A Hail Fellow, Well-Met Character

[heartevaded]

HEARTEVADED. high fantasy multimuse. private rp written by mcg. in the conservatory with @motheredearth, @rottine

florentinus cathartes, high elf necromancer, good time guy. theresia de la lune, half-elf mage and priestess, not a good time guy. laridae the gull, chronomagy specialist and smuggler, sort of a good time guy. magra sulicont, alchemist and glorified school vice principal, we-have-food-at-home guy. nat souven, human sorcerer warlock, good time guy jr.

carrd.

[heartevaded]

seeing everybody's pride posts today has been really nice! happy pride, gay people in my phone! 🌈🌈🌈

[motheredearth]

IT'S A FAMILIAR rhythm into which she falls. Age has certainly not diminished his chattiness ( or his charm, she notes with a pang in her own left breast ) , and she finds it easy as ever to simply listen with the amused posture of a large cat relaxing to a songbird's melody. It is either this, or dwell on how quickly his eyes had darted from scarred to unscarred skin.

Regret simmers in her throat anyway. She would've had a better chance back then, ungrateful but unmarred child that she was. A chance for what, she cannot bring herself to articulate even in the privacy of her mind's eye. That would, in fact, be dwelling.

"Sometimes," she answers at length, crossing her arms and leaning against a garage door. "But I don't think that I am lucky enough to twice cheat death."

Despite her grim features, she doesn't let the thought linger. "I heard about that heart attack. I have to tell you, I was not surprised." One can always count on a morbid subject to bring a slight curve to Strixvaria's lips. "Nothing like being Team Principal for relieving stress, right?"

[heartevaded]

Flor raised his brows. “Not surprised! That’s a shade harsh, wouldn’t you say? Entirely reasonable, perhaps, but harsh nonetheless!” It was a relief to have an out, to have the opportunity to perform mock-indignation rather than dwell on when Sylvana had cheated death or, worse, when he had. Come to think of it, it had been raining both days, hadn’t it? Flor glanced down at his hands, at a dark, ugly bruise staining his knuckle from where he’d banged it on the garage door. Damned blood thinners– they made him look like an old man.

Mirroring her–as he often had in their youth– Flor joined Sylvana in leaning against the garage door. “Team Principal for Formula 1 is no joke. It’s a different calibre than Formula E– that’s not me being discouraging, or disparaging, either, to be clear. I’ve no doubts you’ll rise to the occasion– or far above it, more likely. Which is all to say, I anticipate my being Team Principal is about to get much more stressful than it has been up to this point. I’m already bracing myself for the inevitable nagging. ‘Why is the Onyx car so quick? What are their engineers doing over there?’”

Flor recalled, vividly, race officials swarming around the TAG Heuer green car, Sylvana–the Jackal– looking stormy a pace behind them. It had been a cheering sight for her competitors– usually, such a scene portended a deduction of points that might squeak a lucky second-place driver into first. They had always been up to something innovative, exciting, and, technically, against regulation.

“Hey, boss– oh! Bosses?”

Flor was roused from his pleasant memory by a familiar voice. His smile widened, in complete contradiction to how his stomach dropped. He turned. “Nat, my boy!” he greeted. “I’d heard rumors you were returning to the grid. How are you feeling?”

[thrownsoul]

@heartevaded / theresia said: "you don't know when enough is enough."

The proof is there on her back, bending over the table, the girl it now belongs to deep in her books. A scarab, purple-blue like a jewel, seemingly inert where it nestles between her shoulder blades, except that the skin around it is still inflamed. It bedded down not long ago.

But Alice shakes her head, her voice soft.

"No, that isn't it."

She knows to leave well enough alone. But she also knows when something isn't well enough. When it can't be left alone.

"Besides," she says, lifting her head to look directly as Theresia. Her expression is amused. "You want to know what it's for, too."

[heartevaded]

Alice’s manner, as it often did, caught Theresia on her back foot. To put it mildly, she had become unaccustomed to being amicably teased. It was an uncomfortable, vulnerable thing. The appropriate response, she knew, would be to joke back, but, to her frustration, she found herself unable to.

Theresia followed the curve of Alice’s back to the scarab (as Alice had taken to calling it). Admittedly, it did look like one, both in its shape and its iridescent, blue-purple hue. It was striking, perhaps even beautiful, like a large crystalline broach. The metallic indigo of the scarab, shimmering through a haze of smoke, was rooted in Theresia’s memory as it was in Alice’s back. It– and she– had been an answer to a prayer– literally or not, Theresia had yet to determine.

