#decayed golden (oc)

[anotherothernight]

Slushie (Toy Bonnie) and Lovesick <3 she's a little yandere and I think that's ok

drew these for pride month last year ^^

(Mangle has the genderdoe flag and Funtime Foxy has the genderfaun and I think the rest should be obvious)

and a bunch of Toyship children 😭 cuz I wanted to design stuff

[dr3c0mix]

What if i want to bite them (all characters), like. Its love bites <3 like not hard enough to bleed hut enough to leave a mark for a while. Like i love them so much i just cant help it! I would kiss the bite marks after in hopes to make them not hurt as much <3

-🩷

Darling Gives Them Love Bites <333

My OCs x GN! Reader

Heres a short post from an old request as a little snack before the yan gang!!

CW: biting ofc, nsfw jumpscares sprinkled in, tooth decaying fluff

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Adrian is a bit confused and weirded out at first, like why are you biting thats gross youre gross wait why are you stopping you have to bite his other shoulder or else its not symmetrical and itll feel weird come back !!

he needs to get used to it gradually, but once it gets to the point you leave marks on his skin, he's asking for a lil bite every time you two say goodbye so he can have a memento of you

he cums in his pants if you lick the bite oh my god please do it again he begs of you

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Brandon thinks it's a game and bites you back, picking you up and throwing you up in the air. You activated some kind of trigger in him that made him go full excited golden retriever.

He bites you back, kissing the area over and over again as revenge

He probably bites more than you to be honest, he's always wanted to bite but held back in case you were uncomfy with it, but now that he knows you're cool with it he's going ham.

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Valeth is cooing over you, little duckling bites!! so cute!!!

He praises your bite marks, pointing out the parts that hurt saying things like "If you tried, you could definitely break skin! Good job my duckling!"

Thinks your little teeth are cute, especially your canines, he loves comparing it to his tusks.

He allows, no, encourages to let you nibble on his hand or arm

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The horde doesnt let you, kisses are ok, but biting ? no no no

not because they dont like it, they just dont want you putting your mouth on their literally rotten skin

plus they associate biting with eat so thats a bit of a problem

but my oh my they love kisses, give them a bit and maybe just maybe theyd let you nibble a little bit.

dont let them do it back to you especially ribs, they have super sharp teeth that can break bone if they wanted

but like you might be into that so idk man

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Wolfie thinks youre being aggressive before you assure him its how you express love, then he starts to do it back or lick you.

It's more of him casually putting a part of your body in his mouth protectively, he doesnt wanna hurt his mate ;-;

he still prefers licks and cuddles tho, anything that involves cuddles are ok for him!!

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Doriks cummin buckets im sorry

are you marking him as yours ? please do it some more please! maybe on his ear? arm? dick? chest?

hes all yours !!!

he offers to bite you back, itll eventually turn into very intense sex that ends with the both of you covered head to toe in bite marks

he wants round 2

use it as a reward and hes doing whatever you ask with the speed of a sports car

appears right next to you, neck exposed, waiting eagerly for another bite

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kalva is confused but laughs and bites you back, its a little painful because of the beak but he tries his best to be gentle.

he sees it as you trying to preen him and swoons over your 'attempt'

he preens you in order to teach how its really done! its mostly just an excuse to love on you <3

hes very ticklish so expect a flurry of giddly hoots and chirps from him whenever you nibble on him

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jasper is crying sobbing rolling on the floor rn

BITE HIM ON THE BECK PLEASE BITE HIM ON THE N-

he wants to roleplay with you being a vampire and him being your mortal soulmate

lil guy a bit freaky like that <3

moans so loud when you bite him, he has to apologize

euheheh eghghhh hes so crazy for you and your love bites

doesn't wanna bite back because skin on teeth is not a good sensation for him, but he'll cover your face in kisses to return the favor

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The vampires are cooing, swooning, absolutely simping for you

our little mortal is biting us so cute soc ute!!!!

get ready for never ending teasing and kissing

they point out the marks you leave and talk about how much better it would be if you were a vampire like them!

they fake terror over your bites, oh nooo a cute little human is biting me !! so so spooky !!

please let them bite you back

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Baron is short circuiting

ohmy oh oh my oh yomhyo-

thank you.

he has to process what just happened for a bit

tries to forget about it but he cant help but want another one when he gets a glimpse of your teeth when you talk or smile at him

stays up and imagines your mouth all over his skin leaving teeth marks everywhere

stayed up that night pumping his cock when he remembers you biting your lip that one time

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Caspian makes a big deal out of it

hes literally morticia in the addams family movie

last night you were unhinged, you were like some desperate howling demon, you frightened me

do it again

no please were are you going do it again!!!

"misbehaves" so you can bite him again as punishment

oops! i splashed you with water! you might have to bite me again~

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Hallow is yanking his fabric back and scolds you, what if you choked? he'd be worried sick!

gets you a chew fidget instead

doesnt quite understand love bites

please explain to him why eating him means you love him

maybe its because you think hes delicious? awwee thank you! youre delicious too i suppose !

coos over you as he holds you close, thank you for the bite honeypie!!

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Ashvan is squealing over how cute it was!!

blushes whenever you do, like very very flustered, his eyes might be covered by soft fur but you can almost see the redness on his face

his ears flatten as he tries to calm his frantically wagging tail

he gets much shyer whenever you smile at him or when you bite into your food during meals

he has to timidly ask for another bite with his index fingers touching together

please give him more biteys!!

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Axel tells you to bite harder

try it! hes tough! lets see how strong that jaw of yours is!

*frantically hiding his growing erection*

calls you little kitten or..rat

teases you by poking at your mouth with his finger to get you to bite

he loves it, he thinks its the cutest thing whenever you do it, especially when youre just subconsciously nibbling on him as if he was a chew toy

he makes sure his hands are always washed for you, no more touching dirty stuff carelessly, he gotta take care of himself for you!!

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King Alistair is pushing you away and coldly telling you no, but once you two are alone in your shared chambers, away from prying eyes, he softly tells you to continue

of course he loves you, he wants you to be free to express yourself, but please dont do it when people are watching

he has a reputation to uphold! not because he's shy and insecure about showing pda in public or anything...

bites back, definitely bites back!! out of all the ocs i think he bites the most next to Brandon

loves playing predator and prey whenever you two are fooling around together, if he ever leaves marks, hes kissing them softly to let you know he means no harm, he just got a bit carried away because youre just so sweet~!

if you leave marks, hes covering it up in his clothes, but occasionally he heads to he mirror, pulls away the fabric covering your lovebite, and smiles

argaragrgagrggrgargagrg

[bitsbug]

good evening rainworld community. look at my ocs NOW

YOU CAN ASK THEM QUESTIONS BTW. please do I’ve been marinating them for months. finely cured.

multiple paragraphs introducing each under the cut !

Curtains Drawn Over Bone - he/him

The first of my iterators, and frankly the most developed. Curtains is incredibly young for an iterator, made at the tail end of the last generation, and was subject to some.. negligent planning during his construction. He was placed in an area of dubious rain quality and worse ground stability; the conditions were considered acceptable back then, but millions of cycles later that's no longer the case.

 Despite this glaring issue, he's been handling it better than you'd expect. Having recognized the long-term affects of his placement early on, Curtains took an interest in maintenance and optimization in order to survive, completely disregarding the Great Problem. He's broken some taboos in the process, and surprisingly didn't contract rot while doing it. His efforts have paid off with a suite of purposed organisms and a significantly more advanced, upgraded facility.

 Some things would be impossible to address, though. Despite his best efforts, erosion and earthquakes now threaten to topple his can; something he's scrambling to fix.

 Curtains is generally regarded as a finicky, flighty person by his group. He's a recluse and a workaholic, driven by some desperate ferver to avoid the worst. When he does appear in chatrooms, he seems constantly wound up, often vanishing as quickly as he arrives. He was like this long before his current situation. But do not mistake his nervousness for ineptitude, because Curtains is very meticulous and dedicated in his endeavors, backed by his thorough understanding of iterator anatomy and a genuine passion for his work.

Twenty Taken in Vain - they/them

The only iterator in this damn group who isn't a social recluse. Built in the golden age of the Ancients, a time of prosperity and uneventfulness, TTiv found their place in the bustling global communities of their kin. They're of the belief that research is best done collaboratively, and constructed their workflow around this frame.

But, really, they never much cared for that work or their purpose. Devoting themself to tireless research for something likely impossible just wasn't a good use of time, nor did they find the process very interesting, so they sought to fulfill their life in less desolate ways. As much as a sentient, static building is able to, at least.

In particular, Twenty Taken in Vain pursues a variety of art forms! There's a critical lack of artwork made with iterators in mind (While interesting to discuss, most Ancient books can be read in less than a second for example), so they seek to fill that gap. Their main passion is literature, but they do dabble in many other subjects, such as digital painting, textile weaving, 'false memory' qualia fabrication, and DMing a tabletop roleplaying game for their local group.

Their social proclivities haven't served them well in recent years, because the global communications decay has left them more isolated than ever before. Losing contact with multiple close friends has drained them of motivation, and made them fearful of losing those they do have left. Imagine like, depression but on a supercomputer scale.

In personality, TTiv is as chatty as you'd expect of them, but without the energy associated with extroversion. Their charisma is carried in their nonchalance and humor, with an undertone of snarkiness - only occasionally with any bite to it. They're adaptable as well, without a fixation on one subject and a willingness to introspect. Since the comm failure, they've become a lot quieter and more irritable, stress they've barely kept under wraps.

Anxiety Practice - it/xe

Polite and inoffensive, AP is an easily overlooked iterator. It appears frequently in chatrooms, but always in the shadow of its kin, and rarely draws attention to itself. Despite this demeanor, xe certainly aren't shy or nervous - that's already taken by Curtains - xe just prefer xer distance and privacy.

 As it currently stands, Anxiety is the only member of its group actively working on the Great Problem. It prefers exploring more unorthodox theories for ascension, with a fixation on Karma flowers and their properties. As part of its experiments, its created a few.. curious organisms hybridized with the flower. It also collaborates closely with Distant Humming for information on the grander Cycle and general advice. Thus far, it's made a few fascinating discoveries, but predictibly no breakthroughs on the Triple Affirmative. Oh also, sometimes xe put karma-affecting drug cocktails into xer water intake. normal iterator behavior i promise.

 Even at xer most comfortable and nonchalant, AP keeps an aloof, almost stoic nature. Chronically icy cool, xe seem incapable of expressing anything besides calm indifference. This isn't true, of course, xer composure is just nothing to scoff at. It even uses its reputation for comedy at times, usually through deadpan delivery or 'breaking character'.

Distant Humming - she/Her

An anomaly in existence, the first iterator to almost reach ascension. Distant Humming became an echo by her own hand, using heavy adjustments to her retaining wall and filter pumps to essentially bathe her facility in void fluid, solving the issue of her kinds' distributed conscience by just addressing all of it. at once.

 Her subsequent failed ascension left her systems broken and mutated in impossible ways, but she functions nonetheless in her ethereal, undying state. The warping irreparably affected her memory and personality though; she considers herself a different person from the Humming before.

 Despite her uncanny nature and haunting appearance, Distant Humming is a surprisingly amiable person, if vague or foreboding at times. Her detached state of existence allows her the breathing room to appreciate the world for what it is, and insight into the Cycle that'd be impossible to gain from within it. She's happy to share her observations with anyone who'd listen.

 About once a year, Humming's karmic cycle aligns with that of her local group, affording her a limited time to speak with them. She appears totally non-existent outside this period.

THAT’S ALL BYEEE

[simpforpeterp]

lucifer morningstar x oc

ONLY ANGEL

summary: A story in which the King of Hell falls in love with a fallen angel who became the most powerful overlord in Hell, the owner of millions of souls, in less than a year. (She obtained them all on accident) (Yes, she accidentally became the most powerful overlord in Hell)

warnings: no specific warnings other than the fact that it's hazbin so (hopefully?) you know what you're getting yourself into

word count: 2.7k

author's note: this is the first chapter of ten uploaded on ao3 and wattpad so far!!!! if you like this chapter please go read the rest on there or ask and i can upload more chapters on here!! :)

Chapter 1: The Fall

no one warns you before the fall

"So," Lucifer began his voice a low murmur, placing his hand on his forehead. "Do you wanna tell me your deal? I've gone through hell and back, pun intended, to track you down."

  "Are you implying I owe you an explanation? Because if that's the case, honesty is key here, right?" She smiles.

  "I- maybe? You know what, sure. Let's run with that," He lets out a dry chuckle. "Spill it, sister. How...how did you become a fallen angel?"

  "This is stupid."

  "It's not stupid, I know that better than anyone." He tries.

  "No, no, no, I don't mean it like I'm ashamed to tell you. I mean...how it happened. I'm fully aware of how stupid this is about to sound but everything that's happened to me, how I got here and became one of the most powerful people in hell within months...it was a complete accident. A series of unforeseen accidents." She tells him, leaning back further in her chair.

  "Are you bullshitting me?"

  "No, okay, listen. I'm not gonna go at this saying I'm completely innocent. Did I sneak into Earth multiple times and do a lot of horrible things like drugs, become the lead singer in one of the biggest bands in existence, and live multiple lifetimes over the decades on Earth? Yes. But that's surprisingly not what got me kicked out. But it did get me 100 hours of heaven's version of court-mandated community service. I had to lead tours of the biggest museum in Heaven. The Museum of Other Religions."

-

  "And here on your left, you'll see a pair of horns from a real-life minotaur. This museum was built centuries ago to show amazing things from our neighbors. With the rule that you have to have at least three people to form a religion, a lot of religions have formed, a lot of them with an afterlife similar to ours. We share these skies with hundreds of others! Even...some bullshit like religions like those who follow the Sonic Bible. Yes, the Hedgehog. And that leads us to...ten golden rings." She sighs, absolutely tired of this work.

  "What's that?" A child points to a large Norse weapon.

  "That's a spear. It looks like a cane, but it's a spear. This famous weapon actually has a name. Gungir is the famous spear of Odin, the King of Asgardian Gods. Actually-" She starts before a loud noise starts next door. It's only her second month of volunteering, she's never heard anything like that.

  "What is that?" A concerned mother asks.

  "Ah...I'm not entirely sure. Everyone, please wait here, I'll go check it out." She says, awkwardly scooting away from the tour group until she reaches the door.

  The air reverberated with deafening screeches, assaulting her ears as she stumbled upon the source of the commotion. A putrid stench, like sulfur mixed with decay, took over her senses, causing bile to rise in her throat.

  The building next door has always had no name and no one was ever allowed in there except for very special people. So, entering the alley between the two buildings probably wasn't a good idea but that's where the noise was coming from.

  That's when she sees a big glowing portal. With a perfect view of hell and angels who definitely do not belong there. Angels who were doing something they shouldn't have been. She shuts the door to the alley and stumbles backwards quickly. A conveniently placed rock causes her to fall backwards, still trying to back away as the portal radiates heat.

  "Watching these stupid fucks die never gets old!" Adam laughs as he watches other angels do their killing. He steps backwards into the portal, watching proudly. That stupid son of a bitch.

  She tries her best to be quiet, not letting him hear even a breath. He sighs and begins to walk into the adjacent building before turning back around and seeing the other angel on the floor, a look of horror on her face.

  "Of course, my fucking luck. Listen here, you little bitch. What you saw? Never happened. Got it? 'Kay, thanks! Bye!" He throws a smoke bomb on the floor, filling her lungs and making her cough relentlessly.

