#trashcollected

[ruinouss]

plotted starter with @trashcollected

Her mind had wandered far away from the vine latticed stone walls and black packed earth that created a sort of gilded cage for her. She hadn’t left the safety of the walls in quite a while and was beginning to go stir crazy. Prior to this position as a fake newly married Lady she was running wild, going where she pleased and doing what and who she wanted. But she understood her assignment would not be completed until the true Lady’s uncle and his forces were eradicated.

But it became increasingly difficult the longer she repressed her urges while having to listen to the Lord and the true Lady sing their carnal calls throughout the night. More times than not she rose to wander the secret passages or the grounds within her stoney prison to fantasize about the man at King’s Landing. There had been an undeniable connection that sparked a light within her, illuminating a reflection of who she truly was. She wanted to feel that familiar warmth course through her veins again and tell him the truth this time. An offer had been made to shelter him dare he try and rip away from the lioness’s grasp but dogs were loyal and she did not have the gold to compete. Still, what if?

Faye had made her toward the eastern gate when she heard the commotion, men — her guardsmen in fact, were ordering a large, cloaked figure to leave. Her heart palpitated, wondering if perhaps fantasy were to creep into reality. Unlikely but a girl could dream.

“What’s all this then?” She asked,straightening her posture to appear more regal than she felt.

“This man says he was invited! We weren’t informed of any guests.” One of them replied, a firm hand brandishing a well polished sword. She doubted it had ever bitten flesh or tasted blood before. And this was not the time for its first feast.

Placing a hand on his arm, she forced him to lower his weapon, allowing her to step closer to the stranger. Once more her heart skipped a beat, sending a flash flood of renewal through her veins. It was him! Try as he might, he could jot hide his appearance beneath the large hood. The charred and blackened skin easily gave him away to her. Sandor had left the lion’s den and found her once more. She wanted nothing but to grab his hand and drag him inside or better yet, take his hand and leave this place. The pair could easily survive on their own but she knew better. As much as she hated playing the part of a Lady she truly did want to help the true one.

“He was long ago by myself. It seems it just took him a while to arrive. Now let him pass,” she couldn’t peel her eyes away from Sandor.

Blood blooms stained his clothes and left her wondering if it was his or someone else’s. Likely a melody of both. A giddiness filled her at the thought of tending to his wounds. They could be alone in the infirmary; the servants sent away.

“I believe the Lord should be made aware first,” the second guard’s warning glance and tone burned away her thoughts like dragon’s breath. It was enough to cause her facade to falter, her own gaze becoming venomous enough to cause the young man to place his hand on the hilt of his blade. His brown eyes grew wide for a fraction of a second before he straightened back up, intricate metal armor clinked noisily as he repositioned himself. She couldn’t blame them for their wariness. Everyone within the walls were well trusted and aware she was merely a decoy. So them wanting to inform the Lord and Lady of her inviting an unknown guest was smart.

“The Lord will trust my faith in someone so you can run along and tell him but that will not stop me from bringing him in and tending to his wounds. This man can be trusted and will be under my watch,” Faye waved her had dismissively and the guards obeyed, stepping aside to allow Sandor in with soured faces. There was no doubt in her mind she would get a lecture about this but it was worth it to her.

She then waved for Sandor to come with her before turning on her heels to begin walking to the infirmary.

[suffcring]

@trashcollected from [x]

Ian has had... a long day, and his has only started, with the dimming of the sun in the sky. Werewolves do not govern themselves by daylight or night, only by the moon, but he has always found himself more nocturnally inclined.

Even when his hopes were dashed in the infectious bite of a beast, and he had become not the elegant creature he'd hoped for but a flea-bitten mutt.

Dark eyes roll like dusk against the ground, covering the sparse patches of weedy grass in a purple-gray hue, and he leans his mass against the keg he'd been rolling towards the back door, sighing.

"Then I'll think you're an asshole."

Everything seems so much effort these days, even shaking off jerks like this guy, sniffing around to ease their violent boredom as if his curse were something to pursue simply for funsies.

"Sorry to disappoint. I'm sure there's some other asshole in there more willing to pull your hair for you."