Theresia herself had been accused of not knowing when enough was enough. Her own proof was in her arms, a mix of books and scrolls chronicling ancient religious and magical traditions, and in the design of her holy symbol, worn concealed beneath her nondescript traveler’s costume. Theresia knew when enough was enough. It simply was not.

Theresia met Alice’s eyes again, held them a moment, then unloaded the stack of volumes pressed to her chest onto the desk and took a seat beside her.

“Do you believe that this institution will have the answers we seek?” she asked. There was a challenge in her question; Alice had been the one to select this destination. There was also a we. Theresia tucked her hair behind her ear. It fell forward into her face often, now that it was cut short.

Traveling with someone who had an obvious– tangible, even– cause for her research and study would be a boon, of course. It was perfectly practical. But perfect practicality was not the whole of Theresia's reason for accompanying Alice so far. “I do not not want to know.”

[gravegotten]

Gifted, but Lucy never quite realized how much so until much later in life. Magic did not come easily in that she could make it work with no thought. She did not have an endless well of it at her disposal, no deal with a devil or familial gift. No, her magic was bought with blood, bone, faith and will.

Lucy tried to think of another way to explain, another way to put it to help Theresia understand and her shoulders tensed, her own frustration nestling between them.

Her fingers twitched and with it the the severed hand in front of her did too. "You just....it feels like slipping on a glove. Just your hand inside it."

[heartevaded]

Lucy’s twitching fingers drew Theresia’s attention to her hands. It lingered there, on the faint lines of pale discoloration that streaked them, on the nail on her left thumb, cut to the quick, much shorter than her others. Peeking from the cuff of her unseasonable long sleeved shirt was the edge of what looked like a much more severe scar, angry, red, and raised.

Her focus shifted from Lucy’s hand to the severed one she puppeted. But not, as Theresia had presumed, like a marionette, distantly via lines of power. Lucy had described it instead as… a hand puppet. The coincidental play on words drew Theresia’s thoughts up short, the scowl creasing her brow deepening.

“Very well,” she said at length. Inhaling, Theresia again reached mentally for the hand. She pictured slipping hers into it, imagined how it would feel: wet and cool, but nearing room temperature. The cluster of carpal bones would shift and scrape against each other as her fingers pushed them down and out of her way.

The world tilted, her vision narrowed– Theresia jerked back with a gasp. She had felt it then, truly. Dead flesh brushing against hers.

Theresia’s eyes snapped up to Lucy’s. “Was that–?” she began to ask.

[heartevaded]

@erromes // continued from here

Theresia paused on the homestead’s threshold. She was not imagining how the icy, midwinter wind suddenly waned or that, for the first time in several days, she was able to feel the sun’s warmth on her cheeks, gold-orange and low in the sky as it was. Before her was a bucolic paradise: a garden, beds blanketed in protective layers of straw; a cheery cottage with woodsmoke puffing from its chimney; the smiling and pretty farmer’s wife, blonde-haired and rosy-cheeked and full-bosomed, beckoning her inside. It was all far too good to be trusted.

Theresia held her wariness close to her breast, but folded up and put away her prickling indignation at being fussed over. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted the woman’s belly, swollen with child. What kind of person would place her trust in even the most unassuming stranger in her condition? This woman wanted something from her. In the best, most likely and least malicious scenario, that was merely a recipient for her overflowing care. Theresia needed something as well: a place to stay.

With no great difficulty, Theresia slipped into the persona of the humble, weary, and grateful traveler. She was genuinely weary. With a reprieve in sight, she felt twofold the sting of the blisters on her heels and toes where her slush-soaked stockings had rubbed against her.

“You are most kind. I cannot thank you enough,” she said, stepping closer, consenting to being herded in. “Do you know for how long the festival lasts? I have friends in the city…” A partial, obscuring truth. Theresia had a friend, singular, in Umberhaven, and “colleague” was more accurate. It was unlikely she would receive an invitation to stay in his home.

[heartevaded]

queuing up a handful of theresia replies now and attempting a lesbian hat trick (Looking at women's hands, back, and breasts).

[heartevaded]

show me a woman, and i will show you a "hear me out" theresia ship

[heartevaded]

speaking of women, i am eying my list of muses wistfully and wondering whether i can reasonably change any of their fc's to s/epideh m/oafi bc i love,, to look at her,

[heartevaded]

my personal takeaways from the florence concert were: 1. i have never seen a live show that so fully took advantage of the medium of live music to transform and add layers of meaning-- it was SO moving and beautiful and heartbreaking! i am still thinking of it days later and it changed how i will think about the songs she played forever. and 2. i have to get more insane on main about theresia and magra.

