#cup cake kin

[bucky-barnes-diaries]

That Walk

Pairing || TFATWS!Bucky x Female!Reader

Summary || That walk. That goddamn walk of his that’s laced with [s]ex and confidence. Fuck, you can’t get enough of it.

Word Count || 524

Contents & Warnings || Smut, Fluff — [N]SFW, 18+ Only, Minors DNI, [e]xplicit content/language, [h]orny thoughts, alluding to [s]exual activities.

Authors Note || My submission for the One-Word Drabble @the-slumberparty My word is “walk”. A little bit of a different style of fic than I usually do, but I enjoyed it! Apologies for no readmore function on this. The gifs above just screws up the text below.

TFATWS!Bucky Masterlist

You and your boyfriend Bucky planned to meet up in the park today for some coffee, cakes, and adventure.

You were waiting for him on a bench amongst the busy crowd—wearing a summer dress. The sun [k]issed your exposed [s]kin—making you feel warm and relaxed.

That was until you spotted him—and that relaxed exposure turned into need and fantasies.

Oh. My God! That walk. That goddamn walk of his.

The way he walked was Godlike. The kind that had [p]anties and [u]nderwear drop within a mile radius.

Your heart started racing, your mouth [s]alivating, and your [s]kin ignited in delicious tingles as you examined all of him.

Power, confidence, and [d]ominance were evident in his posture, in his every stride, as he walked, trying to locate you.

His arms swung back and forth with each step he took—so much ease in them. His fists balled up at his sides.

His [c]hest was puffed out, and his shoulders were broad as he swayed with each move he took.

His groin tightened against his jeans with each foot he took forward—no secret that he was absolutely packing in those pants.

His mouth remained in a thin line. His eyes narrowed as he searched around for you. His expression made him look rugged and [h]ard—so [s]exy beyond belief.

You had to stifle a whimper as you felt the ache and need in your [p]ussy—[t]hrobbing, [b]egging, yearning for his riveting [t]ouch—[t]ongue, fingers, and [c]ock.

If people weren’t around, you would have snaked your hand into your [p]anties and played with yourself.

As soon as he spotted you, the contrast between his demeanor before and now was massive. The man that previously exuded [s]ex and [s]in turned into a boy seeing his crush for the first time—mannerisms softening, and his face beamed bright with love and joy.

“Hi, doll!” He cheered.

As he walked over, you got up to your feet, [l]egs unsteady as you were still spellbound by his magic.

He hummed as he towered over you and cupped your cheek, leaning down to [k]iss the other before pressing a captivating one to your [l]ips. He lingered there for a moment, making you dizzier, before pulling away.

Your face was stunned—[l]ips slightly parted, and eyebrows shot up. And he noticed, furrowing his eyebrows.

“What is it, doll?”

“I-I… yo-your walk.”

“My what?”

“Your walk… fuck, it’s so [s]exy,” you breathe out.

“Is that so?”

His previous hold on you—soft and endearing—turned into a [r]ousing and demanding one. He palmed your [a]ss and pulled your flush into his broad [t]orso, ignoring the [d]irty looks from the strangers.

He leaned his head down, brushing his [l]ips against your ear. His warm breath fanned the sensitive [s]kin of your neck, making goosebumps erupt all over you. You purred in approval of his intoxicating [t]ouch.

“Fuck this date then,” he hummed, making you shiver, “let’s go home, and I’ll walk for you like that there, [n]aked.”

Oh God…

Thank you for reading 🖤 Feedback through a comment is highly appreciated! Or let me know through an anonymous ask if that feels more comfortable. As well as a reblog to share my work with other people!

Follow @bucky-barnes-diaries-library and turn on notifications to never miss out on my writing!

Apologies for the [ ] on some words! I’m testing it out to see if I can evade getting a Label put on this.

[yourdarlingness]

Natsuki (DDLC)　names , pronouns , titles

✦　...　requested by @msith　...　no kin tags

　◞◟　NAMES　✦

cutesy . sweetsy . sweet-tooth . parfaitte . maybella / maybelle . affie . saccharlie . saccharyn . sugarbelle . sugarlita . amy . sweetheart . sucy . suzy . suzette . sugaryne . nikki . natalie . sofie . sofia m sophie . sophia . nora

　◞◟ 　PRONOUNS　✦

sh🧁 / h🧁r . sh🍰 / h🍰r . sti / stir . swe / sweet . su / sugar . yum / yums . mew / meow . pix / pixie . sweet / tooth . ri / ribbon . cwu / cwute . cup / cake . cu / cupcake . sy / syr / syrup . coo / kie . 🧁 . 🍰 . 🍨 . 🍮 . 🍪 . (name).chr / (name).chrs

　◞◟ 　TITLES　✦

(name).chr . prn* who is inflicted with cuteness . the sweetheart's baked goods . prn* as sweet as (cup)cakes . prn* red ribbons . the poetess' sweetness . prn* verse full of sugar . the avid manga reader . the baker's sweet secrets . prn* heart of pastry . prn* ribbom of sugar . the poem of cuteness . the adorable poetess

[1218-814]

Cheesecake analysis- Floyd’s thought process

Credibility? idk, I kin Jade but this is how I see Floyd from what he says. a mix of @/numanuma_black's thoughts and mine. But this is mainly for my records

The Cheesecake analysis is how Floyd thinks. He thinks like he is neurodivergent (me too tbh). So for those of you who have difficulty understanding, if normal people think of using a recipe for baking, he think about it using ratios and somewhat extra thoughts. If Jade thinks in normal numbers such as “1.75 cups of graham crackers, 3 tablespoons of sugar, 1 stick of butter…” and Floyd thinks like,  “About a 2:1 ratio of batter with crackers, maybe adding jam in place of some sugar so I can change the flavor up a bit, oh maybe there's the leftover fruit from something so I can add that…”

So, why would he do such a long thought and scattered thought process? It’s the process that makes him unable to get “bored”. Also, doing what he's told is something that he probably dislikes because it's just something that is done. After all, others ask him to do (such as food prep, it's just a chore.) When it comes to something new, he would also not listen if you tell him how to do it, it's like babies walking; just telling him isn't going to work because it just doesn't make sense to him and if it’s forced it’s just not something he enjoyed, so for him actually learning that skill is a path of trial and error.

Going back to the cheesecake, this man will most likely give you a graham cracker with cheese on it at first and serve it to people, and also eat it too. Why? Because his image of a “cheesecake” is cheese with cookies, nothing less nothing more. Because Azul is there, he can give more tips on what different kinds of stuff the cake can be, which makes Floyd more curious about what the possibilities are and helps set him a goal “The cheesecake I want”, is an interest and that makes him work more. “There are different types of cheeses? Cool, I want more of a mascarpone. If it’s baked or rare, I think rare is better. Oh that chocolate crust looks good, I want to put that… Jam is sometimes there? I want to say,” With that, the priority of information is labeled mainly according to interests and Floyd's preferences. No recipe yet, but what he wants is super clear. At this point, Floyd begins to prioritize information on "the ideal cheesecake I want to eat", so while collecting information on baked goods, and unusual varieties, he will absorb what he thinks is related to the stuff he wants and incorporate it. The route ends when Floyd starts making something else and it goes well. (Side tracking)

However, if Azul is by his side, he will say: "You said you were going to make cheesecake!" and put him back on his path. Based on the information obtained, it works, he did it with a nice cheesecake! Magic? No, just intuition and trial and error. However, since it is still an experiment, it does not reach the results of various imaginations if he gets his first “success”. Then he’ll make note of what's bad, what he likes the taste of, what texture, what overpowers what, etc.

Then there’s going to be a ton of failures but that's where Jade is better than Floyd in a way; Jade can make a pretty good quality of something because he always follows the recipe, Floyd just changes what he wants but it turns out either amazing or bad. But Floyd does gain the knowledge of what he needs to fix about the cheesecake while making it, and if Azul gives his advice such as “hmmm, a bit of salt can help with flavor at times, and this would go great with coffee, etc.” the data in his brain goes up. If he follows the idea it works great, but Floyd will tweak it and be proud of what he made and show it to Azul. Whatever idea he had before? Probably gone, because his mood changed.