  It leaves a hollow feeling in her chest as she tries to hit it out of her lungs with her wrist. The portal is gone when the smoke clears up. Well, mostly. The thick black smoke is slowly rising, just barely out of her face.

  "Well, well, well, what do we have here?" The head Seraphim comes out from the museum.

  "Oh, f- my group. I'll head back in n-"

  "Christy took your group. You're coming with me." Sera says coldly before leading the way to the heavenly court.

  They appear there within seconds. The room is almost empty. Just Sera, Emily, and a few others who are usually involved in the proceedings. And it's horrifying. It's a known fact, a joke in Heaven, about how the only other time this room was like this was when Lucifer fell.

  "L-look, if this is about Lute, she only hates me because I tried to tell her to stop yelling at the first graders whenever she passes by." The Angel tries to deflect.

  "I have heard much about you, Eleanor." Sera begins.

  "Really? That's- that's uh- really dedicated," She clears her throat awkwardly. "You can call me Ellie though."

  "Eleanor, we have let a lot of things slide with you. You've broken over fifty cardinal rules. We've only punished you for five. We thought your volunteer work would help you but then I find you away from your group, smoking in the alley?"

  "Woah, woah, woah, smoking? Me? I haven't smoked since the sixties!" She puts her hands up in defense before mumbling. "Cigarettes, anyway."

  The people in the room begin whispering and it's overwhelming.

  "Look, please, you've gotta believe me. I know I've messed up in the past but I can explain myself. I was with my group, okay? And then we heard this noise and I decided to go check it out and it was horrible! I saw this big portal and- and- it was to Hell!" She starts frantically explaining before everyone's faces change quickly. "Angels were there, they were killing those poor souls in hell! Adam! You were there, you saw it." She points to the man sitting.

  "Huh? Oh, yeah, I don't know what you're talking about." He shrugs.

  "What? No- but I saw it! I was there, I know it was Hell and I know they were killing sinners. They were wielding angelic weapons and- and-" She tries.

  "Enough," Sera holds her hand up and everything falls silent. "The court stands firm in this decision, you were supposed to stay with your tour group, you barely had half your hours done. This was your final warning-"

  "But it wasn't my fault! There were these loud screams and explosions and this horrible smell, I wasn't trying to be irresponsible and leave my tour group. I was trying to comfort them and let them know the noise was nothing more than something normal but I couldn't do that because apparently angels can be murderers!" Ellie raises her voice.

  "We've never allowed anything of the sort to happen. You must be making this up. But perhaps this is for the best, this was never the place for you. It was only a matter of time before we had to do this." Sera sighs.

  "Before I got kicked out? You all think I'm trouble just like everyone else here." She shakes her head, trying to step back but she can't. She's frozen.

  "Lute?" Sera calls. "Get her wings and halo, now."

-

  "But the exterminations are real, they do happen. They just- they lied to you and said you were the liar? That's...fucked up." He breathes out.

  "I learned that the hard way when I saw the big countdown on that big white tower. But I couldn't just sit around and lick my wounds. So, I got up and held onto the walls to make sure I didn't lose my balance without my wings. I was bleeding down the entire back of my shirt but I didn't want anyone to think I was dead and eat me. I had no idea where I was but then I started meeting all kinds of new people." She shrugs.

  "And so you just randomly turned evil and started taking souls?" He asks.

  "I'm not evil, dude. I'm an idiot, sure, but I'm not evil." She tries.

  "You own millions of souls by yourself. You've been here for a year."

  "Okay, this is about to look like a lie because of, again, how stupid this is. But that was also an accident."

  "Come on!" He laughs loudly, literally slapping his knee.

  "What? It was!" She manages a giggle too, leaning slightly forward.

   "I- oh, hold on. I have to call my daughter really quick, I'm not making it to this meeting. Sorry, Darlin'." He winks with a wide grin.

  "No, god bless you, baby." She smirks as he stands up, keeping his eyes on her as his smile never drops.

 

-

  Ellie breezed into the crowded bar, her presence drawing curious gazes from the denizens of Hell. With a nonchalant smile, she approached the overlord seated at the center of the room, his imposing figure exuding an aura of dominance. The demon, adorned in extravagant robes adorned with glistening jewels, regarded her with a mixture of amusement and disdain.

  By then, rumors had begun to spread about her rise to power. Her presence immediately commanded attention despite her seemingly unassuming appearance. Her light brown wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders in her white sundress. She looked utterly angelic, standing out like a sore thumb.

  "What's your deal, babe? You dealin' in souls looking like that?" The demon chuckles.

"That's usually how it goes. Usually, I say, 'If I win in a game of tic-tac-toe, I get your soul,' and then you say-" Eleanor chirped, her tone playful and carefree.

The overlord's laughter rumbled through the room, a deep and menacing sound that reverberated off the walls.

  "You? Win my soul? That's funny, little angel. But very well, indulge me," he chuckled, a wicked gleam in his eyes.

With a snap of his fingers, a makeshift tic-tac-toe grid materialized before them, the lines etched in crimson fire against the darkened backdrop of the bar. Eleanor's grin widened as she accepted the challenge, her fingers tracing the X's and O's with childish delight.

  She plays the game and everyone around can smell off of her that she has no idea the power she holds. People don't treat souls like a big deal unless you're dealing with them. How was she supposed to know if she had no friends in hell?

  As the game unfolded, Ellie approached it with the same innocence and naivety that had defined her existence thus far. Each move she made was guided by whimsy rather than strategy, her laughter filling the air as she reveled in the simplicity of the game. Her having learned the trick to win almost every time years ago gave her the unearned confidence of a white man.

  But to the overlord's growing horror, Eleanor's seemingly random moves began to form a pattern—a pattern that ultimately led to her victory. With a triumphant giggle, she declared her win, completely unaware of the gravity of her actions.

  The overlord's expression darkened, his features twisted in rage as he realized the consequences of his defeat. "No...this can't be!" he growled, his voice filled with anger.

  But Ellie just shrugged, her carefree demeanor undiminished. As the overlord begrudgingly handed over his soul, the realization dawned on him that Eleanor's ascent to power in Hell was not the result of cunning or calculation, but sheer innocence and luck—a fact that made her all the more dangerous. She has no idea what kind of power she holds.

-

  "No, no way, you're telling me that's how you got all those souls? A children's game? And no one owns your soul? You've won every time?" Lucifer laughs even louder than before.

  "I mean, yeah! Maybe I'll show you how sometime." She laughs with him.

  "So, were you just doing this to millions of people, thinking it was a fun game for almost a year?"

  "Yeah, pretty much. Well, not necessarily to millions. As I played with more people, I would joke that if I won I would get their soul and every other soul they own. That kind of picked up my numbers. Fun fact, I only found out that it indeed was not a joke last week. Only after I became the owner of millions of souls. But it was never in a malicious way. I was just trying to make friends. It always struck me as weird that I would find decent enough people and after we played tic-tac-toe they would be scared or wouldn't want to be around me anymore. It never occurred to me that I was and was not the problem at the same time." She explains.

  "So, you're really not evil, huh?" He smiles at her again.

  "Unfortunately, I'm not evil. But I've only been here for a year." She gives him a smile that grabs his attention. A cute smile.

  "Ellie?" He hums.

  "Your Highness." She hums back.

  "Please, call me Lucifer. Anything else is too fancy. Unless you want to call me baby again." He leans the slightest bit closer to her with a smile.

  "What were you saying, baby?" She says in the same flirtatious way she did before.

  "Is your place around here? I don't have anything else to ask you, you don't seem to be as big of a threat as I thought. You are insanely powerful and own the most souls but without the malicious intent, we should be good to go, darlin'." He chuckles.

  "My place is an idea, a concept. My place is a thought. I go where I want, basically." She shrugs.

  "You don't have a home?" He asks.

  "Nah, when I found out this is where I'm gonna be forever, I wanted to explore everything. But now I think I've explored everything so I should probably get on that. You know, find a place fit for an overlord. If I was scary enough to strike your fancy, I should have somewhere to fit that, right?" She shrugs.

  "Come home with me." He sits up straighter.

  His voice carries a hint of vulnerability, his gaze showing a flicker of loneliness. He extended the invitation to Ellie not just out of duty as the King of Hell, but because he could see right through her. She brushes everything about it heaven off. The way she fell, the way she had to find her way in this awful place, she made it seem like no big deal. But he knows it's not. This place is scary, especially to outsiders.

  And maybe he does have slightly ulterior motives. Everything about her is so familiar. The way she held herself, her feet quickly tapping on the floor, the way everything went down. He's been so in need of companionship and he can't help but want to know her better.

  "You know...I would, but I um, have something to do later, not that it's more important than you, the king of hell, but I-" She starts to nervously make an excuse.

  "No, sorry! I meant, come stay with me. For now. You're an angel, a fallen angel, just like me. I- I know what it's like to be just...cast out like nothing. I can't just throw you back into hell like I never met you. I want you to come stay with me," He throws in a small smile at the end. "I mean, if you don't want to, that's fine. I can't force you. But I think I'm a pretty good roommate."

  "Did I also accidentally find the King of Hell's soft spot?" She giggles and gets one out of him too.

  "I guess you did, Ellie. So...what do you say?" He asks, slightly nervous and not sure why.

  "You know what...sure. Why not?"

[topazy]

A different tomorrow

Tomorrow's promise au

Pairing: Shane Walsh x oc, Daryl Dixon x oc

Warnings: Swearing

Daryl’s pov 2.11

Sitting back on the porch floor, Daryl swings one leg over the other while carefully peeling the apple in his hand with his knife, making sure not to nip his skin in the process. Unlike Atlanta, the smell of decay wasn’t as strong at Greene’s farm; instead, his nostrils were filled with what he could only describe as a ‘spring’ smell.

“You gonna quit that?” Daryl asks, making no effort to hide the irritation in his voice.

Rick finally stops pacing and leans against the fencing. He grips onto it so tightly that his knuckles start to turn white. He was stressed, but when wasn’t he? Daryl was enjoying his solitude until Rick stormed out of the farm house, riled up. The former sheriff always seemed to be involved in some kind of shit, and after seeing Sophia come out of the barn, Daryl was done. He had put any faith he had into finding that little girl, only to find out she was dead all along. It changed something inside him.

Shaking his head, Daryl takes another part of the apple between his teeth and stares out into the fields again, which were now covered by a golden glow as the sun started to set. He looks back over to Rick, who is resting his head in his hands, and contemplates saying something, but the slamming of a car captures his attention.

“Lily, what's wrong?"

Lily storms up the steps onto the porch and roughly shoves her brother in the chest, saying, “You're an asshole.”

Hearing the aggression in her voice, Daryl tosses the fruit onto the ground and gets to his feet. He’s taken aback by the visible pain on her face; she looks broken. He scoffs at seeing Shane walking up towards the porch; whenever Lily was distressed, Shane was never far behind.

“You promised me, you promised.” Seeing Lily shove at Rick again, Daryl wraps one arm around her waist and lifts her back with ease. “Let go of me, Daryl!”

He didn’t care if she kicked and screamed; Daryl wasn’t letting go of Lily until he was sure she wouldn’t harm herself further. “Go easy before you hurt yourself; you don't want to bust up your arm again.”

Her strength while trying to get out of his grasp surprised him; she was like a wild animal trying to get out of a trap. He was trying so hard not to care about either of the Grimes; he had already become too attached, but he couldn’t deny they were good people. Rick was always risking his life for others, and Lily… she just wanted to keep Jace safe. A mother who was happiest playing with her baby.

When he feels Lily calming in his arms, Daryl loosens his hold on her. She walks over to Rick, tears brimming in her eyes. “The one fucking thing I've ever asked of you, and you couldn't even do that.”

“Lil-”

Struggling to hold it together, she ignores her brother and goes into the house. “I've no idea what shitstorm is going on, but I'd let her cool down.”

“If you've got something you want to say, man, now is the time.” Shane snaps, sending him a death glare. “You think—”

“Whatever,” Daryl shrugs him off. “I ain’t got time for this soap opera bullshit.”

[lostloveletters]

Bruised Fruit Chapter 1 (Michael Corleone x OC)

Summary: Gloria falls like overripe fruit from a wilting tree branch, and Michael Corleone intends to devour her amidst the rot and decay that's long since taken root in his family, intent on dooming her with him for a chance at another heir.

Note: I first posted this and two other chapters to AO3, which I'll link if you'd like to read ahead as I begin cross-posting to here.

Warnings: Canon divergence, sexually explicit content, infidelity, period typical attitudes, negative discussions of abortion, Catholicism, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) related to WWII, breeding kink, death, angst, emotional manipulation

Do not interact if you are under 18 or post thinspo/ED content. I will block you.

AO3 Link | Masterlist

"I’m going to Cuba," he told her in a quiet, postcoital moment.

"Are you secretly a Red, Michael?” she teased, her brown eyes sparkling in the golden glow of the lamps in the hotel room they occupied. “Getting in with the rebels before they storm Havana? They’ve already got Santa Clara.”

He rolled his eyes, but the smile on his face betrayed his amusement. "You and your newspapers. Do you seriously think Castro has a chance?"

She took a long drag on her cigarette, pondering her answer for a moment. "His people have nothing to lose."

"I’ll be fine."

"How long will you be gone?"

"A few weeks, maybe a month," he said, twisting a strand of her long black hair between his fingers, silent for a moment as to test the waters, "I’ll wire you."

"Wire your wife."

"Gloria—"

"I’m not saying that to be confrontational. She’s pregnant, focus on her,” she said, passing him the cigarette. “Where does she think you are tonight?”

“She knows I’m in Vegas, just not with you.”

She hummed, her fingers brushing the tender, bruised skin on her hips, a shade of lavender that would no doubt blossom into a plum monstrosity by the morning. For a man over a decade her senior, he was insatiable, devouring her with a ferocity as if she were ripe for the picking.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, his gaze following her fingertips.

She shook her head. “Are you staying over?”

“Yes. I have to head out early, though. Lots of people coming in for Anthony’s first communion.”

“Get some sleep then. Don’t let me keep you up.”

He grinned. “You always keep me up.”

“Bathroom’s that way. I’m tired,” she said jokingly, turning over to bury her face in her pillow.

“I’ll wire you when I get to Havana. A few days from now, probably. I have some things to take care of first.”

She mumbled something from her side of the bed, eyes closed while he continued on in Italian. He landed a playful swat on her ass. Yelping, she turned over, glaring at him.

“Rude,” she scolded, “you know I don’t understand Italian. What’d you say?”

He laughed softly, pushing some of her hair out of her face. “I love you.”

“That’s not what you said.”

“I called you lazy and insufferable.”

She smiled. “I love you too.”

“Good night, darling,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her lips.

“Night.”

When Gloria awoke the following morning, Michael was gone, though he’d left a note for her. With no reason to stick around, she returned to her apartment, the third one she has lived in since she moved to Las Vegas. It was more spacious than she needed, but Michael insisted, though he rarely visited her there. Their rendezvous were almost always in the hotel room at the casino that was exclusively reserved for him. Safer that way, a more public place with plenty of his men around. She wasn’t ashamed of their illicit relationship, but it made her feel exposed. As soon as they stepped into that elevator together, everyone knew what they were planning to do.

She sighed, sitting on the couch and running a hand through her hair. Her next shift wasn’t until the following evening, and she wasn’t sure what exactly to do with herself. Michael being in Havana was a test run of what was to come.