He can fight if he has to, can subdue even without thick fur as armor, teeth and claws. But he doesn't want to.

Ugh.

[ravarui]

Do you ship someone’s muses on your dash?

Questions for the mun Accepting @trashcollected

Do you ship someone's muses on your dash?

Oh absolutely! The most obvious are going to be @alyafae and @fortislumen. I may have no clue about the fandom, but I absolutely adore every interaction between their muses. I must admit I am biased when it comes to them, given I've known them since I first started RPing on this site. Then are there of course @partysbarmaid and @akagamiko. It always makes me happy to see their Shanks and Makino interactions, they are just so adorable 💕

And last but not least: @ppctts ships are also fantastic! Love seeing all her edits and posts in regards to her ships and shipping partners.

[1nm2]

@trashcollected raoul come on this man will live

Who’s he? The friend in school who always carried gum, Tylenol or Kleenex for somebody else. Pot-bellied, and cockroached by niggardly wages from the great liberals.

‘   I saw you watching this house at four in the morning. '

[ingolds]

@trashcollected. — this is all ancient history. i’m over it. ( kyle )

“ you know, ” theo begins, treading carefully, a hidden minefield beneath their feet. it's dangerous to make assumptions of people, and they have learned by now when to be bold and when to be subtle. ignoring their instincts is a shortcut to regret.

they scent steel, blood, a history that they aren't privy to. it isn't reassuring, but it doesn't stop them from speaking their mind, either.

“ people who say that often aren't over it. it's the same as insisting you don't care. aggressively insisting it doesn't matter to you is the same as admitting that it does. ” they study him from beneath the long fan of their lashes, lips in a thoughtful line. “ is that true for you, as well? ”

as said by kaidan alenko / accepting

[luminescenc1e]

There was a tremor in his hands now, one that he could no longer distinguish if it appeared due to his nerves or if was it the torture that had made it impossible to make his fingers stop twitching on their own. The bathroom mirror was unwelcome as he stood looking at the water that he was to wash his face with. Long silver strands of hair framed a face he no longer recognized. Lucius had hardly slept, his body felt beaten, each part aching in a different way if he dared move.

The only reason he had forced himself up from his bed, was to accompany Narcissa as some guests would arrive at the Manor for breakfast. Long brittle fingers moved under the surface of the water, wishing to submerge himself fully but having no longer the fake bravado to even pretend, to his own pathetic reflection that he would be capable of doing anything other than becoming another ghost, hardly any different to the portraits lining the walls, the same ones that now nagged far less, and looked and peeked when he would walk by, hushed worried voices that taunted him.

As soon as he was dressed, his cane in his hand, he made his way to the bedroom door, he needed to go down but his body refused to move. What horrors did await him today? What torture would he survive? Would he? A prisoner in his own home, brought down to beg and hope.

Turning the knob, the door revealed the hallway, to his left there would be the stairs that would lead him to the first floor and the dining area, but before he could take two steps, another crossed his path. “ You are not supposed to be on this floor. ” What bite and aggression he once had, was lost. His voice felt distant and alien, without any authority or conviction. It was as if someone else had spoken for him with a weak attempt at copying his voice.

@trashcollected liked for a plotted starter!

[malfaith]

@trashcollected / from here

Lucius's knuckles are white on his wand. "You are less use than my worthless house-elf." Lucius has never polished anything in his life, but it can't be that bad if Dobby can manage it in good time. "And that fool doesn't even have a wand." Too many things have gone wrong today: the menu had to be changed twice, Draco was lost track of, and one of the peacocks tried to eat a decorative fairy and nearly choked to death.

The only thing that makes him feel better is kicking Dobby whenever he sees him and tormenting the lackeys around him. Lucius looms over Wormtail with icy eyes. "I have so many more things to do in the next two hours, and you can't even polish silver on command. It's a miracle you can keep a grip on your wand." If this somehow goes horribly wrong, he's telling the Dark Lord it's Wormtail's fault. It's not as if it's difficult to believe.

[suffcring]

@trashcollected from [x]

He has done it; that which all of his brothers and even his father could not.