[heartevaded]

hellooo! i've seen a few people do inbox calls and! it looks very fun! i often feel a little shy about sending memes, even though i think universally everyone likes getting them? so, please like this for me to poke through your meme tag and send you a couple!

[heartevaded]

hi! this was fun to do! we are playing dnd today but, for tomorrow afternoon/if i can take breaks today, like this post for me to send you an inbox prompt from your meme tag! 💌 alternatively, you can find my tag here! ;)

[videog4mes]

GET CRAZY, GET WILD. - JERSEY SHORE QUOTES COLLECTION. a series of quotes from the mtv reality show. some nsfw themes and strong language ahead. change verbiage and pronouns as needed.

alright, i'll make you a grilled cheese, asshole.

you're the worst argument person ever.

don't touch me, i'm tan!

it could be dangerous to the health.

my only rule: never fall in love at the jersey shore.

it's t-shirt time!

first impressions are everything. so, you got to stay fresh to death, i call it. fresh outfit, fresh haircut, fresh tan. just stay fresh.

ew, you peed on my foot!

i thought you were just being drunk and stupid.

do you want to bang?

i am like a praying mantis. after i have sex with a guy, i will rip their heads off.

GTL: gym, tan, laundry.

shut your mouth, you dirty little hamster.

they have defied the law of intelligence.

i'm like, a pretty deep dude.

we're beating up the beat. that's what we say when we are doing our fist pump.

how many times you cook for me? none!

one step forward, two step backs.

i hate the ocean. yeah, it's all whale sperm.

hell has to be just like this.

i'm not a snack, i'm a happy meal.

yo, face down, ass up—that's how i like to have a good time.

cry all you want, your tears don't mean shit to me.

i'm sorry i punched you in the face.

i'm not trashy, unless I drink too much.

faux-hawk is like, my best thing.

to drink, or not to drink?

my ass is burning.

rahhhhn, stahhhp.

we're ex-boyfriend and girlfriend, and we're hanging out with each other, and like, you know, it's a little awkward bro.

it's juicehead central now. i'm in heaven.

this isn't law school; this is a t-shirt shop.

you don't come in on sunday with a banana and expect everything to be peaches.

i'm the sweetest bitch you'll ever meet, but do not fuck with me.

do i really want to do this right now? does The Situation want to get situated right now?

i am not fucking any of my roommates, therefore i should not be cleaning up after their shit.

it's like a war zone out here. all grenades.

i'm ready to party, get out there. let's get filthy, creepy, and weird.

your eyebrows are so bushy, they collect so much more bacteria than normal eyebrows would.

don't test me, because i will fail a majority of the time.

I.F.F. is the "I'm Fucked Foundation."

i don't care if you talk shit about me. talk shit about me all you want.

we take that with us for life, that bond. ... that was deep. that was fucking deep.

if you leave, i'm going to stuff your fucking nose with tampons.

[ohisms]

✱˚｡⋆ ↪ 𝐀 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐒 .    (  a collection of  action prompts.   feel free to reverse roles as desired. this prompt will be updated.  )

[ REDWOOD ] sender lashes out at receiver when it isn't their fault.

[ WILLOW ] sender embraces receiver in a moment of extreme distress.

[ PINE ] sender fervently resists receiver's attempts to comfort / care for them.

[ BIRCH ] sender finally ends a tense argument by reaching out to apologize.

[ POPLAR ] sender mentors receiver through learning a new skill.

[ PALM ] sender and receiver avoid / ignore the stresses of real life together.

[ ELM ] sender lends receiver aid in a time of urgent need.

[ MAGNOLIA ] sender, believed to be dead, arrives at receiver's door.

[ DOGWOOD ] sender gifts receiver a token of good luck / protection.

[ MULBERRY ] sender and receiver take a long walk through nature together.

[ HAZELNUT ] sender begrudgingly patches up receiver's wounds.

[ CAMPHOR ] sender suddenly pushes receiver out of danger's path.

[ CASHEW ] when they're finally alone, sender invites receiver to dance.

[ LAVENDER ] sender lays their head in receiver's lap and closes their eyes.

[ BEECH ] it comes to light that sender has betrayed receiver.

[ HIBISCUS ] sender invites receiver to go traveling with them.

[ HICKORY ] sender pushes receiver to admit that they need them.

[ MAPLE ] sender shakes receiver's shoulders, begging them to wake up.

[ CHERRY BLOSSOM ] sender revels in receiver's beauty, stunned.