After Kay had the baby, she’d see less of Michael, busy being the doting husband, the proud father. Just as she didn’t receive an invitation to Anthony’s first communion, she wouldn’t be welcome at their new son’s baptism. She wasn’t sore about it. If she were Kay, she wouldn’t want her around the family either.

Her fear wasn’t that he wouldn’t return, but rather that he would, and she’d never work up the courage to build a life for herself without him. Moving to Vegas was her first attempt at that, but less than a year into the job, she was practically shoved into his hands, and he hadn’t let go since. 

She glanced at the box of newspaper clippings on the entryway desk, to most people, it was little more than evidence of an obsession with the Pacific Theater. Gloria had been young when the war broke out, not fully understanding the difference between the branches of the military, only that her brother wasn’t fighting in Europe, and she rarely heard from him. The newspapers she had poured over introduced her to places like Guadalcanal and Peleliu, small islands that she could barely see on a map, yet somehow Jackie and millions of other men were there. 

Then Life ran a special edition on war heroes, featuring Marines like her brother. A decade after its publication, when Fredo had requisitioned her to keep his brother company in the casino while he ran off to attend to some last minute business, she recognized Michael immediately, unable to stop herself from asking the former Captain about his service. When Jackie returned from the war, he had little to say about what he experienced in the Pacific. In fact, he had little to say about much of anything. Shell shock, they called it, aptly describing the shell of a man her formerly outgoing brother had become. Michael Corleone wasn’t a shell, enthralling her with the details of such places as Guadalcanal and Peleliu with the emotional distance of an observer rather than a participant. 

As their acquaintanceship escalated into an affair, she saw the scars for herself. Both the physical evidence of his being wounded in action, and the invisible ones that’d rear their ugly heads late at night when they’d begun sharing his hotel room. If not manifesting through bouts of insomnia, then through nightmares that left him dazed and agitated when she managed to wake him from them. 

Between the shell shock and his diabetes, she felt like she had to keep a close eye on him. Not only out of genuine concern, but a matter of personal pride. Just because he wasn’t her husband, it didn’t mean she couldn’t take care of him. God forbid he return to his wife in anything less than mint condition. It was the least Gloria could do.

He would be gone for some time, though, and as she always did during his longer trips, she grabbed her phone, making plans with friends to keep herself occupied. She had a life without him, secure in her independent lifestyle. If she were busy enough, she didn't think of him that often. 

Almost a week later, she received the telegram from Michael at work, nearly forgetting his promise to wire her from Cuba.

In Havana. Beautiful weather. Miss you.

She asked the front desk to wire him back.

Miss you too. Have fun. Stay safe.

She didn’t expect a response. There was nothing else to say.  

Gloria went about her business as usual, working and meeting friends for dinner and dancing when she could. Her style was undoubtedly cramped by the Corleone family associates who tailed her wherever she went. She wondered if it was humiliating for them to be the ones assigned to covertly babysit the Don’s mistress. After all, if the people behind the attack at his Lake Tahoe home truly wanted to cause her harm, there were ample opportunities to do so in Vegas.

Her bubble was small, safe, and secure despite living in the City of Sin. Her proximity to Michael almost always ensured that. In his absence, a mere phone call popped that bubble. 

“Hello? Is this Gloria Marino? This is Kay Corleone.”

“Kay?” she repeated incredulously.

“Can we talk?”

The two women had met just once in person. Michael briefly introduced them when giving his wife a tour of the casino shortly after the family had moved from New York to Nevada. It was the only time Kay had ever stepped foot in the place. Even then, Gloria was sure Kay was smart enough to size her up at first glance, knew she wasn't just another back-of-house employee.

“I figure I’d be the last person you’d wanna talk to.”

“You’d think, but after all this, I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t warn you. No one was there to warn me, or maybe I was too stubborn to care.”

Gloria hesitated. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“I know. Consider it my penance.”

“For what?”

“Michael’s going to divorce me when he gets back from his trip.”

“He would never do that.”

“He will.” The certainty in Kay’s voice was shocking, but she didn’t pry. Kay wasn’t telling her for a reason. Prior knowledge of whatever was being omitted would put her in danger with Michael. “He will, and he’s going to go to you afterward. He trusts you.”

“Kay, I don’t—“

“I did something very selfish and desperate, something I can never be forgiven for,” she said cryptically. “You’re going to bear the brunt of the aftermath. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Gloria whispered, unsure if things would really end up that way. 

“Goodbye, Gloria.”

“Bye, Kay.”

The line went dead, and she stared at the phone in her hand for a few moments. Michael would only divorce Kay if the baby were out of the picture, and the woman’s surety only confirmed that was the case. The aftermath. She could only hazard a guess as to what that meant. Nothing good if she needed to be forewarned.

Days later, when she heard about Kay’s miscarriage through the grapevine, it still didn’t exactly click. Not until there was a knock at the door at a little after one in the morning. She figured if she ignored it long enough, the culprit would get the message and go away, but the knocking was incessant.

Shuffling out of the bedroom, she turned on one of the lamps in her living room. She looked out the peephole, shocked to see Michael standing there, waiting impatiently for her.

“Gloria, open up!” he shouted, banging on the door again, causing her to flinch a little.

She took a deep breath, knowing it was a futile attempt to prepare herself for whatever she was about to get into. His expression unreadable when she opened the door, she gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Michael, you’re back,” she said cheerfully enough. “How was the trip?”

He was silent as she ushered him inside. Turning on another lamp, she nearly froze at the state of him. Bags under his eyes, unkempt hair as if he’d been running his hands through it. 

“I warned you about those rebels,” she joked, only to receive a glare in return, his dark eyes almost black as they leered into hers. “Sorry, I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Okay,” he scoffed, a coldness laced in his voice that settled as an unfamiliar freeze in her veins. “You have no idea what I’ve been through these past few days.”

“I heard Kay miscarried. I’m—“

“It was an abortion,” he snapped. “She murdered our baby.”

Gloria’s eyes widened at the news. Her hand shook as she made a sign of the cross for his unborn son’s soul.

When Kay had called, she never expected the pious wife to commit a mortal sin, damning herself with no hope of reconciliation. Gloria knew other women who had gotten abortions, an inevitability when they weren’t careful enough with the carousel of carefree men that came through Las Vegas. It wasn’t something respectable women with husbands did. Being the wife of a crime lord was hardly respectable, though.

"He was a boy!" he shouted. His eyes were glassy, voice breaking in a rare display of vulnerability. "We were going to have a boy."

"I’m sorry."

"I can tell."

Exasperated, she asked, "What do you want me to do, Michael?"

"Marry me. I want you to marry me."

"No."

In the four or so years she’d been with Michael, she only experienced the lover, not the husband, a different beast entirely. Husbands meant expectations and ownership, something she was woefully unprepared for. 

"It wasn’t a question."

"Then I suppose you’re going to carry me off like the Arabian Nights? Drag me kicking and screaming to join your harem?”

“No harem. Just you.”

“Michael—“

“You’ll marry me. You’ll give me another son.”

Michael was the furthest from a holy man she could fathom, but the way his eyes blazed with a biblical ferocity, she believed for a moment that he could alter the will of God with the sheer magnitude of his desperation and humiliation. He wanted to send her into the depths of purgatory to retrieve the boy he was entitled to, the sacrificial lamb that freed his soon to be ex-wife from marital bondage. Forget that he already had a son, a young, healthy boy. It was the principle of the thing, a man of his influence and import being deceived by his otherwise unassuming wife, her dainty hand dealing the death blow. ‘It was an abortion.' Checkmate.

“Darling, you’re the only person I trust,” he implored softly, his hands cradling her face as he tried intentional gentleness over impulsive tyranny. “I love you.”

She wasn’t getting any younger. Most people considered her an old maid. Her mother sure did, sending letters that increasingly implored her to come home and settle down before it’s too late. Her best prospect was standing before her, a man who wasn’t one to be denied. Senators and executives bent to his will, whether a flexible reed or a rigid board, they all would bend. If not, they broke. He’d break her just to put the pieces back together in his image, a mosaic of desperate domesticity. 

Her time ran out. Perhaps wishful thinking, or naivety in hindsight, but she always expected Kay to grin and bear it. The expectations of Michael Corleone were her cross to take up. Seeing no better option than to give in, she kissed him, allowing the pads of his thumbs to dig into the peachy skin of her cheeks, deep enough that if they were fruit, the tender flesh would be pierced, juice dripping down his hands. He lapped her up in kind, his mouth laying claim to her.

“Tell me you love me,” he pleaded against her bruised lips.

“I love you, Michael.”

And she did love him, but loving Michael was a burden. She couldn’t blame Kay for what she did. It was a long time to carry that weight. His love was demanding, unforgiving, red-hot to the touch despite his cool exterior. There were only so many times a woman could stand to get burned.

They ended up in her bedroom, no longer her domain but his, she could feel the shift as soon as he walked in, eyes hungrily taking her in like a hawk circling above a rabbit. Her nightclothes quickly discarded, leaving her naked and vulnerable before him. She laid back on the bed as he shed his own clothes, and felt an unfamiliar nervousness settle in her stomach. Perhaps it was the magnitude of the act, no longer for leisure, but purposeful, real. If it didn’t take then, he would try again and again until he got what he wanted.

Michael climbed over her, stroking his hard cock before positioning it at her entrance. Leaning down, he kissed her again, his lips taking the brunt of her pained whimper as he slid his length inside her. 

His fingers made their home on her hips as they always did, squeezing as he thrust harder and deeper inside her. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

“That’s it, darling,” he praised. “You’re doing so well for me.”

Kissing the base of her throat while plowing into her appealed to an animalistic instinct in him, and he sunk his teeth into her tender flesh, claiming her, marking her.

In turn, she dug her long fingernails into his shoulder blades, only to find later she’d drawn blood. 

“Michael, please just—it’s too much,” she choked out.

“Just a little longer.”

He released one of her hips, moving his hand between them to rub circles in her clit. The moan she let out only encouraged him as he thrust faster, bringing the both of them closer to climax. 

Closing her eyes, she felt that familiar tightness build in her abdomen. Pleasure tingled through her brain, to her fingertips. She could grab it if she wanted to, reach out for ectasy and make it hers.

“Look at me, Gloria. I want to see you,” he ordered through gritted teeth. “I want to see you become a mother.”

Her eyes shot open, looking at him in near disbelief at his gentle vulgarity.  

Before she could even attempt to respond, he brushed the pad of his thumb over her clit again, and she came, her cunt squeezing his cock, coating it in her juices, hips involuntarily bucking in his unrelenting grip. His name fell from her lips in a delirious whine as her orgasm coursed through her body. He shuddered, cursing under his breath as he slammed his cock deeper into her, letting her cunt milk him dry.

They were silent for a few moments, save for the weak whine Gloria made when Michael pulled out from her. Glancing at her hips, he could see the familiar blossoming of finger-shaped bruises. He kissed her again, his fingers brushing her sensitive folds, collecting the cum that was leaking out before pushing it back inside her, nothing wasted, nothing left to chance.

His lips trailed down her face, to her neck and each of her breasts until finally settling on her belly. He nuzzled his nose against it, the soft, fertile flesh ripening beneath his touch. She felt almost dizzy at his primal display of affection.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” he whispered against her stomach as it rose and fell with her heavy breaths. “I can feel it.”

[piinkyypriincess]

SOUR CHERRY

Luke Castellan x OC

"Fuck the God's, angel, you're mine."

Main Pairing ~ Luke Castellan x Daughter of Oizys!OC

Warnings ~ Depressing themes, failure, anger, and anxiety.

Spoilers ~ A Ton‼️

Masterpost ~ Here.

Beta Read/Edited ~ No (No beta lmao)

Word Count ~ 940 Words.

Chp Summary ~ December 21st, 2005. The day of the Winter Solstice, Luke Castellan's dark eye's scorned the God's as they argued. Usually, he smelled like sweet, fruity nectar; a concoction his own success and greatness. That day, he smelled like sour cherries.

Chp 1 ~ Failure and Success, Only One Step Apart

Failure smelt like a field of ripe strawberries and raw sap from pine needles.

Nisha thought she could smell failure because she couldn't taste success. Perhaps failure smelt so good, so sweet, because success was meant to be on a tongue. Victor's with glory tasted success and savored it on their taste buds, whilst failures smelt the sweet aroma only.

That was their punishment, the smell, not the taste, because a failure isn't good enough to have pleasantries on their tongue.

Failure and success were only one step away from each other after all.

No, failure didn't actually smell like the sweet labors of nature. Strawberries and pine was what Nisha with no last name associated it with though. It's how she smelt. Everyone's success and failure smelt vaguely different, Nisha just had a talent of picking out the scents.

Failure smelt like raw sugars with sour base notes.

It was unfiltered and not as sweet as success that smelt like a candy factory. It was as if the God's teased that failure smelt good, but not that good, so others should keep trying for success that smelt even better. It tasted even greater.

Lucus Castellan smelt like fruity, sweet, nectar. He smelt better than ambrosia hovering over her face and tasting like fresh strawberries. He is a true Demi-God prodigy that smelt like the embodiment of success.

However, on the night of December 21st, he smelt like wilting flowers, decaying tree bark, molding fruit, and ozone.

All those smells weren't necessarily bad, but they weren't great. It's like it poured from the tall teens pores though, etched into his skin as the Winter Scholastic ended in panic.

Nisha didn't allow the panic around her to consume her body or brain. Chiron ushered campers out of Olympus, and the God's angrily conversed in ancient Greek as the children fled. The only person in all of Olympus that smelt oddly good was Ares, the God of War.

Tears threatened to well up in Nisha's amber eyes as the smells of anxiety, despair, and sadness filled her nose. Her brain was hardwired to feel negative emotions deeper than anyone else as she could feel everyone's negative emotions. She fed off of failure, off of anxiety, but in the same breath she was riddled with it.

A Demi-Gods strength is a curse.

Nisha blinked her amber orbs and bit down on the plush flesh of her bottom lip. Campers talked worridly over head, not noticing her there. She had an essentially invisible presence if she didn't make herself known. Bile threatened to climb up her throat as Zeus yelled partially loud and lightning crackled around the room.

“My Master Bolt is gone, Apollo!” He screamed in ancient greek at the sun God. Apollo's blonde brows formed a crease in the middle of his golden brown forehead, his angelic features screwed up angrily.

The brown girl could smell sandalwood, unripe mandarin oranges, decaying red currants, and burnt moss. The prophetic healing God of the sun's thousand rays, was frustrated.

Campers flinched away from Zeus’ bright lightning and thunderous tone. He made startled yelps go around as campers filed through the sacred Olympus headquarters doors, and down the elevators in groups.

Nisha swallowed thickly, and took a deep breath, daring to focus on Ares, who smelt like a burning forest, gasoline, musky leather, and exotic lilies. The God smelt joyous, he was excited, and that was all the more reason for Nisha to be even more afraid.

Positive emotions were harder for her to sniff out, but it wasn't impossible.

Lucus Castellan wasn't far from her eyesight, his head was welted down to the floor as he carefully walked amongst his fellow campers. The Hermes cabin counselor ushered the younger campers out the large doors of Olympus with concern. He looked seemingly distant in presence, a far away look in his eyes as he was lost in thought.

Nisha separated herself from the two last groups of campers to peel from Olympus and down from the 600th floor of the Empire State Building. She crept next to Luke, who gestured his hands to keep the Demi-Gods moving.

He didn't notice her, nobody would, and that was just fine with Nisha. She blended into the shadows neatly, and kept up with the emotions flitting around the area.