He has made contact with Lucifer.

The weight of the Morning Star's hand in his sandy brown hair, not yet shot through with gray as it would be, sends goosebumps up the Cardinal's back, across his freckled shoulders, hidden as they are under the red cassock. Copia isn't sure if it's the touch itself or what the touch could mean (ambition realized, finally, years of diligent work paid off) that's got him bricked up under the thick fabric he wears as a mark of his position within the Ministry, but he feels not unlike the time an older Sister of the Faith had taken his virginity at age nineteen.

Is he trembling?

(He is -- will Lucifer see this as a weakness, or the appropriate submission?)

"I--"

He hadn't expected to get this far; nobody has gotten this far. His tongue feels thick in his mouth, and he looks up wide-eyed at the manifestation of his chosen path with mismatched iris's.

"I, eh, fuck... Sorry, sorry, I did not think that--"

Oh, he sounds like an idiot. He is blowing this.

[bellzof]

@trashcollected for luci

𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐀 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 trying to take in & bask the energy that was illuminating from the other, their lord - their king. it was kind of unbearable for a moment, all they wanted to do was fly away but considering the amount of nonsense that was going on in hell & the moment seemed need a discussion of some kind. ( for such a powerful fiend that means the bearer of light seemed to be embellished, even in the depths of hell, he sure gave off NOTHING but light. ) beelz found themselves going someplace else when standing there while given a lecture. - the voice was soothing but the words were SPITEFUL.

[lifesliced]

yagami releases a smooth exhale of the breath he didn't realize he was holding. there is an easiness now in speaking with ryuk — it is so easy that it allows yagami to find all the things about ryuk that he ascertains are annoyances. there is a mental note that yagami makes in that moment — and the notes are stacking.

❝ you're being pretty presumptuous right now, ryuk. ❞

what ryuk is seeking from yagami is not what he can give. there is no hidden answer or complexities in the two things mentioned, though there are sure to be complexities somewhere in the fabric of what strings together yagami raito. he is, after all, only human, and he is as limited by this as anyone else.

the problem is that he's never met another human (a being) who's limitations match his own, pulled back cast only by the net of reality. yagami's reality just got a little bigger recently, thus his limitations have decreased. meeting ryuk was the start. that changed the look in his eyes. meeting L was the second. he looks at L for so long in the light / in the dark, seeing if he can find any patterns or changes. the look of a lover is an easy mistake, as would be a look of fondness, or a pondering over does he like me? no. the state of liking does not matter. yagami cannot look away from L, and it is not because of the great detective unusual, overtly eccentric mannerisms and ways of living, nor is it that he is the great detective (a modern sherlock holmes!). 

yagami has never had a rival before. this is the first time he has truly surveyed someone on his level, no more pretending.

it is inevitable that he would stare a little longer / a little harder. he wants to see the man for everything he is worth, and what that measures up by comparison. 

as for the way he folds his underwear, well, ❝ that's really none of your business, but i'll tell you anyways. it's just a habit. it's the way my mother folded them for me when i was a kid. i guess it stuck. a lot of things like that are common for humans. we always pick up things from one another, big or small. certain phrases we came into a friendship without, but left sticking in our vocabularly forever, even when you don't talk to them anymore. it's a bitter truth that a lot of people don't want to face, ryuk, and that is that we are all part of each other. so, that's why i fold my underwear like that. satisfied? ❞

@trashcollected // * cont.

[handicappedbuenchico]

🔆

On whatever deity exists in the ether, you're one of the people who shock me because you still actively want to interact with me and still are happy to see me on their dash. I think you were one of the only people I told about my insecurity, and you still stuck with me through all of that mental mess, so thank you from the bottom of my heart!

[muutosarchive]

🍓

☽𖤐☾ @𝐦𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐚 🍓 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐮! / @trashcollected

you're such a good writer, & the characters you bring to life are so awesome! it's the kind of love not usually given to those characters, & i really appreciate your taste. i'm so happy to know that we're back in touch, & that you're having fun writing here. i love our ships & our threads, i love when we do chat ooc. it's always lovely to hear from you, & see you on the dash, & i just think your characterizations are so so good! i can't wait for more interactions, hopefully for the foreseeable future!