If Azul wants the cake on the menu, which has happened according to his master chef card, he probably has no recipe. So how does the recipe get recorded? Jade the recipe follower, the planner, and the Floyd translator in the game. Foyd will be vague like “this much cheese” and dump it, but Jade will measure it before something happens to it. That patience he has with Floyd has always helped make the recipe possible; something Azul can’t do. Also, the reason why his food doesn't go and taste the way it should when he's not in the mood is because he’s not careful. He does things like mixing badly, cutting, etc. all things that are crucial in cooking. If it is used in the menu and Azul is the proudest he’s been of them, I bet a dollar that somewhere in that smiley calm exterior, a jealous Jade is there. 

~~~

I think Floyd is just misunderstood because he is deffo neurodivergent.

I hope ppl if they read this enjoy how I think how he thinks :)

[alexagirlie]

Fandom: The Last Kingdom

Series: Danger Days Masterlist

Pairing: Finan/Sihtric

Rating: E

Words: 3,063

Warnings: aftermath of battle. battle rage. beserkr. dom/sub. hair pulling. tears. oral sex. face fucking. minimal prep. anal fingering. anal sex. rough sex. choking. coming untouched. outdoor sex.

Summary: Finan had seen Sihtric behave like this before, in the aftermath of battles in the past. Uhtred had called it battle rage, the one time Finan had asked him after watching the Lord calm the younger warrior. It was a special trance that some warriors could achieve, it marked Sihtric as a Beserkr, the most fearsome of warriors among the Danes and their kin, but sometimes coming down from that state was hard. It left an itching under the skin that could only be scratched by more fighting, or fucking, until all energy was spent and exhaustion set in.

When Finan went looking for Sihtric after the battle had ended, and he had been dismissed by Uhtred, he found the Dane pacing, stalking back and forth like a caged predator, hands clenching and unclenching at his side. As Finan watched he could see the aborted movements towards drawing a weapon and the forced relaxation, the deep breaths that did nothing to calm whatever was whirling through his lover's mind.

This had been the hardest battle they had ever fought in together, their forces had been outnumbered and if Lord Sigbriht hadn't arrived when they did to attack the Danish line from the back they might not have come out the victors. It had been long and brutal and Sihtric was coated in blood, his hair was wet with it and stuck to his forehead. The shaved sides and all down his jawline and neck was smeared with red like he had tried to clean himself up and failed. It was hard to see blood on black leather but Finan could see the wet shine on his armour and the dampness on the tunic underneath as he got closer and he could make out the blood coating Sihtric's hands. Finan was willing to bet it was caked under in his nails and would require a good scrubbing to get it all off.

He was looking forward to helping Sihtric with getting clean, and being scrubbed clean himself, but first he had to try and settle whatever beast lurked under his lover's skin.

Finan approached Sihtric cautiously which proved to be the smart move as Sihtric startled when a twig snapped under Finan boot and his fight or flight instinct was triggered. He had his axe in hand before Finan could even blink and he bared his teeth in a snarl. 

Finan threw his hands up to show he was unarmed. "Oi! It's just me!" He watched as recognition bleed into Sihtric's eyes and the coiled readiness left his body and he slipped his axe back onto his belt with trembling fingers and a mumbled apology.

Finan reached out and cupped the side of Sihtric's face in one hand, trying to sooth some of the tension he could still see. "What's wrong?"

Sihtric shrugged, an attempt at nonchalance that Finan could see right through. "You just startled me, I'm fine." A clear lie, Sihtric did not startle easily and he wouldn't meet Finan eyes and most tellingly was how restless he was, he shifted, foot to foot, restless.

Finan brought his other hand up to cup the other side of Sihtric's face and forced the younger man to meet his eyes. "You're not fine. What do you need?"

Sihtric stared back at him, silent with a searching look on his face, whatever he was looking for Finan wasn't sure but he must have found it as he finally, finally relaxed and leant forward to rest his head on Finan's shoulder, not caring about who might see them. "Need to get out of my head… not think." His voice was muffled but Finan could hear the desperate edge, could feel how his body still trembled softly.

Finan had seen Sihtric behave like this before, in the aftermath of battles in the past. Uhtred had called it battle rage, the one time Finan had asked him after watching the Lord calm the younger warrior. It was a special trance that some warriors could achieve, it marked Sihtric as a Beserkr, the most fearsome of warriors among the Danes and their kin, but sometimes coming down from that state was hard. It left an itching under the skin that could only be scratched by more fighting, or fucking, until all energy was spent and exhaustion set in.

He had an idea, a way for him to help clear Sihtric's head and use up his remaining energy. "Do you trust me?"

"With my life." Sihtric responded immediately, there was absolutely no hesitation and it made Finan smile and drop a kiss to the side of Sihtric's head, not caring about the taste of blood and dirt under his lips.

Finan ran a hand up the back of Sihtric's head, through the wet strands of his hair until he could grab a handful and yanked his head back, hard, making Sihtric gasp with pain. He knew Sihtric liked having his hair pulled but Finan had never been this rough about it before. Sihtric's mouth dropped open and his eyes went heated, Finan watching as his pupils got bigger until only the tiniest ring of colour remained, blue indistinguishable from brown.

"Come on" Finan released him abruptly, making Sihtric stumble before he rushed to follow after the retreating Irishman.

Finan led them through the trees, away from the remnants of the battle and where no one would be able to see them. It was one thing to fuck Sihtric in camp when it was just Uhtred's inner circle, the Lord and Osferth not giving two shits about what their companions got up to or where, but Finan had no intention of letting anyone else see what Sihtric looked like when he took Finan cock. When he begged and whined and squirmed as he was split open and fucked until he screamed.

Once Finan deemed them far enough away to not get interrupted he forced Sihtric to his knees. He grabbed Sihtric by the face, hooked two fingers into his parted lips and pulled him down by the jaw until his knees hit the dirt. Sihtric didn't resist or try to pull away and Finan bit back a groan at the sight, as Sihtric's whole body trembled and he groaned before he wrapped his lips around Finan's fingers, completely uncaring of their own blood and dirt covered state, and sucked, hard, cheek hollowing. Finan couldn't hold back the groan this time, as the wet heat of Sihtric's mouth sucked on his fingers like he would his cock, his tongue slipping along their length and the gentlest application of teeth. 

He had always thought Sihtric would take well to a rougher hand in bed but to see it in front of his eyes was incredibly arousing and the front of his trousers tightened as his cock got fully on board.

Finan made Sihtric suck his fingers first, fucking them in and out on his mouth until Sihtric was whining and his mismatched eyes were wet with unshed tears. He had saliva drooling out of the side of his mouth and he had never looked so fucking beautiful. Finan cock throbbed in his trousers and he couldn't resist palming himself over the fabric, trying to relieve some of the ache.

Finan pulled his fingers free and fumbled with his armour until he could loosen it enough to pull over his head and toss it to the ground, then Sihtric helped him get his tunic off and his trouser open and pulled his cock out. He batted Sihtric's hands away from his cock when the younger man reached for it and waited for Sihtric to settle back, hands on his thighs, before Finan cupped the back of his head in both hands. "If you need me to stop, tap my hip twice okay?"

"Yes please." Sihtric's eyes were hazy but he nodded to emphasize his words and licked his lips before opening his mouth wide and letting his tongue hang out.

Finan wrapped a hand around his cock and guided it against Sihtric's pink lips, he rubbed the wet, leaking tip across Sihtric's lower lip, leaving a wet shine of precome behind before he slipped it between those enticing lips and slapped it against his tongue, teasing them both before he fed it inch by inch into Sihtric's waiting mouth. 

Once he was pressed into the hilt and the tip of his cock rested in Sihtric throat he released his cock and threaded his fingers into his curls and waited. 

Sihtric let out a muffled whine, desperate and needy, and swallowed around the head of Finan cock. The feeling of that tight channel enveloping him and the feel of Sihtric's fingers digging into the back of his thigh the signal Finan needed to start moving.