Luke's dark curls were ruffled downwards, as If he had a hat or helmet covering his head prior to the incident. His orbs were dark like a clear night, and a gentle gleam of soft lilac shone underneath his downturned eyes. A sickly green color tinged his usually tan skin with a mulberry color blossoming on his jaw.

Nisha questioned how nobody noticed the boy's frazzled form. Her question was answered as the ignorant God's yelled in their mother tongue, and the centaur Chiron led children down the elevator. Ignorant is what they all were, it would be their downfall, Nisha suspected.

Luke takes one last look at the God's and his saddened scent of wilted flowers, decaying tree bark, moldy fruit, and essence of ozone washes away promptly. His eyes harden over like the night glaring down at cooled obsidian; the sharp igneous rocks attempt to cut at the Gods, who argue amongst themselves.

His plush lips were chapped, and when his hooded monolid twitched, his lip curled into a sneer of disgust, of anger.

Nisha can smell dead willows in full force with the undertones of rancid nuts and base notes of sour cherries.

That's what his fruity smell was; he smelt like cherries, and the ripe sourness of it promised wrath.

[lanaevyssmoved]

OC + Random Associations

tagged by @cetra , @sleepsvessel & @bootheminiaturegiantspacehamster thank you ^_^

Animal

Afhiri sea slugs, isopods (dairy cow and zebra), geckos and other various reptiles, cats, small birds, musteloids (particularly raccoons and red pandas), viverrids, japanese raccoon dogs, opossums Candor lions, various eagles (wedge-tailed, golden, crowned), hawks, swans and geese, bighorn rams, crocodillians, sea turtles, elephants, animals that use sun compass orientation Cirok corvids (raven, crow), dogs (rottweiler, doberman, pinscher, greyhound), venomous black snakes, scorpions, spiders (particularly trapdoor spiders and sicarius), bats, black caiman, sharks

Colors

Afhiri pastels! pink, yellow, orange, green, blue, white, black Candor changes depending on form but in general purple, blue, red, yellow, orange, gold, brown, white, black Cirok black, grey, white - absolutely no Colour (thanks to booboo i now think of like toxic waste green when i think of cirok too)

Month

Afhiri September Candor August Cirok November

Songs

Afhiri tapi tapi - tempura kidz fear. moe shop and fun - sir sly. sir sly's vibe is way off for afhiri but the lyrics were written for her Candor a sun coloured shaker - yndi halda and (spring) this was your place - sunlight ascending Cirok jouska - evenS (probably favourite song of all time btw) and i come with knives - IAMX

Number

Afhiri two/2 Candor three/3 Cirok four/4

Plants

Afhiri celandine, sunflower, pink tulip, daisy Candor bay tree, gladiolus, heliotrope, rose Cirok chives, anemone, begonia, deadly nightshade

Scents

Afhiri fresh morning, grass, dirt, cotton candy, bubblegum Candor cedar, musk, sandalwood, the ocean, burning  Cirok decay, death, rot, overwhelmingly of resin

Gemstone

Afhiri tugtupite Candor meliphanite Cirok magnetite

Time of day

Afhiri sunrise Candor midday Cirok night

Season

Afhiri summer Candor summer Cirok winter

Places

Afhiri taverns, meadows, by rivers and lakes Candor monasteries, temples, places of worship Cirok the dank, cold and forgotten, the forbidden

Food

Afhiri sweet things, nothing good for you Candor warm meals Cirok raw meat

Drinks

Afhiri sugary sweet drinks, energy drinks Candor various teas (green, oolong, herbal, black) Cirok piping hot black coffee

Element

Afhiri air Candor fire Cirok water

Seasonings

Afhiri garlic, ginger, cinnamon Candor paprika, turmeric, bay leaves Cirok dried chives, cloves, saffron

Sky

Afhiri the most beautiful sunny cloudless summer sky Candor a colourful golden orange, red, and purple with light cloud cover Cirok stratus clouds, grey, calm and quiet

Weather

Afhiri warm day with lots of sun and a gentle breeze Candor blazing hot summers day with minimal to no wind Cirok cold winters day with fog and light snow

Magical power

Afhiri manipulative magic that makes someone act against their own will, anything that makes them laugh or dance. also the magical power of Insults Candor holy smites, blinding lights and divine energy Cirok phasing into the realm of the dead to walk partly as a ghost

Weapons

Afhiri shortsword and dagger combo, dual hand crossbows Candor mace and shield, longbow, floating/flying greatsword Cirok dual daggers, throwing knives, poisons and venoms

Candy/Sweets

Afhiri cotton candy, bubblegum, and i designed her with fruit salad in mind! Candor spicy roasted pecans, maple roasted sweet potatoes, sea salt dark chocolate Cirok liquorice, black jack, toxic waste

Method of long distance travel

Afhiri roadtrip in a classic volkswagen camper van Candor flying Cirok underground trains

Artstyle

Afhiri impressionism, abstract expressionism, street art, dadaism, CoBrA and fauvism Candor baroque and classicism Cirok optical art and minimalism

Fear

Afhiri of the self, of emotional pain, of returning home Candor of imperfection, of failure, of not being worthy Cirok of being seen, of death, of vulnerability

Mythological creature

Afhiri azeban, mujina, nymph Candor chalkydri, phoenix, psychopomp Cirok tsuchigumo, black dog, gargoyle

Piece of stationery

Afhiri a childs box of crayons, dairy Candor fountain pen, ruler Cirok ink, letter opener

Three Emojis

Afhiri 🤡🍀🪈 Candor ☄️🎇🪽 Cirok 🕷️♟️🔪

Celestial body

Afhiri the moon Candor the sun Cirok black dwarf

THIS TOOK ME FOREVER GUYS... TWO DAYS. I WORKED ON IT FOR HOURS. i hope........ its worth it <3

tagging @cetra @dekariosgale @courierseis @euryalex @hibernationsuit @jerichoes @vanoefucks @captaintiny @gwynbleidd @arduath @rcpunzel @avallachs @fuckitwebhaal @hexdruid @sovereign-spaw @galesgrandad @thefathersbride @dandeyrain @doggybone @swanfey @voerman @full---ofstarlight @chaos-storm @covenscribe @raphaelsboudoir @simtalics @kymal @graynstairs @neonbutchery @hungryblackbird @moxley @thlix @isayashai @darlinghowl @astarionsfordf150 @moon-jun @lovaboy @ratscrap @picklepals @crazy-lazy-elder-sims @rigaudon @neosunbrella @sternenstaub28 @centipisde @kirkwall @lusus--naturae

[anotherothernight]

I made another one :)

[aceghosts]

OCs as Horror Tropes

Hey everyone! I was tagged to do this uquiz by @nightbloodbix and @cloudofbutterflies92. Thank you for tagging me!

Tagging (Opt In/Out): @bbrocklesnar, @marivenah, @alexxmason, @captmactavish, @carlosoliveiraa, @amalkavian, @socially-awkward-skeleton, @voidika, @confidentandgood, @clicheantagonist, @theelderhazelnut, @cassietrn, @captastra, @direwombat, @strangefable, @katsigian, @inafieldofdaisies, @simplegenius042, @onehornedbeast, and anyone else who wants to do this!

Rooney Shepard

just catholic trauma

(tw for implications of self harm here) god is judgment. every action is weighted, every action is watched. tally marks on a scoreboard, on skin, your body on a golden scale, and you can't shed enough weight to stop it from tipping. worship isn't enough. sacrifice isn't enough. guilt lays across you in layers. blankets, sheets of snow, cling-wrap cutting off your circulation. you can't save yourself, but you can never stop trying. fire licks at your heels, a constant reminder of what is inevitably waiting for you.

Hunter Delaney

meat as horror

meat hooks and conveyor belts and cold metal. the warm eyes of a stupid animal, completely unaware of the watering mouths that await it. "cut here" lines drawn on the body, slabs of steak that bleed and bleed, unrelenting. are you hungry? would you kill to stay alive? you feel like prey, or maybe like predator. sinew is stuck between your teeth, and gore dribbles down your chin. don't chip your teeth on the bones. you feel like the top of the food chain, and don't see the eyes gleaming behind you.

Riley Callahan

family as a cult

you will never need anyone else. outsiders will hurt you, aim to corrupt you and ruin you and leave you in pieces, but your family will always be there for you. everyone has the same eyes, the same smile. the same sickly yellow light cast over their skin. the same tastes, the same food that melts to gray sludge on your tongue. family recipe. hugs last too long, touches linger and sting like sunburn. don't stray too far. if you come back looking like a wolf rather than a sheep, the dogs will eat you.

Emerson Wright

flowers rotting as a metaphor for death/decay

stems droop, go yellow like aged teeth. petals curl, go dry like paper, like corpse skin. the beauty of youth can only be preserved through unnatural means. roses drowned in silica gel, pins behind the eyes. glass vase, open casket. everyone is watching you. why aren't you moving? are you too weak to grow toward the light anymore?

[krewekreep]

After the Night Ends Chapter 1

3K Words. Alucard X OC!Reader. Reader is non binary with a femme body. AU but contains lore from Castlevania & Castlevania: Nocturne. Takes place during the last episode and goes from there

Angst, Estranged Lovers AU, Soulmate AU, Alucard is a reclusive, flirtatious snarky brat. Not 18+ yet but following chapters may and will be properly tagged as such. So indulgent I’m adding a soundtrack. Unknown Mortal Orchestra - Multi Love.

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚. ༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚. ༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤

Your estranged love materialized out of thin air. A ghost of his former self; a slimmed figure, stark white hair, pearlescent pale skin. His eyes a hollow but peering yellow. Your heart beat beyond sound, a thunderous full body vibration. Although in mid-air piercing his sleek ornate sword through Drolta’s chest, you could do nothing more but falter in stability at his appearance. “Adrian…” you mumbled low. Richter took in your surprise realizing you had not been truthful of your affiliation with Dracula. Or rather, your affiliation was a lot more intimate than you let on. Much of your facade fell as Drolta’s screech and outreached hand towards you gave no fear. Not only because your Adrian was immaculate with his weapon, or the fact he would never let anything happen to you—you could handle yourself beyond compare.

For the sake of achieving your desire of reuniting with your love you found yourself amongst these well-meaning youth of tomorrow. Disguising your age was not difficult at this point in your travels but faking your background became harder as the old world you knew was vastly changed. You had to learn now, with your darker complexion, and couple hundred years from your original background, how to navigate the questions of who you were and where you came from.

The days of knowing the love of your life as Alucard, fighting and joking alongside Trevor and Sypha were long gone. You had already joined them close to the end of their respective voyages latching onto Alucard because of your shared loneliness and troubled background. Admittedly, you wanted to snatch Adrian away into the darkness to confirm he’s the man who’s dangling in the air as if an ethereal marionette. Yet, in a way he was nothing as you remembered. The soft peach of his warm skin, his lively almost rose golden tresses, the breadth of his shoulders—all replaced by a more demure, reclusive, cold countenance. He felt…dead. You were the only one in suspension at this point as Drolta crashed to the ground without a nail reaching you. Her radiant crimson pink embers dwindling with her decaying body catching up to all the time she used. You could admit she had been captivating even if depraved. And as you watched her body wither into the wind a booted foot fell into your eye line. Large, leathered, and desiring acknowledgment.

Now he was on Earth, on land, the same as yours, beckoning you to confront the man you abandoned almost three hundred and something years ago. Your adoration and yearning caught in your throat. How could you apologize to him? Was it actually on you to apologize? How could you explain you missed him but hated him but loved him but ran away? You hadn’t realized you’d fallen to your knees until Richter prompted: “What the fuck is actually going on?” He stood back protective of Annette and Maria, his bulked arm extended as a barrier. You took no notice of him as when the second foot touched Earth you could muster no confidence to face your estranged beloved. “I heard you are in need of assistance,” he spoke directly above you, turning his head stilted to throw “Belmont.” The name fell from his lips in a knowing but wayward tone. “I am the son of Dracula…and I believe you have been looking for me.” Almost a question, hinted with deprived amusement. Everyone’s eyes fell to you who could do nothing more but clutch your chest tightly, wide-eyed. A nervous wreck of emotions. Richter spoke finally “Yes…we need your help,” he was earnest and determined taking in the gaping white of the eclipse centered in the blackened sky. He wavered looking to the ground defeated. “We…dearly need your help.” Richter was the most overtly perturbed. But also the most obviously willing to sacrifice his life to save the world. You knew them all courageous, even poor Eduard you promised Annette to help. It was easy to lie to them at first, everyone was cautious of the other. Yet, fight after fight, you all proved your loyalty and even love for one another. Then, the guilt of deceit weighed on you. You lied to them about everything focused only on your goal of finding your beloved again. And here he was in all his angelic splendor far from how you left him. You were as weak as when you ran away.

Maria joins “We are going to fight against Erzabeth. She has done unspeakable evils…” she weakens to a whimper as the thoughts of her mother hushes the entire group. Richter, now never not scowling, continues: “We are going to kill that Bitch. But it would be helluva lot easier if you join us…” Alucard stood statuesque, as acclaimed a visage as Apollo or Dionysus. A truly remarkable visual that captivated them all. If only they knew how many before them could do nothing more but gawk at his appearance. If only they knew how his skin glowed against the sun, unlike this almost bleached complexion. How his hair fell far beyond his shoulders and bounced with his laugh or his ballerino steps as he sauntered about. 300 years…how alone you had been. How alone he had had to have been. Tears brim but you quickly wipe them away shaking your head. It felt unreal, surreal, a lie.

“Are you…” his voice was soft, loving. “In need of any assistance too? Ma’am?” What? Ma’am? It was sharp and loaded. It was what he referred to you when you arrived appearing as a lost young maiden unbeknownst to him with experience in new identities already. When you arrived in the dark begging for his mercy and somewhere to reprieve. In a long blue ornate dress you stole easily from a paused caravan at the neighboring stop. All you needed to steal was food, medicine, and yeah maybe something to sell. In the unsafe sweep of midnight you saw the torches that lit the garden before the mountainous shadow of castle came into view. You could only make it out as the dark clouds passing peeked moonlight through that reflected off the staggering pointedness of the seemingly alive, angry architecture.

Truly had it not been the dead of night, as a woman (well perceived as such despite your personal desires), and performing the damsel role. You ended up sticking yourself in a situation where you’d need to go back miles the way you came or stick out this con of sorts. You thought to nab a few vegetables but it was so well kept you thought smart of guard dogs or some sort of watcher. Wouldn’t be far fetched someone peers out of the windows of this monstrous abode awaiting a strangers mistake.

You rush past clutching your dress in a hurry. Makes sense to seem distraught, lost, and vulnerable. You knocked softly upon the door which felt immediately futile. How thick and staggering the door was and the real size of the castle sent a cold chill through you. You press your hand to the door because you were sure you felt a pulse, or that rather while you knew it was not flesh—the door felt aware of you. I guess I’ll knock again. You knock much harder this time. Banging actually as you felt foolish becoming annoyed at how hard it was to successfully be weak. But in exchange for your admittedly resounding knocks you lifted your voice to a pitiful, desperate “Please! Hello!!! I’m lost and in dire need of assistance! Any help!! Please!!” Oh how you’d be sure to steal as much as you could. You were about to quit before the hulking door widened by itself. Tired of your persistence the door cracked enough to show a vast gallery with huge winding stairwells on either side. It felt like a library…while life has known these floors there’s a sense that much has happened…but you can’t ignore the cobwebs, floating dusts, and the sense that if someone did live here, they forewent cleaning a good bit of time ago. You shimmied through the doorway as it had not been kind enough to open fully. You stumbled a bit taking it all in.

