maybepeace]

Not that he'd ever tell Géraud so, the workshop — in addition to making him feel like a lesser life form — gives Fynn the fucking heebie jeebies. Doesn't know how his students handle it. Floor that nauseates him to look at. (He just doesn't, anymore.) Assumes Géraud stole it from a funhouse, someplace. And then probably applied magic to make it worse.

And then there's the floating lights. Doesn't trust those, either. Half expects one of these days they'll come up off the counter and start launching magic lightning bolts or some shite at him. Like the combat training droids from fuckin' Star Wars.

Fynn remains in exactly the same spot, exactly the same pose (him and his gnome, his new friend) as when he came through the curtain.

But he's watching Géraud the entire time.

Wizard knows his stuff.

About the only positive thing you can say about him.

Fynn's eyes narrow at the flare of flame. (He may have a twitch, now, about sudden fire. Thanks for that. Can only hope eventually he'll stop smelling his own skin burning. …Not that today was the first time.)

"Oh. Yayyy." His eyebrows bob up sardonically. Nice to know he didn't burn half alive on a fruitless whim. "It's got feathers?" His eyebrows remain up. "Phoenix?"

What, he knows stories. He reads.

Géraud probably won't tell him. He's the paid fetcher, not a partner. Doesn't need to know the hows and whys. Just needs to deliver the gear intact and on time.

He doesn't expect the chain. Or the statement that accompanies it.

Tries to hide his surprise, unsure if he succeeded. Probably only find out if Géraud mocks him for it.

…appearance? Why the fuckin' PAUSE?

Fynn lifts a hand to dip his fingers into the collar of his shirt, finding his own worn and familiar chain. Or, technically, Bunn's chain, and cross. "Y' don't have t' believe. Less y'r memory's goin'. Saw it well enough last month when that protection sigil went off an' I was speed-strippin' in here thanks t' the magic bees generated inside my fuckin' clothes."

Is he annoyed about that still? A bit.

The Fuck You gnome gets set aside on an available shelf. Then Fynn slips his necklace up over his head, unclasps it, and slides the scratched-but-gleaming Celtic cross off and into his palm.

Eyes Géraud's chain warily before putting out a hand for it.

"Any side effects? Or d'I just get t' discover 'em for myself?"

[harvestshope]

"Mm." Not deliberately avoiding the question, just preoccupied. If the one asking were one of his students, he would tell them to look it up for themselves, but they would know where to do that, of course. Does O'Malley ever open a book, or do they bite him when he tries?

He crosses back to the specialist keeping his distance. In fact Géraud did put the floor in to keep people from poking into his business too gleefully, thank you for noticing. He does not, however, take responsibility for the magic bees.

"Technically, magic wasps. Regretfully, my memory is as sharp as ever. We'd all sooner forget that—except, possibly, my apprentice. She got quite the learning experience."

At least one of them has conclusively decided that he is not attracted to Short, Grumpy, and Mysterious.

He unspools the chain into O'Malley's palm. Slow, like a snake charmer with the venomous snake the man seems to expect it to be.

"Side effects? No, unless your people usually find your contact information in the phone book." If he gets any drier, he's going to shrivel up. In any case, people who want to call O'Malley up will have to keep that information in their heads, from now on. "Only wear it, and you're hidden from prying eyes. Remember that: an open circle lets others see; the closed circle is safe. You can even expect fewer robocalls."

[motheredearth]

SHE FOLLOWS, long legs carrying her past his arm with the grim and sinewy grace of a too-thin cat. Awareness of how close his hand had been to her moves her body in a strange arc away from it, and as she steps into the fullness of his workshop, she does not sit.

Was it worth it? Envy and shame pool in her stomach like sick.

"Yes." It had been difficult keeping her voice neutral here. "...should my next steps go to plan. It requires more talking than I would prefer, however, hence my need for one of your..." She waves her hand in what would be a deferential manner, but given the sternness of her face, is just insulting. "...services."