He started slowly, in and out, each time pressing harder and faster into Sihtric's mouth. It was wet and hot and he groaned, deep and hoarse at the feeling of his cock sliding against Sihtric's tongue. Soon he was thrusting into that perfect mouth with enough vigour that his balls slapped against Sihtric's chin each time he bottomed out. He made soft choking noises each time Finan cock pushed into his throat but he didn't tap out, not until he had tears running down his face, the kohl he lined his eyes with before battle leaving gray streaks down his cheeks.

When Finan felt the tap on his hip he pulled his cock from Sihtric's mouth, a long line of saliva connecting the head of his cock to Sihtric lips. He broke the line with a thumb, which he fed back into Sihtric's mouth before he used his other hand to clean the tears from his face "Good?"

Sihtric blinked slowly up at him, eyes dark and unfocused, and he whined while nodding his head enthusiastically.

Finan smiled down at his lover. "Be a good boy for me and take your clothes off." He ordered and Sihtric was quick to obey, the Dane never one to push back or play the brat during their previous bedroom games.

Once naked Finan laid Sihtric out on the ground, a soft, dark green patch of grass and clover and crawled between his thighs. He pressed open mouthed kisses up his toned stomach and chest until he could take his mouth in a kiss, devouring and hungry with lust. They pressed together, Finan grinding down and swallowing the moans he pulled from Sihtric's throat as their trapped cocks slid wetly against each other.

They traded kisses for several long minutes, until they were both panting into each other's mouths and Finan had to pull away before he spilled and ended their fun too soon.

Finan knelt between Sihtric's sprawled legs and looked his fill at his boy as he got himself back under control. Sihtric whole body was quivering and he was slick with sweat, his muscles glistening in the sunlight that filtered through the trees. He was flushed pink down to his chest and his cock was weeping onto the cut muscles on his abdomen. 

Finan ran his hands along Sihtric's calves until he could hook his hands under the younger man's knees and he pressed Sihtric legs back. "Hold these up for me okay luv?" Sihtric's flexibility was pushed to the max as he pulled his legs back even further and his knees touched his shoulders and he was put on display obscenely. 

Finan ran his thumb over the pink furl of Sihtric's rim causing Sihtric to whine and squirm, pushing himself back against the press of Finan's touch. Finan slapped the curve of his arse hard enough for a pink handprint to appear "Be good, stay still." 

Sihtric settled down and Finan looked and touched his lover's most intimate places, slow and worshipful. His fingers travelled over up over the silky softness of his balls and brushed fleetingly along the wet length of his cock, the touch pulling a breathy groan out of Sihtric throat. He alternated between feather soft touches and firmer strokes, teasing, trying to work Sihtric up into a state of mindlessness, then he racked his nails from hip to knees, leaving raised pink welts behind. The pleasure-pain made Sihtric moan and his chest heaved with each panting breath.

"Please!" Sigtric begged him, voice hoarse and breathless. "Please Finan, fuck me!" 

How could Finan ignore such a desperate plea. He pressed his thumb back against Sihtric's rim and pushed until it popped past the ring of muscles and sank smoothly down to the knuckle. He was still lose and slick from the fast, dirty fuck they snuck in before the battle started and it  helped ease the way. 

He ignored the protesting whine Sihtric let out when he pulled his thumb out of the tight clutch of his body, the noise transforming into a gasp as Finan pressed two fingers back in. He kept the teasing to a minimum and worked up to three fingers, making sure Sihtric was as prepared as possible before he pulled them free as well and he helped Sihtric roll over onto his elbows and knees. The position put Sihtric's glorious ass on display and Finan gripped one cheek to help spread him open as he used the other hand to steady his cock and lined it up with Sihtric's rim. When Finan pushed his cock into Sihtric arse they both let out desperate and needy moans, the sound ringing through the clearing. He was hot and tight around him and Finan groaned as he worked his cock into the hilt and he bottomed out, his hips pressed flush to the curve of Sihtric's arse. 

Finan paused to let Sihtric have a moment to adjust and he gripped the other man by the hips and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to the slope of his spine. "Ready?" He asked, barely above a whisper as he pressed another kiss to Sihtric's back, savoring the taste of sweat on his tongue.

Sihtric's response was to drop his head lower, pressing his face against his crossed hands and moaning as he pushed his arse back harder against Finan hips.

Finan laughed breathlessly as he answered the silent plea and begun to fuck Sihtric in earnest. Now was not the time for slow and gentle, that would come later, tomorrow, by the pale light of dawn as they lay curled together under the furs. Now was the time to fuck every thought out of his lovers head, to tame the beast which had raised its head at the taste of blood and battle. 

It was hard and it was fast and it was loud, both men letting moans and groans spill from between their lips. Finan grabbed a handful of Sihtric's hair and pulled his head back so he could better hear the sounds his lover made. Finan had never let himself be this rough with Sihtric before, it was near animalistic. He used the hold he had in Sihtric's hair and the hold on his hip as leverage to pull him back even harder and each pleasure-pain filled moan sent a jolt of arousal straight to his cock and it throbbed.

Suddenly Finan desired nothing more than to see Sihtric's face as he fell apart on his cock and he pulled out abruptly. He ignored Sihtric's confused whine and manhandled the younger man onto his back and wrapped Sihtric's legs around his waist before he pressed back in. The new position allowed Finan to watch his face as he fucked him, allowed him to watch as Sihtric's eyes rolled into the back of his head, as his mouth fell open and he made the most beautiful sounds.

Sihtric grabbed Finan's hand and brought it to his throat. Finan groaned and he tightened his fingers and he thrust harder and faster as Sihtric's face turned rosy pink as his air was restricted. When Finan released his grip the moan that spilled from the Dane's mouth was downright sinful and he tilted his head back into the leaves, exposing his throat, all but begging for Finan's to choke him again.

Finan tightened his fingers again, tighter this time and the rhythm on his hips faltered at the effect this had on Sihtric. The younger man had his hand wrapped around his cock and he was stroking himself hard and fast. His cock was red at the head and leaking profusely. His other hand had reached down and he dug his fingers into the curve of Finan's hip and was trying to get Finan to fuck him faster. 

"Did I say you could touch yourself?" FInan asked as he released Sihtric's throat and leaned back, the thrusting of his hips slowing to a stop. The Dane whined, voice raspy and so desperate. Finan tsked and grabbed both of Sihtric's hands and pinned them above the younger man's head in one of his own, Sihtric's legs wrapped around his waist in response. "Naughty boy. You cum when I tell you and not a second sooner, understood?"

Sihrric whined and squirmed and begged him so sweetly "Please Fin, please fuck me-" he cut off on a moan as Finan started to fuck him again, harder and faster and he outright screamed as Finan adjusted the angle he was driving his cock into the other man at, hitting his sweet spot again and again.

"Close?"

Sihtric nodded but had been rendered speechless, he was only able to gasp out these little breathy sounds each time Finan sunk his cock in. Finan moaned and fucked him even harder.

"You can cum whenever you want." Finan gasped out as he wrapped his hand around Sihtric's throat again and watched transfixed as Sihtric's eyes rolled into the back of his head. His mouth opened on a silent scream as his cock exploded, untouched, streaking his stomach and chest with thick, white cum. He shuddered and shook and arched his back in pleasure.

Finan released the hold he had on Sihtric's throat and the sound of his gasping pleasure filled voice drove Finan over the edge and he came so hard he saw stars, he ground his hips against Sihtric's arse mindlessly as he filled him with ropes of his cum. It seemed to stretch out forever before he collapsed on the younger man and tried to get his breath back.

"Better?" He asked as he pressed a kiss to Sihtric's sweaty neck.

"Hmmm yes"

They cleaned up the best they could before they stumbled their way back to camp and made it all the way to where their tent was set up before they came across Uhtred. He took in their disheveled appearance and snorted, slapping a hand on Finans shoulder as he walked passed. "Get some sleep! We break camp at dawn."

Once inside they cleaned each other as best as they could with a bucket of cold water before they crawled under the furs and fell asleep, sated and exhausted.

[howlingday]

The Forgotten Schnee