“Hello?! Apologies, I’ve led myself astray far from those I was traveling with. I can compensate handsomely…” It just didn’t feel like you were talking to no one. Instead of reversing course you were the stubborn, hard headed type. “Please, I…I actually have no one.” You could be somewhat honest you supposed. Becoming genuinely desperate that atleast you weren’t crazy. “I am here in need of food and shelter. Only for a night.” You voice blared across the gallery traveling it’s way into the further darkness of the hallways leading deeper into the abyss of this now increasingly creepy place. Fear, worry, concern crept upon you. Maybe I did choose wrong. “I’m…desperate…but I know an unwelcome guest... I apologize for bothering you…thank you for opening your door if just to bade the weather for a time.” You were sincere. Whatever, whoever this was while maybe not of pure malice or evil was definitely not interested. You turned on your heel quickly about to shimmy back through the door’s crack when a masculine voice of obvious nobility cleared his throat loudly. So much so it stalled your legs leaving you shook to the core. You turned jolted at the sight of a long haired blonde man. A man you could easily claim is 6’3-6’5, dressed in a loose open chested blouse ruffled at the wrists. His broad shoulders, substantial almost bare chest, and his height sent you in a tizzy. You slipped on nothing grabbing at the door with an awkward chuckle. “Hello! Hi! I-uh,” Goddamn he’s attractive. “I’m just here for help. I am in need of food and reprieve, sir.” You clutched your hands to your heart, cleavage corseted against your chest that made your breasts bubble over the arch of the heart shaped hem. You knew how you looked—pathetic, sexy, and in need. You look up at him at a distance that blurs your ability to look him in the eyes. Most men were weak once you looked them in the eyes. Not only would you get what you needed… if he decided you could only take if you gave…you’d consider obliging.

“You could’ve taken the food in the garden…why disrupt me?” He was actually confused. Yeah you could’ve just stolen the food but there was a role to play and now by his presentation being a princess for tonight was acceptable. “I could’ve but I found it lacking etiquette. At the very least a proper request is well within my rights.” You fold your arms now in coquettish annoyance. Poking your lips out a bit in a pout. “I knew someone lived here by the attention and cleanliness of your land. So I just felt…determined I guess.” You throw a glance at the man still perched atop the stairway balcony. He’s unmoving and establishing his disinterest clearly. “Hmmm.” He looks you over well accustomed to a swindler. You were quite obvious as you only had began to even run in desperation towards the castle after scoping out much of the area. You were right, you had been watched. Unbeknownst to you the master of this home watched you wrestle your dress in frustration, curse along about your hatred for being girly, and your promise to yourself to take extra for your trouble. How dare you push out your chest, lift your voice, and plead as if a real maiden. He was amused but more cautious. Had he not known true violating betrayal he’d have likely bantered you into exposing yourself. He likely would’ve accepted your cleavage as repentance for lying. But, he actually was growing irritated with you. Had your stomach not growled this whole time he’d have a harder time even wanting to feed you.

“You may eat and leave. You cannot stay the night.” He was stoic. You had no real emotion or response to play off of so you leaned more into your attempt at flirtation. “Is that right?” You walked farther in now center of the gallery. You were able to see more of his features in the wafting light of the candlebras and chandelier. He was beyond. And you caught the raise of his brow at your staring. “Why might I not rest until morning?” Why not press the issue? While past midnight that meant you absolutely could stay till morning. A couple hours wouldn’t hurt this guy. “I’m truly alone. I would not ask of this with such persistence if I had somewhere else.” You place your open hand on your chest hoping to appeal to him. “One must know shame so please be aware I recognize how lowly it is of me to ask of you anything. I can maneuver the day very well…night…as someone like me…is just simply a danger I avoid at all costs.” This time you ended with the truth. Whether it be vagrants, vampires, night creatures, or the general evil person you knew and seen things that will always send you seeking shelter before the bars even begin to bustle with evening noise.

He felt your sincerity but cared not as you were already deceptive and up to no good. “A young maiden alone…” he was not one to be made a fool. “In the dead of night…” he began to slowly, eerily descend the stairs. Your wolf clawed through screaming you needed to scram. A bone deep desire to flee overcame you as his physique, face, and mood of pure annoyance actually intimidated you. “In a dress of such quality…bejeweled…clean…” Oh no. You realized what was happening. He knows I’m lying. He caught me. “How might I believe you are hungry…only in need of rest…where did you come from?” He is now at the last step before being equal on the floor with you. You babbled nothing as you had to look up to face him. “You must think me stupid. As if a mere commoner woman, thief…” he says with a certain venom. “Would be able to make a fool of Dracula’s son.” He hissed this time disappearing before closing the door harshly behind you. You leapt away from him colliding with the floor. “Dracula??? He’s dead??!” You screamed. “There’s no way your Dracula’s son. I apologize.” You bend your head to the floor on your knees. “I beg of you spare me.” The despair at your possible end turned you into a proper beggar. Rubbing your hands pitifully together. You were strong, you weren’t necessarily fully human but…this was beyond your comprehension.

“Sir I beg of you. I beg of you. Spare me. I am nothing more than a hungry wanderer. I lied. I lied. I’m sorry. Please do not hurt me.” Your mortal pain did touch this dhamphir before you. He would never kill you…why would you need to die when you are hungry? He could only understand you but a bite rose in his mouth. How he had trusted Trevor, Sypha…those other two…he could only resent himself for how easy he was. But tonight you will not disrupt him or his solitude or his impending desire to end his life. Your eyes pooled with tears as you watched his booted, leathered feet planted firmly in front you.

All you needed was food right? A couple hours sleep? Then leave and never return. His mind has been made up. “I do not consume as you mortals do. The garden is actually for the community. I do not horde what people are in dire need of…” he couldn’t help the disgust he felt at your trembling crying frame robbed of all the confidence you just had. How disgusting he was. Scary, unwanted, and forever cursed with his Father’s resentful countenance and his mother’s wondrous love and consideration. How deprived to sink his eye site in the lapse of fabric your dress caused in this pose. From your face to your lower belly visible as your hunched over figure exposed you. Once he was upon you the dress was so ill fitting to your size he almost laughed aloud at you pretending to be of some wealth and awareness.

Honestly tired of your very mortal woman fear he bent to a knee, offering a hand to you saying. “Ma’am? If you could consider my earlier behavior that of a brute…you may eat as you wish and rest until morning.” You began to protest. “No-No that’s absolutely okay. I will leave and it is as if I never bothered you.” You rose without raising your head. “I will leave as fast as I arrived.” But as you looked up directly into his eyes your stomach twisted and your mouth agape. He was immaculate. Gorgeous. Perfect. Son of Dracula? He huffed a chuckle and an incredibly weak smile. He’s trying, you thought. Caught up in the poke out of his fangs, he closes his mouth self consciously offering “Would you like maybe more comfortable clothes? A beautiful dress completely unsuitable for your stature.” He was judging. “Uh-I mean the dress isn’t actually that bad.” You choke out defending your outfit. “No no it’s not the attire at all…” it seems his eyes wandered too low there. “It’s you in it…” Oh okay ouch? “I have had many a traveler seek here for shelter. The kitchen is through the lower foyer on the right. Whatever is there is what you may use. It will have only what anyone has decided not to take. Do not do anything more than that. First and final warning.” He rose from you without another word ascending the stairs soon disappearing into the blackness of the upper hallway. The moment his aura depleted you could breathe again taking a couple of minutes to collect yourself before heading towards the kitchen. You threw a fearful glance up at the staircase walking under it and through to the expansive ground floor. Unable to get the image of the master of this home out of your mind. Scared of him but weirdly yearning deeply to know more.

༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚. ༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚. ༉‧₊˚🕯️🖤❀༉‧₊˚.

Requests Open

[crownrots]

— OCS AS HORROR THEMES/TROPES

tagged by @corvosattano & @simonxriley to do this uquiz, thank you 💗

tagging @queennymeria, @risingsh0t, @thedeadthree, @loriane-elmuerto, @shellibisshe, @arborstone, @unholymilf, @florbelles, @shadowglens, @nightbloodbix, @roofgeese, @countessrooster, @lucky-107, @rhetoricalrogue, @arthrmorgann, @zevlor, @hartsvale, @jackiesarch, & @leviiackrman

FLOWERS ROTTING AS A METAPHOR FOR DEATH/DECAY

stems droop, go yellow like aged teeth. petals curl, go dry like paper, like corpse skin. the beauty of youth can only be preserved through unnatural means. roses drowned in silica gel, pins behind the eyes. glass vase, open casket. everyone is watching you. why aren't you moving? are you too weak to grow toward the light anymore?

MEAT AS HORROR.

meat hooks and conveyor belts and cold metal. the warm eyes of a stupid animal, completely unaware of the watering mouths that await it. "cut here" lines drawn on the body, slabs of steak that bleed and bleed, unrelenting. are you hungry? would you kill to stay alive? you feel like prey, or maybe like predator. sinew is stuck between your teeth, and gore dribbles down your chin. don't chip your teeth on the bones. you feel like the top of the food chain, and don't see the eyes gleaming behind you.

JUST CATHOLIC TRAUMA.

(tw for implications of self harm here) god is judgment. every action is weighted, every action is watched. tally marks on a scoreboard, on skin, your body on a golden scale, and you can't shed enough weight to stop it from tipping. worship isn't enough. sacrifice isn't enough. guilt lays across you in layers. blankets, sheets of snow, cling-wrap cutting off your circulation. you can't save yourself, but you can never stop trying. fire licks at your heels, a constant reminder of what is inevitably waiting for you.

MEAT AS HORROR.

meat hooks and conveyor belts and cold metal. the warm eyes of a stupid animal, completely unaware of the watering mouths that await it. "cut here" lines drawn on the body, slabs of steak that bleed and bleed, unrelenting. are you hungry? would you kill to stay alive? you feel like prey, or maybe like predator. sinew is stuck between your teeth, and gore dribbles down your chin. don't chip your teeth on the bones. you feel like the top of the food chain, and don't see the eyes gleaming behind you.

FAMILY AS A CULT.

you will never need anyone else. outsiders will hurt you, aim to corrupt you and ruin you and leave you in pieces, but your family will always be there for you. everyone has the same eyes, the same smile. the same sickly yellow light cast over their skin. the same tastes, the same food that melts to gray sludge on your tongue. family recipe. hugs last too long, touches linger and sting like sunburn. don't stray too far. if you come back looking like a wolf rather than a sheep, the dogs will eat you.

THE HORROR OF THE MOTHER.

complete control over you, your complete reliance on her. you are a helpless child, and she makes every decision for you, asserting to you that she knows what's best. hysterical, emotional, even in her love for you, especially in her hatred for you. the fruit of her loins has rotted, and you cannot escape her scorn. distance means nothing if you're doomed to become her.

[ecoamerica]

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

[captainstarcruiser]

Vanguard Guardian OC Description

Name: Crimson-9

Nicknames: Crimson, Crim, Red, 9, or (Gambit title) Red Dot.

Pronouns: He/Him

Class: Exo Hunter

Subclass: Solar/Golden Gun and Stasis/Silence and Squall

Ghost: Bun.3 (pronounced Bunny) her shell is the Year of the Rabbit Shell.

Revival spot: EDZ Forest

Age: 25 (29 after revival)

Personal Trinket: MP4 made with salvaged Golden Age technology and these enemies: Fallen, Cabal, Vex.

Preferred Tools of Trade:

Häkke Brand

Suros Brand

Heliocentric QSc

Ammit AR2

Breakneck

Come to Pass

Coronach-22

IKELOS_HC_v1.0.3

IKELOS_SR_v1.0.3

IKELOS_SMG_v1.0.3

Herod-C

Albruna-D

Crux Termination IV

Tarnation

Hullabaloo

Half-Truth

The Other Half.

Exotic Favorites:

Sunshot

Borealis

Suros Regime

Forerunner

Monte Carlo

Ace of Spades

Hardlight

Polaris Lance

Quicksilver Storm.

Bio: Known as the Exo Hunter Crimson-9, he spent time with Cayde-6 on and off the field in order to learn his tricks and skills for the field. He usually sticks to the Hunter groups due to sharing more in common with them. From time to time he works with other classes when he's looking to make quick glimmer or resources for his purchases.

He enjoys music and food more than any exotic he's gathered.

Especially from a hole in the wall diner in the city run by an Exo and Awoken couple, known popularly as The Grease Bucket. They make the thickest, greasiest, and tastiest burgers and chili-cheese fries in the whole city.

As for Crim's taste in music, he has a collection that spreads down to the oldest traces of music, before the Traveler and Golden Age. He loves old school jazz, death metal, dubstep, and for his usual meditation sessions: Japanese Hot Spring Music.

Crimson-9 has a troubled past, involving the Red War and his time being lightless. Eventually his team ended up leaving him behind during a raid on the moon in the Hive sector. His only way to cope with the memory is his music, and meditation.

He hates Hive, with a seething passion. Anything that resembles the Hive, causes his mood to sour. Once he leapt onto a giant Hive Knight Boss and stabbed it in the head over and over till it fell, just because his team took too long to kill it.

The time he spent wandering the Hive zones after his fireteam abandoned him caused him to have nightmares of his time down there. Some nights it's just him being chased by cursed thrall, but the worst is when a curse of Hive decay slowly overtakes his body. He picks at and cracks off all the growing decay till he sees his face fall apart into a hideous ugly screaming thrall.

His likes:

The Grease Bucket

Modded MP4

Music

Pet Ginger Cat named Amber

Dancing

Meditation

Side Arms

Hand Cannons

Spending time with people

Drawing citizens of the Last City

Video Games

His Ship: Mayfly

Collecting every shader he can find

Collecting Gemstones

Collecting Sparrows and Skimmers.

His dislikes:

Hive

Bugs

Spicy and Bitter Stuff

Screams of Pain

Wasting Resources

Arc attacks

Raw Tomatoes

He had a strong silent type of demeanor, usually because he is listening to his music or focused on the battle. He'll open up if you offer food, a clone of your music for his collection, and his favorite drink at the Glimmer Glint Bar, which is a Sweet Wish Stasis, named after a famous Hunter who used Ahamkara-Stasis based weapons on their battles.

He had a secret nerdy when he's happy and philosophical side when he feels melancholy about the entire situation of the Earth.

If you talk to him about cats, music, food, weapons, or animals then he's ready to talk your ear off.

He's Pansexual, and a very tender lover. He knows which buttons to press, and loves seeing his partners reactions. From a cute moan to a squeal, it makes him feel warm when he hears his partner is being satisfied. If you treat him well, show some interest, and try to keep in contact often he'll stay loyal regardless of class or rank.

The only challenge you'll have when around him, is not dying from how critical Bun.3 gets when he's being himself.

[look-at-the-soul]

Peaky Blinders letter exchange

Arthur Shelby x Heaven

Letters master list

💌 So I’m beyond thrilled for this brilliant idea, @raincoffeeandfandoms thank you for creating this project I almost stick to the deadline… not going to lie it was quite a challenge since I’ve never wrote for other than Tommy, but just as in life, I’m always up for a challenge 😉

The first letter was written by @call-sign-shark as the OC, Heaven 🤍 I have to admit this letter made me dream about their encounter, the response as Arthur was written by me, I hope you enjoy!