[ JOSHUA ] sender offers receiver a safe place to hide / crash .

[ ASH ] sender and receiver become reacquainted after many years.

[ FIG ] sender, knowing receiver is hungry, pressures them to eat.

[ YEW ] sender beckons for receiver to join them in the water.

[ CYPRESS ] sender shamelessly flirts with receiver.

[ LINDEN ] sender cares for receiver, who took a hit to protect them.

[thrownsoul]

Her silence after his explanation is deafening. Natty Blast. Right. Alice pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Must be hard to teach you much that sticks. Don't call me that." She will always make time for this correction, even if it's just a breath between one thought and the next. Her name is Alice. It isn't Al, or Khaji Ren, or scarab host, or—

"It's not, Nat. It's not sorcery. It is not the 'Natty Blast.' That was warlock magic. I would know." Her voice is flat, as if she doesn't want to waste any emotion communicating something he probably already knows and is lying to her about. Sighing, her shoulders drop. She holds her hand out, but not to him.

A crackling bolt hits the webbing above him. It blasts apart into stringy cobwebs. And maybe singes his hair.

"Just because you don't see me use it doesn't mean I can't."

[heartevaded]

“Whoa!”

His upper body suddenly unsupported while his feet were still stuck, Nat flopped forward. He pinwheeled his arms, just managing to wobble upright.

Nat barely registered Alice’s throwaway insult or even the harsh waft of burnt hair. (Luckily, the glamour that made his hair just a little redder and smoother also concealed the damage. He would remember and sulk about both offenses later.) Likewise, Nat’s brain skated neatly over the icy depths of the accusation that had been the point of her admission. It was crazy, so why dwell on it? Nat hadn’t made a pact or anything with anybody– he’d remember if he did.

Still, when he went to free his legs from what remained of the blasted-up webbing, he hesitated, then fumbled to grab his dagger from where he kept it sheathed on his thigh.

Nat wasn’t a warlock– but Alice was. The shock of it was like a punch to the gut– or like falling abruptly when the spiderweb holding up your arms was exploded apart by magic.

“Al–ice,” he said, catching himself at the last second. “I’m sorry, you never– I didn’t know. Are you… I don’t even know what to say.” ‘Are you OK’ seemed like a pretty dumb question, considering.

“How can I help?” he asked.

[heartevaded]

"there are a couple of loose ends i'd like to tie up. nothing important, you understand." - to laridae from sylvana

Laridae quirked a wry smile at the Archmage. Behind her, the fortress of the Academy loomed out of the swirling snow. Guards– just little dots like ants or sand from this distance– were surging out over its ramparts, activated, he suspected, by his and the Archmage’s skin-of-their-teeth escape from the puzzle-slash-trap down the road.

“Sure,” he said. “You know, this is one of those times where I can’t tell if you’re being sarcastic or if you’re having a– episode.”

Laridae grimaced. The inability to recall words was the worst part. “Episode” wasn’t the one he’d been searching for. “Inability to recall words” wasn’t either. The loss of his spellcasting had been bad– terrible– a core part of his identity and a lifelong passion ripped out of him. But, for someone in his profession, where the wrong turn of phrase could mean drawn swords or the shackles of an unfavorable contract, not being able to express himself clearly was far more dangerous.

A bitter edge he disliked was in his voice when he said, “But, hey, that might be me, also having an episode.”

[heartevaded]

@motheredearth // continued from here

“Inappropriate– ah!”

With a sympathetic smile and raised brows, Flor leaned in. Florentinus Cathartes was no gossip, but who wouldn’t be tickled by such a predicament (heard of second hand rather than experienced first-, anyway)? “Ah, the hubris of youth! For my part, I always expected to receive fewer such proclamations as I aged, but alas. It does become easier to let them down gently with practice, I’m sure you’ll agree.”

Archmage Strixvaria was not returning his smile, not truly. Catching the taught lines of her jaw and neck, Flor made eye contact with the barkeep, glancing meaningfully between him to the Archmage’s empty glass.

“You seem exceptionally discomfited,” he said. “Was this girl with the Academy long? I’m certain she’s only embarrassed. She may be saying she’d like a transfer away now, but she’ll come around. I have full confidence that you handled the situation with grace.”

Flor paused, then nodded to himself. “Yes, full confidence,” he repeated.

[heartevaded]

self-indulgently, i am working on a little playlist for nat (self-indulgent because i am absolutely cramming it with emo music and bands i listened to in college.) really vibing with bookending it with the re-do and re-done from modern baseball.