Jacques: My chikdren are champions! Except for Jaune.

Willow: Which one is Jaune again?

Jaune: (Sneezed on by a deer, Sighs)

---------------------------------------------------

Klein: Master Jaune, your parents called. They have decided to extend their trip to Vale by one week.

Jaune: But... But my birthday is tomorrow.

Klein: Indeed. (Sets birthday cake down, Cake falls over)

Jaune: Are... Are my sisters coming?

Klein: They send their regards from military and reform school respectively.

---------------------------------------------------

Jacques: Gather 'round, Schnee family. You've been gathered to Schnee Manor to uphold our most grand of traditions; the annual rankings of the Schnee children. Klein, remove the names from the board.

Klein: (Scrubs names with push broom)

Jacques: You each have one minute to defend your worth. Whitley?

Whitley: I have just made partner at my firm. I have also seen to it that the case is resolved to our benefit. After all, is it not every Faunus' right to work themselves to death for the SDC without any benefits to his surviving kin?

Willow: Weiss?

Weiss: I have just ended my six-figure singing contract to pursue my one, true passion. Freelance huntress service!

Jacques: Our cup zero is becoming a hero! (Snorts) Jaune.

Jaune: O-Oh, uh, my job is super important, too! I just, uh, can't talk about it, or the tiny nano-bots will explode my brain.

Jacques: Yes, your "classified" job. (Sighs) I can't help blaming myself... for not blaming the staff hard enough for raising you weak! You've always been an embarrassment! Unlike Winter, here, who will surely carry the family name!

Winter: My campaign for Mantle Chairman airs it's first commercial tonight. Truly, this campaign could not have happened without all of you.

Jaune: (Watches everyone self-praise) W-Wait. Are ALL of you working on Winter's campaign? Why didn't anyone ask me for help?

Jacques: With what?! Slowly draining your trust fund?! Klein, up top! (High fives Klein)

Klein: Savage burn, sir.

Winter: No offense, Jaune, but you have always been a sort of... spineless yes-man.

Jaune: I'm not spineless! The doctors just say my spine is huggably soft...

Willow: Well, Stardust II just had her first foal, so it's a tie for fourth.

Jacques: All those in favor of Stardust II in fourth!

Schnees: AYE!

Jaune: ...Aye.

Jacques: Bring out the will, because that horse is getting a beach house in Menagerie!

[lullaebies]

Hi I have a helaegon prompt that's about them as young children and celebrating Daeron nameday before he leaves for Oldtown

Helaegon do be around 17 and 19 in the books when he leaves, so I decided to go around the show timeline which would have him leave much younger in order to keep the young children helaegon part. I'm assuming he would be around 7, so that's what I went with for the req! i really took liberties with this one, so hope its ok!

-

On his seventh nameday, Daeron is bejeweled, revered, and loved.

Mother has given him seven kisses across his face after the feast. Father has told him he is going to do well in Oldtown, surely a proper squire and cupbearer to his kin. Rhaenyra and her sons said their congratulations and left to sleep for the hunt the following day; the hunting party will enter the kingswood, hunt game, and there they will separate; Daeron’s party will leave for Oldtown with the gathered meat, and they will return to the castle.

Aegon has gotten Daeron a golden cup. He supposes his mother’s pestering of presents did affect him in the end. He is too young now to drink from it whatever he wants, but Aegon supposes he will grow into it when he’s away. Helaena has made him some embroidery of Tessarion, Aemond gave him an ink and feather set that he was surely helped by Mother to get. She always says Daeron has lovely handwriting, and Aemond all but said outwardly that Daeron needs to learn to write letters.

The feast is right for the seven-year-old’s taste. The honey cakes are Daeron’s favorite, just like the watered-down, sweet grape wine on the table, and the music that is played includes several of Daeron’s favorite songs. From the beginning to the end, it has been made perfect for the boy, courtesy of their meticulous Mother.

And when the feast is over, all of the boy’s presents are carried off to his room to be packed, and he gets head pats and hugs and congratulations as princes do. It’s all perfect, as it should be, but something still sits uncomfortably in Aegon’s stomach.

When all are back in their rooms, the moon rising up in the dark sky, Aegon finds that he can’t quite sleep. He tosses and turns until he realizes he wouldn’t find much sleep anyway, and rises to go on a walk. To his surprise, he finds Helaena sneaking down the hallway.

They both stare at each other in surprise, but he speaks first. “Since when do you sneak out?” he asks half-mockingly. The implicit why is not lost on her, this time.

Helaena looks down the hall. “I wanted to see my brother,” she says, in half a huff. He raises an eyebrow, and she flushes with a slight frown on her face. “My baby brother. He looked sad.”

Aegon realizes, that Daeron did. All that good and all those gifts and all this attention, but he did seem sad. For all her cheekiness, she isn’t quite wrong. “Well, you’ll have to share him. I’m going too.” he retorts, moving toward the boy’s room first. Helaena, on her part, always finds her defiance when speaking with him, however. She rushes beside him and then just ahead of him. He picks up his speed to pass her, and she copies him; it continues all the way to Daeron’s room. They both still when they hear some sniffles.

Helaena looks at him to open the door; he bites his lips, but opens the door, peeking in.

“Ah?” says their very small brother in his very large bed. He wipes away some tears swiftly so they won’t see.

While Aegon is still in his place, Helaena carefully steps forward. “Can we enter?” she asks; as if they wouldn’t enter anyway. Daeron covers his face with the furs on the bed; he looks even smaller, bundled up in them all.

When no answer is received, Aegon simply enters in, and Helaena follows, shutting the door behind him. “What you crying for, twerp?” he asks. Helaena grabs his arm, glaring, but he continues. “Didn’t like our gifts?”

He shakes his head fervently under the blankets. The presents are beside him the nightstand; Aegon knows he likes them. He bothers him some more.

“I don’t understand when I can’t see you,” he stresses. Daeron whines, and takes the fur off of him slowly.

“I l-liked them,” he says shakily Helaena comes forward to sit by him on the bed. She only reaches for his hand, carefully.

“That’s good,” Helaena says. “But why are you sad? You still seemed down since your feast.”

Daeron’s lips tremble slightly when she squeezes his hand. He sniffles up some snot when he says quietly, “I don’t want to go.”

But he talked so excitedly about going to Oldtown, before. He met Lord Ormund, and jumped around the castle talking of the Citadel and Hightower. What changed? “And here I thought you were excited to leave us.”

“No!” the boy yells, making both him and Helaena cringe. “I didn’t…” he trails off when his tears finally trickle down. “I’ll miss you.”

The courtiers always said Daeron is the most charming of them brothers, and Aegon feels it now; there is some ache the word conveys that Aegon just can’t deny. Helaena lets their little brother hug her, and Aegon comes closer, sitting by the other side of the bed.

“We will miss you too,” Helaena says to his ears, promising to write him letters aplenty. “We’ll still write and talk to each other, don’t worry.”

Aegon knows now what felt ill in his stomach, even if he can’t quite admit it. I’ll miss you too.

Aegon reaches to the back of his head, patting. He’s not truly good at it, but he’ll attempt. “You are the only person I’d pick up a quill for, twerp,” he says. “The maesters would weep for your return. You’ll get even more letters from them begging.”

Daeron chuckles through his tears, wiping them away again. “Really?”

“Really,” he affirms. “And either way, we’re just dragon ride away, aren’t we?” he looks at Helaena. She smiles at him softly, and nods. Daeron’s eyes are still glassy, but he gives them both a smile.

At that moment, the door opens again. Aemond peeks into the room, confusion all over his narrow face when he takes the scene in. “What are you doing here?”

Aegon sticks out his bottom lip at him. “Exactly what you are doing here,” he answers. “Now, shut the damn door and come over here twat. We’ve got to sleep for the hunt tomorrow.”

All his siblings open their mouths in confusion, but Aegon just enters beneath the bed’s furs, and puts his head against the pillows, pulling Daeron back to the mattress to sleep. Helaena soon figures out what he means, and enters under the blanket as well, settling by Daeron as well. Aemond soon finds his place inside too. Daeron snuggles between them all, slowly dozing off with a gentle smile.

It is only lucky, that the bed is so large; to remind the youngest of them four, that even in the biggest of worlds, he’s never quite alone.

[synbiote]

Symbiote Kin Recipes!!

x Dark Chocolate Truffles x "Bloody" Chocolate Cups x Chocolate Fondue x Bunny Rocky Road x Brookies x Red Velvet Soufflé Cake x Chocolate Almond Butter Bars x Chocolate Creme Cupcakes x Chocolate Fudge