Summary: After S3c Heaven and Arthur live a peaceful and happy life in their house in the forrest and they are trying for a child. But when Arthur got the mafia’s black hand, he came back to Small Heath. At first he asked his wife not to come to protect her, but their love is so strong, so drug-like, that they kinda withered without each other. So she decides to join him no matter the danger of Changretta’s threats. Arthur receives the letter the day Tommy told him everyone should stick together for safety reasons.

*****

Mon amour, Bleak Winter and brass knuckles, My heart burns in the steel Of your saddened eyes. Night fell upon the city and I’m alone in our house, our big dog lying at my feet and flickering candle lights as sole company. As I watched the moonlight and stars, I felt the urge to write down these words for my heart aches with your absence. I know you asked me to stay away from Small Heath until things are better with Luca Changretta, but I’m becoming crazy between these walls. I can’t stand the idea of you risking your life and not being able to take you in my arms at night to give you comfort, nor to wash away the blood from your face and hands. Admittedly, it sounds like I am writing this in pure emotions and I am pretty sure that’s what Thomas will say, but I have thought the matters for nights and days before taking this decision: I am coming back to Small Heath, and we will fight as we have always done since we have met: together. As long as you’re with me, I know that nothing can happen — and if Death brings its cold and bony fingers around my neck, know that I’ll forever be by your side. But Arthur, I can’t go on without you. Each day without your presence is not worth living: I would rather hold your hand and bath in blood with you than being locked up away from you, safe but decaying. As I impatiently wait for our “retrouvailles” in three days, I keep brushing the golden ring your offered me with the tips of my fingers. Your gravel voice still echoes in my head, the words of your proposal bringing me comfort in my darkest and coldest nights. I remember how pained you looked when Tommy told us to wait for this gang war to be over before getting married but I think this is not a good idea. Quite the contrary, this is one rule we should disobey. Even in the midst of battle, I am ready to wear my white dress and deliver my vows, flowers crowns on my head and razor blade in my hand. If sky fall apart and hell breaks loose, at least we’ll leave this world as husband and wife — but don’t get me wrong, I am pretty sure no one will make you bow. Don’t forget that you’re a strong man. Stronger than you can imagine, stronger than everyone thinks. I believe in you, and always will. In the meantime, keep me in your heart and I promise I’ll soon be in your arms, Forever yours, Your angel Heaven.

-

My dear Heaven,

There’s no more room for sadness for me since the day you walked into my life. Last night I had a dream, it was already dark and I was sitting alone, you suddenly appeared out of nowhere and everything changed; it was a sunny day and we were walking hand in hand around the forest that surrounds our home. I just wish it could be true and you could be by my side, you can’t even imagine how much I dream of you…. Finding your letter early today gave me peace, but the day has been a fucking nightmare and I just got the chance to answer your words in the middle of the night. How I wish it was me lying next to you, feeling your warm body calming my busy mind. Don’t let out dog get used to it, though as I intend to take my spot back once this war is over. If only you knew how much your love means to me… you saved me from the darkness. It’s been lonely nights without you darling, but the sacrifice will be worth it, we will be able to go back to our routine and start the family your heart desires, but your love is giving me the strength I need at this moment, that’s what keeps me going. I need you to stay away from this mess, that’s the only way I have to protect you. Oh no, you bloody what?! Heaven, love that’s the craziest idea, I miss you so much yes, but there’s no way I can put you in danger, Small Heath isn’t a good idea right now… and please don’t even think about it, I’d never let anything bad happen to you. But as I know, once you make a decision there’s no way to convince you otherwise, so just let me make adjustments and prepare the way you’ll get in so it’s the safest, at least give me that peace eh? I cannot wait until we get married, but again if you already decided you don’t want to wait, we’ll do it right away. You’ll be the prettiest bride, you’ll look like an angel…and later after all of this passes we’ll have a bloody big celebration. Don’t worry about Tommy, he’ll understand. Your words mean so much, I treasure it so close to me heart my dear. I’m looking forward to our “retrouvailles”. I just know having you close will give me peace. Always in my head and heart soon to be Heaven Shelby. Always yours, AS.

****

Tag list:

@runnning-outof-time @call-sign-shark @shelbydelrey @raincoffeeandfandoms @there-goes-thefighter @dandelionprints @zablife @cljordan-imperium

I don’t know if you read for Arthur, if not that’s okay!

@lyarr24 @esposadomd @elenavampire21 @stevie75 @babaohhhriley @fastfan @forgottenpeakywriter @mrkdvidal1989 @shaddixlife @moral-terpitude @pono-pura-vida @ange-thoughts @onlydeadcells @lespendy @sloanexx

[sapphire-writes]

Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Baratheon OC

Summary: Elyse receives an invitation and must decide what it is she wants most in this world.

Warnings: Aegon being Aegon 😬

previous chapter, next chapter

Chapter 9: The Invitation

My dearest, Elyse,

The days grow colder here on Dragonstone. The nights seem endless, it seems winter is truly coming at last. It makes me think of you and our summer childhood. How lucky were we to grow up under the warm summer sun? Lady Baela and I are to wed a moon from now. If you are still frequenting King’s Landing during that time, I would be honored to have you visit Dragonstone to attend. I have missed your presence in all earnest. I understand you have a suitor in Lord Maceon Tyrell. A fine choice, should you accept. Highgarden would greatly suit you. 

Lucerys and Joffrey send their love, as do Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena.

I do hope to see your face soon.

Ever yours,

Jacaerys Velaryon

The last of the dragon’s breath had withered and wilted, ruby kisses pressed against the stone floor of Jaehaera’s bedchamber. 

The young princess had taken to collecting the petals and pressing them between the pages of the books Elyse had read to her. If Elyse had thought she enjoyed the flowers in full bloom, it appeared Jaehaera was even more impressed as they began to decay. 

She held her hand out, a scarlet petal presented to Elyse, who smiled at her over her letter from Jace.  

“It is lovely,” she told her and Jaehaera closed her small fingers around it, crushing the petal.

Helaena sat across the room, rocking Maelor’s cradle with her foot. She smiled as she heard Elyse talking to her daughter. 

Elyse sat on the floor, cross-legged, with another scroll atop her lap, that was sealed with a golden rose. Helaena’s eyes flickered from the scroll to her friend’s face. 

Grand Maester Orwyle had delivered the letter personally, a knowing smile on his face. The Red Keep had been abuzz with chatter about Elyse Baratheon’s suitor. 

She had heard several stories from the other ladies of court, whispers of gossip about Lord Maceon Tyrell. What a romantic man he was, how he enjoyed singing. How the Baratheon and the Tyrell would not only be a great alliance but a pleasing match together at that. 

“What says my nephew?” Helaena asked. She had always been fond of Jace. 

Elyse smiled.

“He wishes my attendance at his wedding if you can believe that,” Elyse said to her friend. 

Helaena only smiled, returning to Maelor. 

“Ever the gentlemen, Jacaerys Velaryon,” she mused. Elyse chuckled in agreement, folding the letter and placing it in the pocket of her skirt, not moving the second letter. 

“You’ll have to open it sooner or later,” Helaena called to her. 

Elyse looked at her friend, swallowing the lump that began to form in her throat. Helaena cocked an eyebrow. 

“Perhaps if I do not, nothing shall change.”

Elyse wished desperately this could be true. She wanted nothing more than to sit on the floor with Jaehara, listen to Helaena’s soft coos to baby Maelor, and wait for winter to come. 

“So many thorns,” Helaena murmured, staring at her baby in the cradle.

Elyse looked down at the scroll on her skirt. 

She did not want to cry, but she felt a terrible pain in her chest over her heart. She tore the letter open. 

My lady, Elyse,

Receiving your letter has brought me a tremendous feeling of joy. Though I feared it was too extravagant, it pleases me that you enjoyed the array of flowers. You deserve nothing less. I wish to be forward with you, as I am planning to send word to your father proposing a betrothal between us. With his blessing, I shall unite our houses and invite you to journey swiftly to Highgarden where we will become one before the gods. I look forward to your presence among the blossoms. I feel the Reach will suit you elegantly. 

Yours,

Lord Maceon Tyrell

Elyse felt her heart drop. Jaehaera dropped several dragon’s breath petals on the parchment, obscuring the words. The small Targaryen child stared at Elyse as though she knew exactly what the letter had said and what it meant. 

“Well?” Helaena asked, as though she already knew. 

“He wishes me to join him at Highgarden,” Elyse began, “he intends on writing to my father for his blessing.”

Helaena stopped rocking the cradle. She rose from her seat and joined her companion on the floor, taking Elyse’s wrists into her hands. Her violet eyes were wide.

“And what do you wish for?” she asked, lavender eyes staring intently at Elyse. 

A raven from Highgarden to Storm’s End. A few days at most and it would arrive. Lord Borros was not one to frequently check his mail, which would give her a few more days if she were lucky. A few more days to do what, she did not know. Ponder the idea of becoming the lady of Highgarden? A feat eligible maidens would happily grapple for. 

Elyse wished Helaena would take her on Dreamfyre. She wished she could brave the blue she-dragon and fly across the narrow sea to feast on lemon cakes and wine. To lay in the sun of the free cities. To gorge herself on history, art, and any other pleasures the known world had to offer. She wanted-

“It does not matter what I wish,” Elyse said before her thoughts could run completely wild, breaking eye contact with Helaena. 

“It does,” Helaena insisted, knowing her friend. 

“What else am I to do?” Elyse said desperately. 

Helaena released Elyse’s wrists, sitting back atop her heels. 

Queen Alicent entered the chambers suddenly, green skirts sending a wave of red petals scattering in different directions. Jaehaera clapped but remained unsmiling. 

“Mother,” Helaena said as Alicent assessed the two ladies on the floor. 

“What are you doing, my loves?” Alicent asked, approaching them.

Helaena looked towards Elyse. 

“I have been invited to Highgarden,” Elyse told the Queen.

Alicent’s eyebrows shot up and she brought a hand to her chest, fingers grazing the star of the Seven that lay against the hollow of her throat. She stretched her other hand out towards Elyse who took it, standing. Elyse passed the scroll into Alicent’s hand. 

“Oh my darling,” Alicent said, a look of happiness on her face as she read, “such wonderful news.” 

Elyse forced a smile for her adopted mother. 

“We shall celebrate tomorrow night, while we sup,” Alicent assured her and Elyse felt her eyes widen. 

“Truly there is no need-”

“Nonsense,” Alicent said, her tone insistent. “This is a blessing from the Maiden and we shall treat it as such.”

Elyse swallowed her nerves. 

Alicent’s eyes were kind. 

“You have been a second daughter to me. It pains me greatly to think of you leaving. Though I want nothing but happiness for you, my dove.” Alicent told her, a sad smile on her face. Elyse’s heart ached. 

Alicent watched the tearful lady in front of her, seeing so much of herself in the dark-haired beauty. 

“My family hails from the Reach as you know, and Daeron still resides in Oldtown. We must visit Highgarden when you are wed,” Alicent promised, brushing the hair out of Elyse’s face. 

Elyse felt her tears about to spill over her cheeks. 

“Will father be joining us?” Helaena asked, causing Alicent to cast her gaze toward the floor. King Viserys had not risen from his bed since the departure of Princess Rhaenyra several moons ago. Elyse had helped Helaena bring the twins and baby Maelor to see him recently and his condition seemed to have worsened.

“He is not well, my love,” Alicent told her, and Helaena’s mouth formed a tight pout. 

Dinner was a quiet affair in the Queen’s chambers. The table was intimately small, full of plates of meat, fruits, and bread. The room was aglow with hundreds of candles. Even Aegon had joined to see her off apparently. 

Elyse was to be shipped off to the Reach on the morrow. Queen Alicent had a carriage arranged to escort her there, along with several gold cloaks. The journey would take her around eighteen days to complete. It was all but confirmed that Lord Borros would accept the betrothal, and when he did his daughter would already be in Highgarden awaiting to be wed. 

Aemond did not look at her. The entirety of dinner she tried to catch his eye. The avoidance of his gaze was unforgiving. 

Though his face revealed nothing, Aemond was seething under the surface. The blood of the dragon boiled in his veins at the thought of that pathetic flower lord taking Elyse to his wife. Jealousy seared through him at the thought of them together. The whispers he had heard throughout court. Such a handsome pair they would make, lords and ladies had crooned. The doe and the rose. 

Elyse started at the side of his head, hoping Aemond could feel her eyes on him. 

Part of her was thankful Aemond would not meet her eyes, lest it reminds her of the pleasure she claimed at the thought of him several nights past. Her cheeks reddened as she remembered. 

Queen Alicent later excused herself though dinner was not yet finished. A servant had brought word that King Viserys had been asking for her in his delirium. She excused herself with haste.

“I shall make sure to see you off personally, at dawn,” she had told Elyse, stroking her hair.

It was just the four of them left. What an odd bunch they were, three silver-crowned royals and a midnight lady. It felt odd to Elyse, that they were all grown. She wished to retreat into her childhood and rest there for the night. 

“I will say,” Aegon said, breaking the silence, a cheeky grin on his face. His face was red from the Arbor gold in his cup. One of several he had consumed over the course of the evening.

“I shall miss that pretty face among the hens of the Keep.”

Elyse shifted her jaw, biting her tongue. She missed the days when Aegon’s jests were easier to stomach. He seemed braver when his mother was out of the room as well. 

Aemond’s fingers tapped the table incessantly, eyepatch towards Elyse. 

Aegon downed the remainder of his chalice, letting the cup land on the table, wobbling slightly with the force of his release. He leaned forward on his elbows, resting his face on his fingers. Helaena examined a spoon closely, peering into the distorted mirror image of herself. 

“I wonder if you’ll accept a parting gift from a young prince?” he asked, eyes glassy.

Elyse’s eyes flickered toward Aemond. The one-eyed prince said nothing. Helaena stared deeply into her spoon. 

“There is a dragon caught in a storm,” she murmured under her breath. 

“A gift, my prince?” Elyse answered, determined to not let her voice shake. Something about Aegon’s leering had always gotten under her skin. Aegon smiled at her. 

“What sort of gift?”

“Flowers wilt in the rain, ruined by gnashing teeth,” Helaena whispered.

“Take me to your chambers and I’ll happily show you.”

Elyse's heartbeat quickened, and her hands curled into fists in her lap. Do not offend him, she begged herself. Elyse could feel her blood boiling but she would not lose her temper. He would not get that satisfaction from her. 

She was angry and embarrassed and clearly very alone. Helaena was in her own world mumbling about dragons in storms, and Aemond wanted nothing to do with her. She forced a tight smile. 

“That is a very generous offer, my prince. But the hour is late. I must rest before the long journey.”

Aegon chuckled darkly, leaning back in his chair causing the wood to creak. 

“My cock works better than dreamwine, tastes better too.”

“Careful, brother,” Aemond spoke harshly for the first time that evening. 

“You are speaking to a noble lady.”

Elyse felt her heart sing with his words. Aegon’s eyes flickered between Aemond and Elyse. His smile only grew, as though he had uncovered a secret. He began to giggle and clapped his hands together, leaning back in his chair. 

“Has she already had a taste of Targaryen cock, then?” 

Aemond pushed back his chair and stood with impressive speed. He grabbed Aegon by the collar, yanking him out of his seat. 

“You always were selfish brother, no matter how generous I was with my wh-” Aegon was cut off as Aemond lifted him into the air before slamming him down onto the table on his back. 