[harvestshope]

She never looks at ease. It's a talent, moving through space as if every point of contact contaminates you; Géraud has never managed such divestment. Sometime after he became immortal, he realized that less of him now was made of dust and clay than of magic. The fire that burns from within, which nothing can put out. He has never been afraid of touch the same way, since.

"You want me to enchant something for that?" He lifts a brow. "Talking puppet? Cuckoo clock?"

But as he's returning her mockery-tainted tone, he goes to his cabinets. They sprout like trees up to the vaulted ceiling, which is obscured with floating lights. He opens a small door to reveal an array of crystal decanters.

"I prefer tea, but desperate times. Red wine or white?"

[thebrazenandbold]

"What?" He's outdone her absurdity. Nicole lets out a short laugh, gesturing to the shelf beside her. "These things? You'd have to pay me to take one. Nobody wants this. Look at him!" Her arm raises, pointing accusingly at a smiling ceramic face. "Look into his eyes and tell me he's not a creepy basement dweller. You can't. That thing watches Sword Art Online unironically."

[harvestshope]

"Plenty of people—hmm." His gaze follows her accusatory finger. "Perhaps that one might be too much."

Walking up beside her, Géraud spins the gnome around on the shelf. Better. Then he turns his almost-but-not-quite-equally critical glance on her.

"That puddle you're leaving on the floor is giving me a chill. I'll be making tea, which you're welcome to share... if that's not too basic for you."

[thebrazenandbold]

@harvestshope for Sophie

"Hello? Is anybody in?" Sophie pushed into the shop, nosing in with both of the seven-league boots clutched to her chest. The damn things had shorted out mid-stride, leading to her tumbling ungracefully across heather and brush, and she was scraped and bruised and more than a little annoyed by the distance she had to walk.

This place had been the only shop that looked remotely promising for a repair or replacement. And if not, she might as well mill for a moment, because if she tried to find her way home while feeling this cross, she might march across the whole country and that could not be good for her poor old back.

[harvestshope]

The bell over the door rings in his attention. Géraud pauses, broom in hand, then finishes sweeping broken glass into a basket. He's still holding both when he comes around to the shop counter.

"Good day to you. If it is a good day." Which, from her expression, he doubts. His look is rather more keen than cheerful. He's an enchanter. To certain people, he was the Enchanter. He can tell when a walking tangle of enchantments enters his domain.

He spreads his hands, leaning on the counter.

"Selling, exchanging, or mending?"

[hotstuffxhannah]

Her dark eyes go wide at sixth century or so. "But that would make you... over a thousand. A lot over."

Hannah almost can't believe it. Only almost, though. Magic exists. She can create fire from nothing. Made as much sense as anything else that she'd met a man who could live forever.

"You, ah..." She can't help a weak little laugh. "You look incredible for a millennium plus, Géraud."

The questions about her are less funny, but she understands why he's asking and she appreciates that he doesn't press for details. Just a follow-up: and you've just kept moving?

She nods. "Yeah. Only thing I could really do." It's not much of an answer but she's already broken down and almost torched Géraud's shop once. If she starts thinking, talking, about the deaths and the police and everything else she's just going to get bent out of shape again.

"This is just... the most recent place I've landed."

[harvestshope]

"Did I mention I have experience as a teacher?" is his mild response. "Quite a lot of experience."

He did not intend to become immortal. It isn't the natural course of his magic, not like her affinity for fire. But it's what he has and what was given to him. An amalgamation, oversaturation of power of so many characters and qualities that in every age, he survives.

He's on the move now, away from the door, deeper into the shop. Not quite circling her, but giving her as wide a berth as the clutter allows.

"This is a workshop, not a house of quick fixes." And the wizard, old and deliberate, is not a deus ex machina for the downtrodden. "How long did you intend to stay?"

[mindxthief]

"Likewise — good to meet you." The smile she offers is a little nervous. She's found the place, she's found the person... but whether she'll find help remains to be seen.