{Photos from Original Posts}

[haresvoid]

A low rumble sounds before a metal nose presses itself against the side of Valtiel's head, a few breaths dancing across his skin as the larger of the two takes in his scent. It seems for the moment Pyramid Head is enjoying the physical contact, small pushes of the nose, almost nuzzling, from time to time. Eventually though he does let his tongue slip from his maw to give the attendant a lick.

❛[ UNPROMPTED ASKS ≻ always accepting!

'THROAT CLICKS AND GURGLES LIKE VERTEBRAE AND SPINAL FLUIDS REARRANGED. Leathery corpse-flesh pallid but WARM keen to the breath splaying over nerve and cracks (ATRAMENTOUS TONGUE CURLING // TASTING // SMELLING ALL THE SAME). Stitched and worn facade seems to threaten to open at the presses of metal aperture, but skin bends and gives without break. Body contort, twists-- - but into contact; gloved hand twitches to find placement along helms ELONGATED EDGE // thumb pressed against it, daring near tissue bubbled underneath and fingers curling towards grating (THE ATTENDENT WAS ENJOYING ATTENTION).

'SALIVA TRAILS ALONG THE FRAMING OF IMPERFECT FACE. Old matter that no other fluid could revive moves ancient blood and rust painting Valtiel // FINITE IN ACTION, RARE IN REACTION (ONLY ONE OF KIND COULD CHANGE THE FORM OF THE HOLY). A noise not unlike a purr-- - though perhaps more kin to creaking metal made organic, or a beast born of unholy unions-- - leaves the Yellow God. OWN WIRY MUSCLE RETURNS SENTIMENT // the tongue that had been reacting to air and proximity pushed out to cup around The Executioners hand close to tilted cranium // MEASURING THE ACTIONS PAINTED THROUGH CENTURIES IN THE MANNER OF CAKED STAINS (THIS ACT WAS OF RECOGNIZING OTHER // THIS ACT WAS OF SELFISH INTEREST). // @judgcmcnt

[lokorum]

Shanah tovah (if you celebrate)! I just wanted to say: I stumbled across your art via elder scrolls tags and had to send an ask despite normally being very shy online.

I am absolutely astounded. I am staggered by the beautiful painterly style as well as your grasp of color, light, anatomy, perspective, and framing. You have truly a unbelievable talent. Your work feels alive and bleeding. I’m sure you get these sorts of messages all the time, but I had to say something because, genuinely, oh my god. How??? The mesmerizing swirling colors and the remarkable feeling of melancholy injected into so much of your work just make me want to cry in the way only great art can.

Absolutely no pressure to respond to this, by the way: I know there’s a lot going on in your life and nobody worth worrying about would blame you for deleting asks or not responding to them. Thank you for sharing your gorgeous art, and may the new year bring better days to you and your kin. :) <3

hey!! ahhh firstly two things!11! - hope i havent made you wait for too long with reply!! i love to save asks and just look at them this is my little guilty pleasure ahah and - i literally know next to zero about jewish culture!! and im super afraid to say something silly or gosh something that can accidentaly offend you?? tho i've read couple of articles -> understood nothing because they all was on english. honestly now when im thinking about it i have no idea why i didnt google it on russian. and i cant believe it - you like having a new year right now?? thats so cool!! we're going to have NY only at the end of february this year jeesh!! but uhh my nerveous system could use some delicious curd cakes right now tbh

but i get distracted! all i wanted to say is - (if you're celebrating) - hope you'll have a wonderful new year!! ˭̡̞(◞⁎˃ᆺ˂)◞*✰

ahhh and thank you thank you thank you for taking time and effort to put this incredibly sweet message - tho it will whooosh from my ask box for forever once i'll post it phphhhh i've made screenshot of it. and then another one just to be sure ٩(•̤̀��•̤́๑)૭✧

it was so heartwarming to read and to reread and when i rereread it at the next day i was still having this stupid wide smile as at the first time. you're just..ahhhh......amazing piece of the most delicious pie and i cant possibly explain how cat-in-the-shoes-box-level im happy that you think my art is worth looking at. if i could just teleport at your place (not in a creepy way!! well okay its creepy from every perspective but at least let it be like funny creepy? im digging my own grave here arent am i.........) wrap you in the blanket, give you the biggest cup of hot cocoa and call you precious little bean- it would be a crime!! but also! it would be less then 10% of how cozy and nice and great you made me feel with your ask

thank you so much!!! (̂ ˃̥̥̥ ˑ̫ ˂̥̥̥ )̂

[7serendipities]

Song for the Way Opening

For a few years now, Morgan Daimler has been celebrating a liturgical cycle based on the movements of the Pleiades, and sharing their ritual formats (which are also collected in their book Living Fairy). I’ve sort of marked the dates casually, giving offerings but that’s about it, until this year. This year, one of my local allies, who I call the Autumn King, indicated that he would like it if I’d celebrate the entire cycle more intentionally, and so after the strong energy that came through last night (during which I perceived his Rade), I decided I really needed to do something tonight for the acronychal rising, or what Daimler calls The Way Opening.

So, this afternoon I made some fairy cakes (original recipe also by Daimler and available here), but I altered the recipe slightly, doing a full cup of oat flour, and half a cup each of applesauce and honey. (Don’t use steel utensils, though — I unthinkingly picked up a stainless steel measuring cup that I used twice in the previous 24 hours without incident, and this afternoon it cut me nearly bad enough to draw blood. Message heard, whoops!) I then used an unsalted butter to grease a glass dish, and baked a single round cake (approx 40 mins at 350F).

I offered this with a glass of beer, and sat down to read out the prayers from the book, altering them slightly to fit my practice a little better.

And then… and then.

For some reason, one of the prayers reminded me of a stanza from the ballad of True Thomas/Thomas the Rhymer, the one that describes the road to Fairy:

And see not ye that bonny road, Which winds about the fernie brae? That is the road to fair Elfland, Whe[re] you and I this night maun gae. (Traditional Scots)

And then I started hearing the music in my head, and I went to find the song and listen to it, and about ten minutes later, I had a full ritual hymn with seven stanzas, adapted from Daimler’s own prayers but with some of my own flourish… and probably Their own inspiration. Song for the Way Opening

I call to all you goodly wights, My kin and friends whoe’er shall be. All you who’d be my allies true, And come and walk this path with me. I call to all the Queens and Kings, Monarchs and Sov’reigns, all gentry near — If you would celebrate with me Tis time to come and join me here. Tonight the Queens rise in the East — The Seven Sister-Queens so bright. They’ll cross above the horizon As daylight’s falling into night. Their Eldritch light, it brightly glows: A signal fire, burning blue. The Queens will dance at twilight’s edge As their sky gates open anew. Between worlds, and between time, The gates will open fully wide, And then upon that fair broad road, The Queens and noble hosts will ride. As they ride past, may we be blessed, With token or with smile or nod, And may they take our offerings, As their refreshment while they’re abroad. A good word to the Fairy Rade, And may you never do us ill! Ride out along the fairy roads, Bringing with you Autumn’s chill.

I do have a small thing to share from Freyja as well, from my equinox celebration, but that’s going to have to wait another day or two for me to get it worked out and typed up!

[porphyriosao3]

Day #4 Family

(Note: Set in the Crown of Teeth-verse)

Ori felt himself blushing.  It was the part of being him that he hated the most (though that was sometimes a long list, and the entries on the list moved around occasionally).  He knew Dori was watching - because honestly, when was Dori ever not watching? - but this little moment with Mabuk was as close to perfect as he thought he'd ever come, and he wished he could just savor it a bit without feeling so bloody seen.  He was past the shock of seeing his One out of the armor he was wearing when they first met, but he wasn't sure he would ever get used to just how good the other dwarf looked in general.  Coarse black hair was braided back close against his head and clasped with elaborate golden clasps, and his beard was woven with tiny golden beads into a long plait that Ori itched to touch (though of course such a thing was impossible until they were married).  Golden eyes met his from across the table, and the other dwarf's lips quirked on one side as coal-black eyebrows raised a notch.  "Summat wrong?"  Ah, Mahal's tears, there was that incredible voice too, deep as the roar of a forge.  The heavy Iron Hills accent was an incongruity coming from someone whose appearance was pure Stiffbeard, but that was only icing on an already delectable cake.  Just that thought made him blush even more deeply.

"N-no," he stammered, sounding all of twenty years old instead of the competent Scribe and Chamberlain he knew himself to be.  "Just... thinking."