Helaena cried out, placing her hands over her ears, spoon forgotten. Elyse had pushed herself backward in her seat, eyes wide. Both ladies shouted Aemond’s name. Aegon’s maniacal laughter continued. 

“You are a swine,” Aemond said through his teeth, anger rolling off his tensed shoulders. 

Aegon responded with a noise that sounded uncannily like the squealing of a pig. 

“Brother,” Helaena begged, and Aemond released him, backing away from the table and rubbing his hand over his jaw. His only regret was upsetting his sweet sister. 

Aegon laughed some more, rolling on the table until he slipped off the edge, cups, and cutlery spilling to the floor, clanging off the stones. 

“You always were a gentleman,” Aegon mused from the floor. Aemond glared at his brother, a murderous expression on his face. 

“I doubt you fucked her, even if she spread her le-” it was Elyse who cut him off this time, though Aemond released a roar ready to attack his elder brother again.

“That’s enough, Aegon!” she shouted, unsure if her face was red from embarrassment or anger. 

Aemond looked at her for the first time that evening. She had risen from her seat. Elyse’s chest and face were flushed, brow furrowed in anger, teeth bared looking more so the role of a predator than prey. Storm clouds seemed to gather in her blue eyes. Her small hands were clenched into fists by her sides. 

Aemond wondered if Elenei was under her skirts, waiting for the chance to be unsheathed. Princeslayer, she could become. Aemond would kneel before her to clean her blade with his tongue.  

Aegon clashed his teeth together, the sound of an empty bite filling the room. Helaena shook her head, putting a hand to her mouth and chewing the skin around her thumb. 

“Such fury,” Aegon mocked, and Elyse started towards him. It was as if they were children again. Elyse lost all sense of status. Aegon was simply a bully. 

“I see why you enjoy her, brother,” he continued as Elyse brought her foot down upon his forearm. Aegon cried out at the pressure she applied, but the smile never left his face. 

“I said, enough,” Elyse hissed, and the prince moved to grab her ankle. Aemond was quicker, sending a swift kick to his ribs. Only then did Aegon’s smile fade as he groaned with the impact of the blow. 

“It was all in good fun,” he groaned, clutching his side and writhing on the floor.  

“I wish you would hold your tongue,” Helaena spoke, moving to embrace Elyse.

“Such vulgar remarks, and on her last night here,” Helaena had tears in her eyes, her lower lip wobbling. Elyse consoled her companion, as Aegon coughed from the floor attempting to return to his feet.  

“You’re the ones who got so upset,” Aegon sneered, reaching for another cup. He raised the glass towards Elyse, scarlet liquid sloshing over the sides and onto the floor.

“Do not hesitate to call on me, Lady Elyse,” Aegon said, flinching as Aemond made a move to lunge at him. Aegon giggled maniacally and exited the room. Elyse’s stomach twisted as she could hear his laughter echoing throughout the corridor. 

Aemond waited a moment before huffing and following his brother’s leave. He did not say goodbye, nor did he spare Elyse a second glance. 

As Elyse left the Queen’s chambers to return to her quarters she felt that familiar hollow pain throb in her chest. 

She walked down the hall, feet leaving soft footsteps to echo throughout. She let her hand wander towards the wall to lazily trail over the rough stones. The walls she had walked all her life. Perhaps she could mesmerize the feeling of them in her fingertips. She feared she would forget the feeling, the scent of the wet stones. 

As she progressed further down the corridor she found herself wandering past the door of her bedchamber. She decided she was not ready for sleep. She didn’t want to dream. She didn’t want to lay in her bed, to claim her pleasure once again for a man who was not her betrothed. Her betrothed. 

Maceon Tyrell would soon be her lord husband. She didn’t know why her heart ached with the thought. He was kind, he had been sweet to her. He would be a good, gentle husband. She would be a beautiful lady among the flowers. Poets may write songs about her.

Her fingers hit wood. The door to the library. The altar she worshiped at, though she would never say that aloud as Septa Marla would scold her for her sacrilege. She opened the door and crept inside. 

Not a candle in sight. The library was lit by moonbeams that rained through the arched windows, the soft sound of parchment rustling in the cool night’s breeze. Elyse felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up, gooseflesh beginning to blossom with the chill. 

What was wrong with her? Why could she not be excited to journey to Highgarden? She felt as though she was failing at being a lady. She let her fingers dance over the spines of the books that lined the shelves. 

A heartbeat later the door behind her clicked open once more and Aemond Targaryen entered the library. She turned as he pressed the door closed. She could just make out the shape of him before he stepped towards her into the moonlight.

My prince,” she said, nodding towards the floor. He said nothing, standing in the moonlight. 

“The hour is late, I must retire to my chambers,” she told him when he did not speak. Aemond continued to be silent. 

“My prince?” she asked in a desperate plea. Aemond’s jaw twitched at her words, and his fingers flexed. 

“You are to be married soon, yet you still call so prettily to me,” he murmured and Elyse felt her mouth go dry. Even now, he would not cease his torment.

“What would your betrothed flower lord say?”

Elyse felt tears prick in her eyes and bit her lip to keep it from quivering.

“He is not my betrothed,” Elyse whispered, but Aemond clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“Can’t say that anymore.” 

“It is true,” Elyse insisted, but she felt foolish. Like a small child demanding to get her way. She could see Aemond’s tongue moving over his teeth. 

“The ravens fly for Storm’s End. Nothing to be done now,” Aemond said, reaching out to touch the fabric of her dress. 

“Unless of course, you plan to take my brother up on his offer.”

Elyse slapped him before she realized. Her eyes were wide, palm stinging. Aemond had barely moved from the blow. He turned his face back to her and his pupil was blown, nearly encompassing the violet entirely. He smiled lazily at her. 

“That is not the slight you intend it to be.”

Elyse raised her hand to strike him again. He caught her wrist, fingers wrapping around it entirely. Elyse scrunched her face in anger as she raised her other hand, only to be trapped again. Aemond pressed into her then, pushing her against the bookshelves. Hot, angry tears spilled down her cheeks. 

“Let me go.”

“No,” he said, face inches away from hers. He watched the tears roll down her cheeks, her chest rising and falling with her panting breath. He wished to lick the salty streams from her cheeks. 

“What do you want?” Elyse demanded, Aemond’s eye finding its way to her lips. “It is about time we stopped this dalliance.”

“I do not know what dalliance you speak of,” he answered. 

“You’re impossible,” Elyse told him, at her wit's end. 

Aemond flexed his fingers around her wrists, head cocking to the side. 

“You speak nonsense.”

Elyse cocked an eyebrow at him, an incredulous half-smile sliding on her face. She felt as though she had nothing to lose. 

“Do I? Perhaps I should invite Prince Aegon to my chambers after all then,” she goaded, causing Aemond’s grip on her wrists tightens, a growl rumbling low in his chest. Elyse was startled at his reaction, the primal rage in his eye. As though she belonged to him. As though she was his.

“Stop this game,” Elyse demanded, fearful of the passion in his eye. Of the way he looked at her even though she was destined to leave the capital at the break of day. 

“You talk as though you’ve played no part.”

Elyse’s cheeks darkened as she avoided his gaze. Aemond reveled in her reaction claiming a victory, his breeches feeling suddenly excruciatingly constricting. 

Aemond released the grip on her left wrist, letting his hand fall to her shoulder. His fingers dug painfully into her collarbone causing Elyse to release a breathy moan. Aemond felt his jaw slack at the sound. He leaned forward into her. 

“Have you not enjoyed it?” he taunted, his voice a seductive whisper. She could feel the sharp curve of his nose pressing into a sensitive spot below her ear. Elyse struggled to keep her composure, digging her fingers into his bicep. The hard muscle rippled under her touch.

The feeling of his thumb pressing into the dip of her throat made her head spin. She could feel his breath on her face and her hand that was still entrapped above her head curled into a fist. His teasing words made something deep within her flutter. 

“It is over then?” Elyse asked through her teeth. 

Aemond hummed, letting his hand ghost down the side of her breast following her ribs, down the curve of her waist until he reached her outer thigh. It took every ounce of self-control not to let her eyes roll into the back of her head. 

His large hand pressed into the meat of her thigh, she could feel the cool metal of Elenei’s handle dig into her. 

Aemond let out a breathless laugh as he felt the blade, before curling his fingers into her thigh hoisting her leg up against him, allowing himself more room to press himself closer to her. Ours is the fury indeed. 

Elyse choked out a breath with Aemond’s movement as he held her open against the shelves. Elyse bit down on her bottom lip hard enough to draw blood as he pressed his leg against her center, warmth pooling between her legs. Seven hells. 

“Unless you’d prefer to continue,” Aemond said, voice low and reverberating through his chest.

“Take me then,” Elyse challenged, unsure of where her sudden bravery had come from. Aemond met her gaze. 

“Take me to wife,” Elyse begged, her heart on display for him. Aemond watched her carefully, eye searching her face for any sense of falsehood in the statement. Aemond could sense ill intentions like a hound catches a scent. He found none in her pleading eyes. 

Suddenly, he released his grip on her, peeling his body from hers. Aemond took a step back and shook his head sharply as if waking himself from a dream. Elyse was trembling.

He had gone too far if she was speaking of leaving her flower lord. He looked at her and she was beautiful. Her hair was darker than the midnight sky and disheveled around her face. 

Doe-eyed and lips plush, waiting for him to kiss her. To ruin her. And he wanted to. Seven hells did he want to give himself to her. Aemond’s mind clawed to its last bit of sanity. 

“He shall make you happier than I ever could,” he told her, though it pained him to do so.

The silence between them lay heavy. 

“I do not believe that.”

He could have kissed her. Aemond instead bit his tongue. 

“Then you are a foolish girl.” 

Elyse flinched at the insult, his words slicing through her. She was suddenly a child again, reaching towards him as he pulled away yet again.

“Stop it.”

“A foolish child then.”

“And you are a coward.”

Aemond bared his teeth with rage but Elyse did not care. She was seething with anger. Never had she felt so used, so tormented to the point of exhaustion. She hated him. She despised him at the moment. He closed the space between them once more, nostrils flared with anger. Elyse kept her chin held high. 

“You’re a coward, Aemond Targaryen,” she hissed, hoping the words wounded him as much as he had hurt her. 

Aemond could see the pain behind the anger in her eyes. He did not deserve the affection she offered him. He swallowed a lump beginning to form in his throat. He would do her this kindness. 

“Go to the Reach, Elyse,” Aemond growled, his breath wafting over her face making her head spin once more. 

“I shall.” 

“Become another flower for his collection.”

“Better his flower than your….,” she said through her teeth, not finishing her sentence. She did not know what she was to him.

The dragon and the doe held each other’s gaze. 

“Then go,” he hissed, and Elyse pushed past him leaving the library. 

Aemond stood in the moonlight for several moments after Elyse had fled. 

Hot tears flowed down Elyse’s face as she blindly threw herself into her chambers. 

She grabbed the chair at her desk for some stability and reached for the scroll on her desk. She tore it wildly, eviscerating any evidence that Lord Maceon had written to her at all. 

Aemond did not want her. Not in any way that mattered. The rejection stung Elyse’s heart, it felt more painful and rawer than when Jace became betrothed. 

Elyse found sleep deep into the dead of night when it seemed she was unable to cry any longer. 

Somewhere across King’s Landing, the mournful lament of a dragon filled the starry sky.

As the hour of the wolf came, the Red Keep was silent with the promise of many changes hanging in the air. 

Queen Alicent had just left her husband to return to her own chambers when with a final breath, King Viserys I departed the known world with the Stranger. 

Read more on AO3

[anniesocsandgeneralstore]

the rise of sira | sci-fi!rhett x oc

Summary: Sira, a planet in the Far Reaches of the known galaxy. With a plethora of natural resources, the planet has been fought over and ruled by warlords, pirate kings, galactic empires, star princes, and the Order of the Nine. Over the last millennia, the people of the planet have grown restless. Tired of their oppression and the occupation of their lands. A rebellion has risen up, fighting against the Order for over 200 years. But has the long and good fight been all for naught? (wc: 3962)

Requested: YES by @dancinginsepia

Warnings: made-up sci-fi lore, flashbacks, grumpy rhett abbott w/ a bionic arm, violence, angst, whump, gore, injury, cliffhanger

✎……MASTERLIST

✎……listen, i don't know what this is as much as you don't know what this is. it came out of nowhere, but the prompt just really inspired me and i cranked this out in like four hours. so here we are. please please PLEASE come into my askbox or my dms to talk about this one cause i am plagued by Thoughts and dare i say Thots of them. i hope you all like this as much as i do &lt;3

Rhett ripped off his helmet and shook out his hair, drops of sweat falling onto his shoulders as he surveyed the battlefield.

The fight was over, that much was certain. Golden grains of wheat and whey flattened to the ground — off in the distance, some of the crop still stood. Mangled bodies of mechs and alien guts covered the earth like a blanket. Whoever was left of their forces gathered  the wounded, beginning to shepherd them back to base. It had been a long fight, but a rewarding one. The Order’s battalion had been defeated at long last. It nearly brought a smile to Rhett’s scarred face. But he couldn’t celebrate. Not yet. Not when their fighters were still out on the field and the Order could very well command an airstrike at any minute. Bombing whoever was left into a million pieces before they could even regroup. Before news of their victory could even travel back to their people. 

He had seen it happen before. Joy and a moment’s peace ripped away so suddenly. Good people — friends — lost. 

But there was really only one person he cared about now. 

Rhett stepped into the medical hut with a huff, pulling back the heavy curtain and letting it fall behind him. He didn’t think he needed to be there, but his commander insisted. His arm wasn’t working right again. Twitching and spasming. Don’t want that happening out in the field, his commander had said, Should be some specialist in medical.

It was dimly lit inside the hut. Lamps turned down low and some incense burning to cover the smell of death and decay. It wasn’t really working. In the main room, there were ten beds lined up in a tight row along one wall. Injuries or illnessses nearly healed, ready to head out the door. A few medics milled amongst the beds, changing out cups of water and bringing food or fresh bandages. Further back, he could hear wailing and coughing and medics talking quietly but hurriedly with one another. Rhett gripped at his left arm, all metal and screws. The last time he was in a place like this was when he lost the real one. The flesh and blood. Replaced with something that still didn’t feel like his own — just so he could keep going. Like the good soldier he was. 

He could still feel the pain. All consuming, a fire and a flood. He could still see the hanging bits of flesh, the dripping, pouring, blood. The question about where his friend was on the tip of his tongue before he passed out from it all. He felt the metal fingers of his left hand twitch of their own volition.

“Captain Abbott,” a medic said as they approached, a ramshackle data tablet in their hand. “Do you need help?”

Rhett let go of himself and straightened his shoulders as he grumbled out, “Arm’s actin’ up.”

“Oh — of course, um — I-I’ll go get Tessa. She’s our new bionics specialist, just arrived last night,” the medic replied quickly. 

“Y’always talk when y’re nervous?” he asked quietly as he narrowed his eyes at them. 

The medic gulped then looked sharply down, cheeks darkening. “Just wait here.”

Rhett grunted as they turned on their heels and walked away. A soldier from one of the beds stiffled a laugh. Another whistled awkwardly. He knew his reputation around base. And he liked it that way. It kept people at a distance, arm’s length, close enough for him to trust with his life but far enough away that he didn’t mourn when they got blown to pieces.

He pushed a hand through his long hair and leaned back against the wall. How long was this going to take?