[1nm2]

[ 𝐁𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐇 ] ― sender brushes receiver’s hair for Lady Van Tassel from Horseman @trashcollected

The window of their home not far from here had frosted in the haze of February snow. The haunt of her dearly unloved mother was that she wished she had had laborious-knuckled boy twins instead of girls, but this blew away in the cold gusts for if anything, food was scarce where they lived far away from the town.

Father had begged her to read the classics. But unlike Miriam, who always had a book in her hand, Mary had always been more practical. Now, she couldn’t go home; the stranger would follow. It would frighten everyone. His claws meld in her hair, smooth insertions like summer spring water slipping over stones. The sun glazes a mellow warmth over them, and nobody knew – nobody cared.

The comb sits in Mary’s palms. Just like how she answers the powerful hunger beating in her empty belly, she peels away some strands of blonde from it. The loose tangles curl and zig zag in her fingers, all the little ones shifting in the wind so finely as if grown without all the years of misery in the easy lives of all the angel children in town. Mary pushes them into her mouth, paper-dry on her tongue, and swallows.

She peers up at the man, ink-black like the sword holstered by his side. Would they like each other and want to be friends?

‘  They will never find you here.  ‘

Cold. Alone. They were the skins of onions left to rot, in the most forgotten place in the wilderness.  

[ingolds]

“ i’ll make them bleed for this. ” 🌕 blood related prompts

they've seen some oddities in their long, long life — least of all themselves, a man one minute and a beast the next. a man without a head is new to them, though. the unknown magic that moves his body and communicates his words to theo should probably make them nervous, should send trepidation dripping down their back to coil heavy and uncomfortable in their belly.

it doesn't. instead, theo wants to listen to him, and wants to know more.

“ i used to be like you. ” after they had reemerged from the wilderness, haggard and wild and just barely still human, the idea of vengeance had hung about them like a cloud. impossible to shake, theo had nearly taken up that mantle and hunted the people that had hurt them so deeply. with time, though, they had come to see the risk of such a mission. more death wouldn't bring anyone back. “ not anymore. violence may feel like a reward in the moment, but it won't achieve anything. you'll feel just as angry as you do now. ”

@trashcollected ( headless horseman )

[suffcring]

@trashcollected

"It is not going to work."

She does not know how further to press this upon him; Rabbit had explained the simplicity of her power, how she might hold power over the undead with a contractual offering of power and how such a thing was exchanged.

A kiss; like Prince Phillip with his boyish charm looming over Sleeping Beauty, soft lips pressed against unfeeling mouth and magic. What a joke.

It's no secret nor a surprise that Rabbit finds no pleasure in such an exchange, between the living or the dead and so it has always seemed like some sort of taunt from the g-ds.

That he is nagging her to show him when they both know he is not undead but unholy, some former celestial being thrown from the heavens, or fallen, is just another way he has discovered to annoy her.

Still, she lets her hand curl around his tie (it feels like some old thing pulled from the earth after too long) and tugs him down, pressing her lips against his. It's work for Rabbit to summon some idea of wanting, not because he is foul (she has kissed corpses more molded over than the moss at the corner of his lips), but because the concept is simply foreign to her. There is no gentleness to the way she compresses herself against him, short, compact body molding the way bodies are meant to against one another, regardless of composition. Her power pushes itself from her mouth into his, down his throat, struggles against the barrier of his own sort of life. There is no place for the small fragment of her soul to take hold of his body -- because he is not an empty corpse left to puppet.

[vyrulent]

starter call || @trashcollected

Lucy Westenra could have been one of the most powerful vampires in the entire world, if only her creator had stuck around. Dracula's blood coursed through her veins. She shared his strength, his powers, but she was absent on how to handle most of these new powers.

She was a fragile vampire in this world. She was like that of a new born babe in search of warmth.

Fangs were exposed and a hiss escaped her as a defense, as a warning for him to keep back. She'd only ever "fought" against her loved ones and she'd very narrowly escaped them with her undead life.

"Stay away! I've done nothing to hurt you!"