"I see."  Mabuk lifted his cup and dark lips seemed to take a section out of the white porcelain as he sipped.  "Must have been quite a thought, aye?  Turned you red as iron in a furnace."  White teeth appeared in a small but truly wicked grin, and that didn't provoke inappropriate thoughts, oh no, not at all.  "I think I like those thoughts.  Red looks fetchin' on ye."  He reached out his hand as though he was going to take Ori's, but a thick thigh blocked him as Dori was suddenly and unaccountably there between them.  When did he learn to move so silently, Ori wondered; gods he's worse than Bilbo!

"So lovely that you could join us, Mabuk," Dori said, eyeing the other dwarf.  "I'm sure Ori has spoken of our family by now.  I myself am a member in good standing of the Clothier's Guild, and Ori of course is both Scribe and now Chamberlain.  The whole family is terribly proud of him, for all that we're not of noble birth.  But if you and Ori are to be courting, I wish to hear of your family.  How did a Stiffbeard come to live in the Iron Hills?"  Ori could have strangled him.  For all Dori's usual politesse, this was about as subtle as Lady Dis with a warhammer.  He glared at his brother who ignored him completely.  Mabuk handled it amazingly well, and Ori was suddenly, bitterly jealous of the other dwarf's dark skin that hid flushes so perfectly.

"Aye, o'course," he replied cheerfully.  "Not much to tell, really.  Were a war in Harad, see, out in the Bugûn, what the tallboys call Far Harad, an' us smack in t'middle of it.  O'course, our city was secure an' all, but all the lands about were ruint by it.  Hungry days, they were, what with the menfolk we bought most of our food from either dead or fled."  Dori nodded politely, but Ori could see his eyebrows twitch.  That either meant he was sympathetic (hopefully) or appalled (oh please no).  "Bein' as I were just a wee pebble, me Mam and Da, their cousin Khuzim and his wife, and a few others came north.  We were fittin' to come to Erebor at first, mind ye, but we joined a caravan that stopped first at t'Hills and..." his grin and shrug wrapped up the explanation.  "No Longbeard blood in us, as ye see, so one hall were as good as t'other."  One dark hand gestured at his face before picking up the last bit of shortbread.  "As all can see, we're distant kin to Fuln Goldeneye, but far from the throne an' all that, ye ken.  And all the bloodlines in the world don't help ye eat."

"Well, that's a terrible state of affairs to be sure," Dori sighed, showing concern on his face that made Ori fight the urge to crow in triumph.  "I'm just pleased that you were able to escape.  Mahal willing, we won't face such times here."  Dori set another delicate teacake on Mabuk's plate and sipped his tea.  "So your family are still doing well there?"

"Och aye, they live and prosper," the other dwarf said.  "Da's a merchant, always has been."  Clearly a successful merchant at that.  The heavy golden beads and jeweled wrist-cuffs the other dwarf was wearing already shouted of his wealth, and Ori was quite sure that Dori had already assessed the clothes that Mabuk was wearing down to the demi-crown in value from cloth, stitching and cut.  "Mam's a jeweler, and a gie fine one.  Me, I can't do aught with a hammer but hit an orc with it, but she, well," he gestured at the elaborate confection of gold and peridot that now sat just in front of Ori's ear.  "She does fine work.  She made me that years ago... just 'pukh aimasul' ye ken."  Ori snorted at the look on Dori's face; not only did the dwarf that sounded in Westron like he had never left the Iron Hills slur his Khuzdul like the Stiffbeard he obviously was, that phrase was sure to get under Dori's skin.  'Just in case' indeed!  Still, the world had a way of bending to ensure that Ones found each other - look at the King and Consort, after all.

Dori grimaced but said "Your mother sounds like a wise woman, to see the future so clearly."  He was about to continue when Mabuk interrupted.

"Ach, I meant to ask Ori but mayhap I'll ask ye both.  Is there another who's kin to ye?  Strange dwarf cornered me last night, very elaborate auburn hair, lovely in truth, but had me pinned with a knife to me throat before I could blink!  Shamed me as a guard, he did.  Said 'hurt Ori and you die, be told' and then buggered off, swift as a cave-rat.  Is he known to ye?"  Ori slumped in his chair and watched the red rise on Dori's neck.  Oh dear, he thought philosophically.  This ought to be interesting.

[thegoblinwitchqueen]

In This Eden

Chapter: 4

Dutch Van der Linde X OC 18+ AO3

After he saved the life of Dutch Van der Linde’s greatest and most trusted protégé, Arthur Morgan, during a scuffle at one of Colm O’Driscolls safe houses…Kieran Duffy was finally allowed free, although highly scrutinized, reign of the camp on Horseshoe Overlook.

The young man was quiet, and still struggled to trust that his new found kin would not just kill him out of boredom like the brute Bill Williamson had threatened. And so, he decided that his best course of action to please Dutch Van der Linde was to keep his profile low and find a way to become useful. 

Kieran loved horses, knew everything there was to know about horses, and often preferred the company of the gentle giants over people.  Those facts alone made it obvious to him just how he would earn his keep and stay alive for just a month longer.

However, the normally clear skies of New Hanover had been plagued with a heavy storm that turned the dirt into thick mud after three long and cold days. No matter how much he tried, the horses were continuously dirty as they enjoyed the nasty weather by rolling happily in the muck. 

Finally, the storm broke by the morning of the fourth day, and as usual, Kieran rose from his thin bedroll to tackle the arduous task of cleaning each and every one of the horses he had grown to know and love. 

He dressed himself in his favorite clothes of a simple pair of jeans with a jacket that matched. He buttoned up his white shirt, and pulled his boots over his sore feet. After he finished a quick cup of bitter and grainy coffee, he grabbed his trusty set of farrier tools and began cleaning and inspecting the hooves of the mighty beasts. 

Kieran had prided himself over the fact that he had learned more about the horses than the members of Dutch’s gang that owned them. He knew their favorite treats, their special places to scratch, the places to avoid, and most of all he knew their unique personalities. 

One by one he cared for the mounts until the camp surrounding him had also risen to start their day of chores and conversations.

 In particular, Javier Escuella greeted the timid man with a subtle nod of the head as he ventured with his rifle into the thick woods to start his turn to watch for Pinkertons and bounty hunters.

 Kieran nodded back and felt a bit anxious as he was still unable to feel out who liked or disliked him because of his former employer…Colm O’Driscoll. Though, he did enjoy the soft spoken and kind nature of Miss Mary-Beth Gaskill who had given him a much needed drink while he was tied to a tree for a few painfully long days.

After an hour or two, the morning sun had just barely crept over the eastern mountain range when Kieran’s ever watchful eyes spotted something most unusual amongst the other grazing horses. He had just finished cleaning the hooves of The Count, and with a confused look, he patted the thick flesh of Dutch’s personal stead and stared as his brows furrowed. 

He slowly set his tools down into the grass to muffle any jostling of steel, and carefully approached the dapple grey monster that lazily pawed and inspected the damp grass with his powerful nose. 

The Breton was broad and mighty—- and beautiful. Kieran crept towards him, and the horse flicked his ear in the man’s direction. Kieran knew the stallion was using his hearing to determine if the strange man that approached him was a friend or foe. So, as a way to reassure his peaceful intentions towards the horse, he reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a fresh oat cake. 

A peace offering.

The horse was obviously hungry, and lifted his thick head to face the stranger with curiosity. Kieran smiled, and softly coaxed the beast closer to him until the horse stood only an arms length away. As the horse was distracted by the tasty treat, the young man slowly reached for the loose reins that hung below the horse's chin and captured the beauty. 

Kieran fed the horse the cake, and once the creature was satisfied that the man did not mean him any harm, guided him to the post next to Dutch’s mount. Kieran then tied the reins tight to keep the horse from running away further.

The horse expert inspected the outwardly healthy creature, but noticed deep and fresh wounds that ran along the horse's knees. They no longer bled, but looked as though he had run through the trees at frightening speed to cause such damage to his thick and powerful limbs. He lifted his hooves and cleaned out the heavy mud, rocks, and brush that caked the underside. The Breton wore a fresh set of steel shoes that appeared to have just recently been installed. Though, they were worn enough to indicate that he had made quite a long trek fairly recently.