A minute later, one of the curtains at the far back of the hut was pulled open and a small woman stepped out. She was still shrugging on her coveralls overtop a skin tight undershirt, she didn’t bother zipping it up the rest of her chest as she picked up a spare data tablet from a table she passed and kept on walking. She looked frazzled. Light brown hair pulled back but messy, dark circles under her eyes. Her pink mouth downturned in a thoughtful frown as she messed with the tablet and walked. 

In another life, Rhett would have thought she was pretty. 

She came to a halt only a few steps in front of him, eyebrow quirking triumphantly when the data tablet finally showed her what she was looking for. Through the translucent screen, he could see it was his file. Then she looked up at him. It nearly shocked him how brilliant blue her eyes were, like so many oceans on Sira he had flown over on his way to recon missions and battles. Infinite and calm — but holding some danger he could never understand. 

But there was something else in her eyes that he couldn’t quite place. A softness that he hadn’t seen since he was a boy. 

“Captain Abbott?” she questioned as she looked him directly in the face, unafraid.

He grunted. She grinned. It made the dark circles under her eyes seem less prominent.

“Come with me then,” she said, turning, and he pushed away from the wall to follow. “Still settin’ up my workstation — but she’s enough to check y’r arm out.” 

Rhett didn’t reply, and she didn’t say anything more. They ducked back under the curtained doorway she appeared out of. It led to what appeared to be a small break area. A table with playing cards and a set of shelves with mugs and a coffee maker, dried portion packs stacked up in rows. No one was in there now. She led them across the room to the door in the far back, with the swipe of her keycard the metal door slid open and she stepped inside. Rhett followed in after her.

There was natural light in this room. The high set window open, letting in the autumn breeze. A cot was shoved into one corner, blankets haphazardly tossed aside and pillows askew. Boxes were strewn about all over the floor. A large desk took up an entire wall, there were already mechanical parts, tools,  and blueprints laid out on it. 

“Learnin’ somethin’ about me, Captain?” she asked with a coy smile as she sat down on a rolling stool in front of the desk, setting down the tablet as she went. 

Rhett felt his cheeks heat up in the slightest at being caught. “You’re right. Still settin’ up y’r stuff.”

She cocked her head, messy bun flopping to one side as she narrowed her eyes at him and patted the stool across from her. “You from Obrana? Wabang?”

“Wabang…How’d you know?” he replied slowly as he lowered himself into the stool.

“S’the way you talk.” She gestured at her own mouth, picked up the tablet again and scooted herself closer. “I’m from there too.” 

Rhett felt his heart clench, his chest tighten. He didn’t think there was anyone left. Last time he heard, Wabang was raised to the ground. Nothing but ash and rubble and charred bones. Part of him itched to know more. But the other part of him just wanted to get this over with. Take a step or even several steps back. Most people on base didn’t even know what part of Sira he was from. People had asked, but he refused to answer, and they learned not to. 

Why had it been so easy for him to hand over that information to a complete stranger now?

“So, says here, that you got the arm three years ago. Shoulder socket down. Replacement after a battlefield explosion, that correct?” She looked up at him from the tablet. 

He nodded. Tried not to linger on the images of metal hiding in dirt and his friend’s surprised, accepting face. The hand pushed to his chest to get him further back. 

“Okay. What seems to be the problem?”

Rhett raised his left arm, looked towards it with disdain. “Hand won’t stop twitchin’.”

As if on cue, his digits flexed. She cocked her head curiously. 

“Did you have a twitch in that hand before?” she asked.

“No. Why?”

She shrugged. “The parts may be different, but the brain remembers n’can send electrical signals to the hand.”

“I’ve always had steady hands.”

“M’sure you have, Captain.”

There she went, pulling information from him so easily with a smile like they shared some secret. Rhett clenched his jaw and looked away from her.

She reached for his arm, but pulled back at the last second. “Mind if I take a look?” 

“Go for it,” he answered, staring down at his right hand, cinched in a fist. 

Getting up from her stool, she took another step closer to him, nearly between his spread legs. Rhett straightened his spine to create some distance between them. But it was no use, she didn’t seem to mind at all, as she gripped his left arm with both hands. One of them ghosted up the metal plating and cables along the outside, the built in sensors screaming at him at such a delicate and new touch. When she reached his shoulder, around at his back, she pressed the release and his arm popped out of the artificial socket it was housed in. The arm now firmly in her grasp, she stepped back from him and set it down gently on her workbench.

Rhett hated taking his arm off. It left him feeling like a piece was missing. Like he was incomplete. Unbalanced. He didn’t dare look over at his left side, eyes trained on her as she worked.

As she grabbed her goggles from one of the hooks on the wall and slid them over her eyes. A small tool already perched delicately in her small hand. She looked in her element. Confident and assured. Her movements were swift and precise as she used the electrified tool to test the delicate sensors, artificial muscles, tendons, and nerves. Starting at the elbow and working her way down. 

“So…” She glanced over at him from beneath her goggles, blue eyes nearly ten times larger under the magnifying lens. “How’d you end up here from Wabang? Don’meet many of us these days…”

His story was on the tip of his tongue. Ready to burst out of him after years and years of keeping it locked in a vault somewhere deep in the shadows of his chest. But he bit it back with a grimace. “That’s none of y’r business.” 

She laughed, quiet and fleeting, but it sounded beautiful. A reprieve. 

“Fair. I don’mind tellin’ you how I got here though. If y’r just gonna sit there while I do this.”

“Great.” Rhett popped his jaw to one side and tried not to roll his eyes. 

“Oh, don’t sound so excited, Captain. Someone’s gonna think y’r a real chatterbox,” she replied with a smirk. 

He scoffed, feeling a laugh bubbling away somewhere in his chest. “I could just leave.”

“Course you can. But you won’t.” 

“How d’you know that?”

She shrugged, moved on to the next piece of his arm. “‘Cause…Y’don’t want people t’see ya weak…No offense.” 

Rhett glanced over at his left side. Where he felt there should be something but there was currently nothing. His teeth grinded together as he stared down at her booted feet propped up on the footrest of her stool. Knowing that his silence was answer enough for her. She was right. One of her booted feet tapped against the metal for a second, and then — 

“M’sorry,” she sighed, lifting her goggles and turning to face him. He looked up into her face, and there was that softness again. “I shouldn’t have said that. I just…If you don’t want me to talk, I won’t. It’s been a long time since I’ve met someone from home, s’all.”

After a moment of looking at him, she went back to her work. The consistent small electric buzz and the distant sounds of the clinic the only things filling the silence.

It had been three years since Rhett met someone else from Wabang. Everyone he knew was either killed in the war or when the Order burned the place to the ground. Everyone who was left was scattered to the far corners of Sira. And he knew there couldn’t be many of them. The village was small to begin with. Just a group of farms and not much else. He barely remembered his time there anymore. Part of him wondered if that was by some purposeful design on his part. Or the only gift his years of war had given him. 

He looked at the side of her face. He knew the other medic said her name, but he couldn’t remember what it was now. Thinking it held no real importance to him. She was hunched over the workbench, tongue poking out between her teeth as she worked. The goggles masked most of her profile, but he could still see the easy slope of her nose. The delicate curve of her chin. The light scar on the edge of her jaw. 

How did she get that? How did she…End up here? On this rebel base of all places? They were hidden all over Sira, in every corner and region of the planet. Yet she ended up at the same one as him. Someone else from the same village that had been gone for over a year. 

Rhett found he was opening his mouth before he could stop himself: “Talk.”

“What?” she looked over at him with those magnified eyes, brow clearly furrowed beneath the goggles. 

“T-Tell y’r story, I mean…” he trailed off quietly, adjusting in his seat. 

She grinned like she had some joke at the ready but chose to keep it to herself. For that Rhett was thankful. He knew his people skills were rusty, but Maker. 

“I grew up on a Falcora ranch. Family raised ‘em for ridin’ and workin’ all over, not just in Wabang. My family…My dad…Tried to do everything by the Order’s rules so we could keep our land and keep our lives, but — he just couldn’t take it anymore. They-They ordered our ranch to supply Falcoras for their battalions, to use against the rebellion. Either we complied or they’d take ‘em by force. 

“My dad refused, so one day one of the Order’s drop ships came. I’ll never forget it. Big metal box with that symbol on the side in red. Soldiers came out and my mom — my mom grabbed me and my sisters n’hid us under the dining room floor. Didn’t even know that hole was there ‘till I was in it.” She glanced over at him and smiled sadly. “Heard the banging. The blaster fire. The screaming. Felt like we were down there for hours. Just…Listening. When it was finally quiet we came out of hiding. All the Falcoras were gone. Barns burned. Mom and Dad…”

She trailed off, took a shaking breath and swallowed hard.

“I — I remember hearin’ about that,” Rhett spoke quietly and low, she turned to look at him sharply. “Abernathy…Right?”

“Yeah, that was us.” She turned back to her work, lips pressed into a thin line. “I was only ten…My oldest sister decided we should go to the Sapphire Sisterhood. At least until we were of age.” 

He stiffened. “Those Order supportering religious zealots?”

“I never said she was smart. And I was too young to understand any of it. So I went along. The Sisters were cruel and I left as soon as I could. Barely sixteen. Went to Neo City and joined the Academy. Learned all about bionics and medicine and…About the Order and the Rebellion. I got recruited three years ago, at the end of my studies. Been bouncing around bases ever since.” 

“Y’r sisters? What about them?” 

This seemed to give her pause, a kind of sadness taking over her that Rhett could nearly see. “Rachel stayed with the Sisterhood. Shiloh…I don’t know where she is.” 

“M’sorry.” 

She only hummed in reply and said nothing more. She was testing down at the wrist now. Poking at all the various cables and metal mesh that acted as tendons and muscle. But when she pressed her tool into the center of the wrist, the hand twitched.

“Oh! There we go!” she exclaimed as she did it again, all the fingers clenching and unclenching as the electricity was applied. She set down her tool and inspected the area further. “Looks like you need a new transverse carpal ligament cable. Your current one is pretty much shot to shit.” 

“How?” he asked, eyebrows furrowed. “The thing’s supposed to be indestructible.” 

“Just normal wear and tear. You’ve had it for three years. Honestly surprised you haven’t needed maintenance before this.”

Getting up from her stool with a light groan, she opened up one of the many boxes scattered about and started digging through the contents. After a minute, she pulled out a bit of metal cable with a noise of success. 

“Knew I had one of these in here somewhere.” She sat back down with the new part and a few other tools. “Just gotta replace this, Captain, and you should be good to go.”

“Rhett.”

He didn’t even know he had said anything until he heard his own voice echo in his ears. It made his guts twist up in a knot, some heat prickle at his neck. He wanted to take it back. But he also wanted to hear her say it. Hear that voice of a stranger that also sounded so much like home say his name. His real name. Form those pretty pink lips around the words and hold onto it forever. The only person he’s ever allowed to call him that. 

“Rhett,” she repeated with a smile and it sounded like honey. “Suits you. I’m Tessa.” 

He spoke her name in a whisper to himself, determined to remember it this time. And he wasn’t even sure why. But he watched, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, as her cheeks became dusted with pink. He wanted to make her do that again. And again. And again.

Tessa finished the repair on his arm and popped it back into the socket. After a few tests to make sure everything was working properly, she led him back through the clinic to the front doorway. 

“If you have any more trouble, just let me know,” she said as she stepped through the thick curtain and out into the sun with him.

“I will.”

“See ya around, Rhett.”

Surveying the field one final time, Rhett put his lips together and whistled a tune. A simple four note thing, but one that carried on the wind easily across such an open place. It was a call. One that expected and anticipated a response. Rhett waited, breath held just in case that made him hear it better, for the responding whistle to come. The echo of that same four note tune.

But it didn’t come. 

Ice flooded his veins, froze his heart and let it sink into the pit of his gut as he scanned the battlefield yet again. He couldn’t see her either. Couldn’t pick her out amongst the other soldiers and medics who were quickly trying to gather those that they could. He swallowed down the panic as best he could as he shoved his helmet back onto his head. His viewfinder taking over his vision once more. 

“Search: Sergeant Tessa Abernathy.”

The viewfinder scanned the field for a second. Green lines going out in a grid, mapping the carnage and the trackers set into each rebel’s uniform before battle. 

Maker, she wasn’t even supposed to be here.

“Location acquired,” the robotic voice spoke in his ear as a marker for her location popped up. 

In the middle of the field, no other survivors around. Rhett took in a shaky breath as he moved forward. He whistled again as he got closer. 

But still, there was no echo.

A few months after Tessa’s arrival on base and her subsequent fixing of Captain Rhett Abbott’s arm, people began to notice things.

How the new bionic engineer sat next to one of the rebellion’s most famous soldiers and highest ranking officers at every meal. 

How Captain Abbott seemed to need a repair after every mission since her arrival. 

How Tessa would sometimes be escorted to his quarters after the sun went down and curfew was in action. 

How at victory celebrations, as few and far between as they were, the two of them seemed to be glued to one another's side.

Rhett kept repeating the whistle as he walked closer to her marker. Desperately. Brokenly. By the time he broke out into a run it was nothing more than a faint noise on his lips. 

She wasn’t going to respond. 

It felt like a rope was tied around his neck. Tighening and tightening the closer to her he became. He couldn’t feel his arms or legs but knew they were carrying him to her location. 

He threw off his helmet when her marker was only a few feet in front of him. 

And he could see her. 

Wearing a medics’ poncho because they had lost too many field medics and she stupidly volunteered to go. Despite his telling her not to. Despite him telling her to just go against orders and stay behind. But she was so stubborn. Always had to be. 

A giant pain in his ass and the sunshine of his entire life. 

Her face was pale, cheeks ashen. Eyes closed. 

The sun can’t go out. It just can’t. 

Rhett dropped to his knees at her side, uncaring of the bits of mech that dug into his flesh and cut his skin. Ripping off his gloves and tossing them uncaringly aside, he took her into his arms. Propped her up in his lap. Her head lolled to one side and he adjusted it to look up at him with one big hand to her cheek. Her skin was still warm. 

“Tess? Sunshine, you hear me?” he questioned quietly, afraid if he spoke any louder it would be a scream.

His eyes roamed her form for injuries. He didn’t find any until he got to her legs. Bile rose in his throat but he couldn’t. Her entire right leg was gone, blown off at the top of her thigh. Her left leg was missing below the knee. Both nothing more than charred stumps, like the end of a stick used to stoke a fire — coated in a thick layer of ash. It must have been one of those new fire bombs that the Order had been using as of late. Not caring that their own soldiers were killed with their use. Now that he looked around, many other bodies and bits that remained were burned black. The fires long put out.

A darkness consumed him. Weighed him down. It felt as if he would never rise from this earth. That he would stay here, with Tessa, as he should be. Forever. With a shaking breath, all hope draining from him like a plug had been pulled, his other hand slipped down to search for her pulse.

He gasped sharply. He clung to her tighter. 

Her pulse was weak, but it was there.

Bending down, he pressed his lips to her forehead, hard. Like that would embue her with some power to hang on. Just a little bit longer. 

“I’ve got you, sunshine, just hold on,” he whispered as he lifted her from the ground and started towards the transport that would take them back to base.

The sun can’t go out. It just can’t.

just tagging a few people who may be interesting, if you don't wanna be tagged in the future, just let me know! @arrthurpendragon @nerdysuperchick @bobfloydsbabe @crescentwolf @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @onebigfangirlworld @yanna-banana @blue-aconite @gigisimsonmars @laracrofted @a-reader-and-a-writer

[ecoamerica]

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!