Track record so far says this will be another dead end, but she has to keep holding out hope. Someone must be able to help. It could be him. Right?

Géraud is kind enough to offer some privacy, but Ayesha declines with a, "Thank you, but I think I'm all right to talk here." She said the word magic out loud and Géraud didn't shush her or try to drag her out of the cashier's earshot, so it seems like it's fine to speak freely.

Besides, she thinks, a little bitterly, if he throws me out, it's only a few steps to the exit from here.

Here goes nothing.

"I, I was hoping to meet with you to discuss... like I said, a magic issue. Control of magic, specifically," she explains. She should have the elevator pitch down by now — God knows she's given it enough. But more and more lately, nerves seem to be getting to her. Wondering whether this will be like all the times before, that she'll get a sorry, that's really not in my wheelhouse or worse, a that's darker magic than I want to touch, you need to leave now is terrible; that possibility looming over her scatters her brain and her words a bit.

"There's this thing I can do. If I touch someone, I can take their memories away. A-and I know how that sounds, it's not something I try to do or want to do. But the thing is can't turn it off. It seems to happen any time I touch a person, whether I want it to or not. So mostly I just don't touch people—" She gestures with one gloved hand at her clothing, up and down. "—but I've been trying to find someone who could help me learn some actual control over it. And I'm... hoping that's you."

Well, there it is, out in the open. She watches Géraud, hoping for good news but bracing for a can't or won't.

[harvestshope]

Hmm.

His eyes flicker like fire. It's the subject matter that does it. Memories.

His instinct is to guide her away from the counter, despite Ayesha's apparent comfort, but with a twinge of amused patience, Géraud glances sideways and sees that Dylan has just opened instagram in a misguided attempt to avoid awkwardness. The odds that they retain anything in the next fifteen minutes have just dropped dramatically.

Well, the first-day review is going to be an interesting one.

Géraud stays where he is, leaning forward slightly on his palms. She doesn't waste time, so neither does he.

"I have a number of technical questions about the details, but let's leave them for later."

(When she says take—Suppress? Absorb? She remembers, instead? These are things he has only done with purpose. She can't turn it off, but can she select? Is the extensiveness related to how long she touches them?)

"Do you believe it is magical in nature? It wouldn't be unusual not to know. They don't exactly test for it these days."

[kallistcs]

"Uh-huh. Then go. Go sleep. We'll..." Alekos, Paris, whichever, smiles softly and nods to himself. "We'll talk later."

And they do. Even if - maybe especially because - Hektor finds out what their little sister has done behind his back. It's probably not as bad of a fallout as it could've been, really! It eases some of the weight clutching Alekos' heart tight, while leaving the rest. He doesn't stop considering the idea of going to visit, or the two of them coming here, whether 'here' is Lesbos or Athens.

Almost three months later, after a longer silence than he'd quite intended since that first call, Paris picks up his phone.

i'm not going to be able to come over

They'd just begun actually planning for it before he disappeared for two weeks. And now... Pressing his lips together, Alekos supposes it just wasn't meant to be. Not yet, anyway. Who knows about later, if he can... can get everything straightened out.

[harvestshope]

The night Polyxena tells him everything isn't the night he accepts it. When he does accept it, he tells himself it's because he doesn't have another choice—he already grounded her, and look at what that did.

(But what did it do? He helped me when you weren't there, Polyxena says, a sixteen-year-old version of herself looking out of her child's eyes, and he doesn't know if she means now or thousands of years ago.)

As an older brother, as a guardian, Héctor is pissed with her. For going behind his back, for lying, for her safety—for something specific to the absence in their lives that he doesn't want to name.

But Hektor, son of Troy, just can't put the dog down again.

What a surprise.

He doesn't doubt that it's their brother anymore. He supposes he was just waiting for him to do the cowardly thing and confirm it.

This is Hektor. I'm glad I saw your message first. Brace yourself for the sob emojis.