The man inspected the stallion's teeth and figured he was about five…maybe six years old, and definitely well loved and cared for. But, what puzzled him the most was the breathtaking Delgado Brand saddle that was tied so tightly against the horse that it rubbed his strong sides raw. 

Kieran couldn’t help but admire the polished black leather and the immaculate hand stitched embroidery that created images of winding snakes along the stirrups and seat. He deduced that by the size and length of the stirrups and the fact that the saddle was absolutely massive—-this masterpiece of art was meant to house a giant of a man.

But now… it was completely empty. 

“Where did you come from?” Kieran whispered lovingly into the horse's ear as he stroked its sleek coat. “Where is your daddy?”

“D-Dutch!” 

Javier’s frantic voice broke through the calm of the morning as the young man raced from his post among the trees to retrieve their leader who had only just left the safety of his tent for a cup of hot coffee. 

It seemed the answer to Kieran’s rhetorical question had been answered.

Nothingness.

Peaceful and quiet, but nothingness nonetheless.

Florence Barlowe believed wholeheartedly that she had died as her limp and lifeless body sat haphazardly against the fallen tree that was tucked tightly within the thick brush outside of Horseshoe overlook. Her bruised and battered head was covered with the dry crust of blood and hung loosely over her crimson stained blouse. Her limbs, though no longer sore, lay sprawled on either side of her. 

The rise and fall of her chest was so shallow and slow between each draw of air into her broken body that she looked exactly as she believed she was. 

Deceased.

The morning was quiet save for the gentle songs of birds that were happy to finally be able to spread their wings for the first time in three days. The once dark and stormy atmosphere was now replaced with spring rays of sunshine that warmed the damp clothing that still clung tightly to her lifeless frame. 

As her mind stirred from its deep slumber, the realization hit her that she was not dead like she had so believed. 

The once stinging pain of her nose had transitioned to something akin to a dull throbbing, and her eyelids were practically swollen shut from the bruising that had formed overnight as the blood from her broken nose pooled under and blackened the flesh of her face. Without having to use a compact mirror, the woman surmised that she looked undoubtedly terrible. 

Effie did not move. 

Partly because she was unable, and partly because she was absolutely terrified of the pain that would set in if she even took in a deep breath. The adrenaline had long worn off, and while the pain of her face was at the forefront of her mind, she was sure that the fall from her mount had broken…or at least cracked…a few ribs. 

Effie debated if the pain to keep on living after the beating she had just received was even worth it. She knew that if she stayed put, the elements or animals of the forest would eventually overtake her. 

To be completely honest, she was surprised that her body had managed to survive the frigid night. 

Three days of no food, no water, no sleep, hypothermia and a terrible fall should have killed her. At that moment, Effie should have been greeted by her deceased lover at the pearly gates…but for some reason, it seemed that she was not supposed to die yet. 

However, Effie didn’t give a flying fuck for what else fate had in store for her. 

As a result, and as one last fuck you , she decided to defy whatever force was looking out for her by allowing herself to stay slumped in the woods to die alone.

She did not care about finding Dutch Van der Linde anymore. 

Honestly, Effie just wanted to take back some, even if small, control of her unhinged life by choosing just how she would die. And if that death consisted of a slow and painful one by wasting away until her corpse became rotted and infested by insects that would clean her bones to be buried under leaves for years to come—-then so be it. 

The woman closed her eyes—though she couldn’t tell if they had been open or closed already—and waited for the cold grip of death to take her.

Death was…surprisingly warm? 

And the grim reaper's grip felt like the soft fabric of a patchwork quilt that laid over her in a warm embrace. The air of heaven smelled more like the musk of the inside of a canvas tent similar to the one that she had used with Buck out on the field. 

Not exactly what she had imagined for Heaven though the familiar scent provided her with a sense of comfort.

As well, Effie thought it odd that God just so happened to be a fan of the French  Opera: Carmen that reverberated outside of where she lay comfortably on her back. A cool cloth soaked in the flavorful smell of ginseng extract covered her sore eyes and broken nose to help reduce the discomfort and swelling.

Wait…

In a swift and sudden motion, Effie threw up her hand to her face to pull the cloth from her eyes. Though, she was embarrassed by the way the force in which she raised her arm caused her to painfully slap herself. In response, the young woman let out a guttural groan from the depths of her core as the pain resonated throughout her tender face. 

“Fuck….” Effie sucked the air sharply through her teeth as she slowly turned on her good side, and gripped her aching head just before she lost her balance and tumbled like a sack of potatoes off of the raised canvas cot that had housed her and into the hard floor. “ Fuck…”

Well, she was definitely not dead. And it seemed that her defiant attempt to die in the forest outside of Dutch’s camp was thwarted as fate had sent some form of intervention to save her.

The canvas tent flap opened slightly to allow a few rays of sunshine in to blind the young woman who instinctively raised her hands in defense against the brightness as if she was going to fight the very light that burned her eyes. But, just as suddenly as the tent opened, it closed. 

And Florence was left in the dark to sit on a scratchy horse blanket whose length had been fully opened to cover the damp grass underneath. 

Effie was confused, in pain…and naked.

 “Christ, she’s awake!” A commanding and clear voice of an older woman called out from behind the tent that separated the young woman from her unknown saviors. “Quick! Mr. Pearson, go get some food ready! Ms. Jackson, Get off your ass and get me some clothes!”

“What kind of clothes, Ms. Grimshaw?”

“I don’t know, Tilly! Anything! Hurry!” 

Though her eyes were no longer as swollen as they had been when she awoke half dead in the forest, she still saw minuscule flashes of dancing light and her coordination was off kilter. 

In pain, Effie slowly raised her body to her hands and knees, and held that dog-like position for no more than a minute before the sickness from her vertigo caused her to retch violently whatever little contents remained in her stomach onto the blanket flooring.

Her abdominal convulsions struggled to relieve her of anything other than the bitter taste of bile and foam as it leaked from her mouth. Once she was sure she was finished, the young woman sat against the tent support beam, and pulled the quilt that had covered her nakedness slowly over her breasts and legs. 

Her nose was stuffed, and she was forced to desperately take in large gulps of air through her mouth like a fish gasping as it lay dying out of water. 

“They should have let me die.” Effie croaked. Her throat burned as if she had swallowed a million tiny glass shards. 

Again, the tent flap opened slightly and Effie threw up a hand to block the light while the other gripped the quit tightly against her chest. 

 Only this time it wasn’t the woman whom she expected, but a small child no more than five years old. He peaked his tiny head through the tent opening and greeted the half dead woman with a gap toothed grin. His brown hair was matted, and his boots were covered with mud that had just begun to dry and flake off. Effie pulled the blanket closer to ensure the child did not see anything he shouldn’t. 

“Hi!” He began with a curious expression. Effie sat still and her mind raced as she was unsure of what the fuck was going on.

“…Hi?” Her voice was nasally and weak.

“What’s your name? Who are you? What were you doing in the woods? What—“

“Jack Marston! You get your tiny ass out from that tent, you hear me?! Leave that poor woman alone!” 

A younger woman’s voice called out in frustration to the child, and he gasped in terror before he ran away from the tent faster than his little boots could take him. 

Again, Effie sat in silence save for the opera that played in the background. 

“I’m so sorry about that.” The tent flap opened and a younger woman with dark hair entered with a pained expression across her cat-like features. In her hands were a fresh pair of folded clothing—Though, Florence could not tell what exactly they were. “You’ve been all he’s talked about since Javier found you half dead in the woods yesterday morning.”

Yesterday? Florence did not realize she had slept a whole day, nor could she even recall being moved from her presumed final resting spot.

The strange woman gently set the clothing on a small wooden table next to the cot for Florence to easily take and averted her eyes from Effie’s nakedness out of respect for the woman’s privacy

However, based on the subtle familiarity the lady seemed to have with Effie, the latter deduced that this strange woman must have been the one to strip her of her blood soaked garments. 

“It’s fine…I guess.” Effie uttered throatily. 

“God, you sound just as terrible as you look.” The woman put her hands on her hips and cocked her head as she further inspected Effie’s swollen features with a concerned, yet sour, expression.

“…Thank you?”

“Oh lord, where are my manners?” The woman let a smile pull at the corner of her lip. “I’m Abigail Roberts. That…wild child… who was just bothering you was my son, Jack.” 

As she gripped the quilt tightly against her chest, Effie reached to grab the support beam and slowly lifted her bruised body onto her unsteady feet. Abigail gasped and quickly extended her arms around the woman’s body to catch her if she lost her footing. She eagerly guided Effie to sit on the cot. The young woman obliged and allowed her body to fall heavily into the canvas.

“Please, don’t do anything stupid. You’re still very weak.” Abigail chastised like a mother to a defiant child. Effie let a chuckle escape her lungs at the woman’s harsh tone of words. 

“I think it’s a little late to not do anything stupid.” Effie retorted as she brought a hand to her swollen nose. Abigail lifted a brow, and reached to the fresh clothing before setting them onto Florence’s lap. 

“That may be true, but I think there is still time to stop your winning streak of dumbest things you’ve ever done. Now, go ahead and get dressed. Slowly. And don’t get up too quick.” Abigail turned on her heel to exit the tent so that Effie could dress in privacy. “I’ll be back to check on you if you’re not out in ten minutes.”

Instead of dressing, Effie sat on the cot in her nakedness and held the clothes in her hand as her mind raced to take a moment to process that she was not dead and very much alive in the tent of a traveling caravan. 

However, Effie felt her heart weigh heavily down into her gut as she knew in the back of her mind that the people who had worked so hard to bring her back from the cold grip of death belonged to the notorious Dutch Van der Linde. The very group whom she was about to shoot down with her pistol and rifle before she would set fire to each body had it not been for her lover's horse that caused the pain in her body and lost her weapons of destruction.

There was no other explanation for it, and they were incredibly lucky.

After all, who else was stationed within the thick trees of Horseshoe Overlook. 

The clothes that Abigail had left for Effie to wear were a men’s threadbare and stained white button up and a pair of well worn work pants. Both of which were ill fitting and way too large. However, it seemed that Abigail had prepared for that as she left a set of suspenders to hold up the pants. 

After dressing, and once her mind started to adjust to being upright again, Florence Barlowe braced herself to enter the lions Den that Belonged to Dutch Van der Linde.

[sillypinkboy]

Those Hika Kids

Charcters: Julius "Jules" Hika, Cecil Hika, Doran "Dori' Hika

Word Count: 361

Note: This is written about a small handful of my ocs

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

There stands a kingdom of frost, one that holds little power. It’s an old kingdom, yes, but strong and wise. In this kingdom stands a city - one almost as old as the land itself - called Blizmoor. Despite its age, the city stays full of life. A melting pot of culture. A place where elves, fairies, dragon-kin, orcs and everything in between will be left to mingle. Bright winter lights shimmer through snow flakes, music, laughter and conversation mix. A familiar smell of peppermint and cinder wafts through the air. A warmth in the cold.

Away from the center, sits a boy. He hides in a gray and red coat, scribbling away in a journal. Focus rests behind a red mask. The brisk air leaves his hands pink. He looks up as a familiar voice fills the air around him.

“Jules, I swear you’re going to marry that thing one of these days,” a girl pushes a blonde curl out of icey eyes.

“I’m just trying to keep track of things,” he retaliates, dotting a period.

She takes a sip from a to-go cup, “Oh, really? Then, where’s Doran?”

A pause catches between them both. The boy looks around, frantic.

“Wasn’t he with you?” He asked, concern and worry filling his tone.

She shook her head and took another sip of her drink. “Thought they were with you?”

Julian stared at his sister with contempt. She gazed back.

“They’re handing out berry cakes!” a cheerful voice cut the staring match.

Julian looked away from his sister, eyes softening once hitting his younger sibling, “Dori, you can’t just run off like that.”

Doran smiled back and took a bite out of his cake. He apologized through a mouthful.

The three sat for a moment, Cecil sipping her drink, Doran eating their cake and Julian finishing his journal entry.

When enough time passed, Julian tucked his pens away in a black bag and Cecil threw her cup away.

She looked at the two others and asked, “Ready to head home?”

Julian and Doran both offered their own forms of yes.

With the youngest tucked safely under his brother’s arms, the three headed home.

[arafatshouvo]

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[silvernyxchariot]

Haha! It's been ceturies, but I've finally made a new one.

Meet the Artist w/ GothicManda15

Click for better quality

Some random interview questions I wanted to answer

⚠️TW: profanity and allusions to emotional manipulation & assault⚠️

"If you were a classic movie monster, what would you be?"

Ghoulia Yelps. . . I mean, a zombie. The old school, "Night of the Living Dead" type. Physically I'm not very adept and have a hard time speaking. It's frustrating conversing with normies, especially about the things that I don't care about (tbh, I wish people would leave me alone) and if someone were to attack me, I'm pretty sure I wouldn't feel a damn thing until ten minutes have passed. Happens a lot actually, where I have a cut or bruises without realising it. Sometimes I forget I'm alive./hj

"Are you 15? Your username says so."

I am, in fact, not fifteen years of age. However, I've had this username since I was a fifteen year old brat. The explanation I use now is what I call the "Ichigo Kurosaki," the 15 is representative of the Japanese kanji 一語 (いちご/ichigo), meaning "one who protects."

"Do you kin anyone? Do you know what shifting is?"

Well, besides Ghoulia mentioned earlier, my anime kins are Obey Me's Satan, Sui-feng/Soi Fon (whatever your local translation spells it), Lisa Yadōmaru, Akasuna no Sasori, Shōta Aizawa, and Risotto Nero. You can totally trust me to hold your drink at a party./ref I have heard of shifting; I do not partake in it.

"What is stressing you out right now and how can you be more calm?"

Let's see, health insurance, my non-existant social life, finding a decent full-time job or a 2nd part-time, crippling student loan debt, affording toiletries or food, looking over my shoulder so I don't get fucked up by some creep just because I'm afab + a POC... you know, just things that deal with burn out and survival. How do I become more calm? I don't.

"Do you have any advice for anyone younger than you?"

Risotto. I keep forgetting I'm not in my late teens/early twenties anymore. I'm supposed to be the senpai now.

If you're coming to me for advice, I would have to say you're desperate. I'm the hermit type that doesn't go out much, so my life has been pretty solitary and unlived. The burn out doesn't help either. If anything, "Live and let live" and trust no one. If they're not bothering me, I'm not going to bother them. Problem now is, I haven't lived.

With that being said, if you're looking for a adventurous and exciting life, whatever that plan you have for your future is, just do it. Go on a cross country road trip. Fly over to Greece, Italy, Japan, Thailand, Peru, wherever. Eat your 2nd/3rd/4th slice of cake without worrying about your blood sugar or weight. Learn how to surf, swim, or just laze around in the pool all day. Buy a venti/trenta at Diabetes in a Cup, I mean Starbucks. No judgement. I also make purchases there. Get out of your abusive household. Go out to ride some dunebuggies in the middle of the night. Try all the different flavors; this isn't about food. Although, I feel like most social media is advocating for this "yolo" type of life, so you probably didn't need to hear it from me.

Trust no one. But love wholeheartedly and be your beautiful self. I'm not saying it's easy. Gods, No. It will hurt, emotionally and maybe physically. But don't be a victim and let the world control you. Wrangle the world by its throat and control the world you live in. You don't have to forgive everyone. Fuck. I inhale that poison called "resentment, spite, and wrath." At this point, I'm fueled by negativity. There are so many people I will never forgive. I feel so ostracized and outcasted by those manipulative swine, but I'm still here. Be polite and civil, but you don't have to have respect for them.

Err, that's all that I really have now. The... spiralling started. My asks (and anon) are open if you want to talk. I guess.

[mlpkinresource-blog]

Random Mrs. Cup Cake Finds!

Apron / Poster 1 / Pin

Mug / Soaps / Mug 2

Poster 2 / Shirt / Stamp

~Mod Starlight and Mod Ditzy