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Announcement!! This blog is going on hiatus for the rest of January!

really thought I could get around to scheduling posts.. but alas I'm too burnt out studying for exams and performances and the like... see you in February!

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"if you want to hear about my ocs, my inbox is ope-" NO!! START YAPPING UNPROMPTED!! DO NOT WAIT FOR OTHERS TO TAKE INTEREST, POST THINGS THAT WILL MAKE THEM TAKE INTEREST!!!!

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Sunset (High Noon) Vol 2 Issue 33 is up!

In which Anise wakes from her Post Breathe and Misha brings the others to meet the twins. 

This one's kinda a doozy, folks.

Cover artwork by my amazing co-writer @touloserlautrec!

Sunset taglist. I try to keep it to release updates, long excerpts, and character profiles. Please comment/dm for +/-

@words-after-midnight @chayscribbles @elizaellwrites @theimperiumchronicles

@thatndginger @clairelsonao3 @writeintrees @scribe-of-stories @kahvilahuhut

@stuffaboutwriting @cee-grice @ravenkake @covenscribe @sejedensekh

@void-botanist @worldsfromhoney @revenantlore @oc-writing-corner @rewritingrosie 

@jacqueswriteblrlibrary @ashirisu @asher-writes 

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Updated Blair to be more modern with my other profiles! Added lore aswell

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Original short story for my oc's

Work count: 431

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You bought it a few months ago. You dragged me to a thrift store and went on and on about the importance of reusing and upcycling. Then you stopped in your tracks. I followed your eyes and landed on this, dumb, little hanger. Two wooden bunnies kiss, coming together to make up the shoulders. It was meant for children, too small to hold up your clothing, but you bought it without a second thought.

When I asked, “what do you need that for?”

You chuckled and said, “I don’t need it, I want it” as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

I guess for you, it was.

The next day, you bought nails and made a whole event out of hanging it. How did you get the living room to look like that? I was watching, and I still don't understand how the couch ended up tipped halfway across the room.

I passed by that hanger every day. It became background noise. But now we're here. A few months later.

I sit by your side, and try to weasel in more time when the nurses tell me visiting hours are over. You laugh and joke as if nothing is wrong. But you're in a hospital bed, And you've been here for weeks. I'm your caretaker. I should have known something was wrong.

You fell asleep an hour ago, and I can't help but think about that hanger. It meant so much to you in such a short amount of time. And I never understood it. It was just another decoration on the wall, but you treated it like a sliver of daylight after wandering around at night.

Could something so simple bring so much joy? I can't help but to think that there must be something more to it. The bunnies look like you in an odd way. Maybe it's just the fact you bleached your hair a few days before we went to the hospital, or maybe it's the fact the bunnies are as lanky as you are.

Or… or maybe it's just a feeling. You're always so sweet. So kind. Always cracking a joke at any and every opportunity. You radiate joy wherever you go, I've seen people light up whenever you walk in the room. You're that person. You're a sweet person.

Maybe you saw yourself in them. Saw another ball of light.

Maybe I could be the other bunny, maybe I could be just as sweet. Something that radiates joy.

But it's a children's hanger. Something without meaning. These are just passing thoughts.

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INTERIOR: JAQUELINE's casino. ORLANDO is making his way towards the exit, led by DAXTON. The two walk past MAURICE without noticing him.

MAURICE: Hey. You, Badawi boy.

ORLANDO pauses and turns to him. For a split-second, he looks surprised, but he quickly fixes a politely neutral expression on his face.

ORLANDO: Me?

MAURICE: Yes, you.

DAXTON: Oh hey, it's you!

Read more on Toyhouse.

Read more on AO3.

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Purring

Characters: Taxionna x Kieran, Drike

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3092

Written: 20th December 2024

Sometimes they remind him of a large cat. They’re graceful, dangerous and fickle. When they’re angry, they snarl, fangs on show and a hiss at the back of their throat. When they’re happy, on very rare occasions… he hears them purr. Low and rumbling.

A noise that lights up his chest, and runs down his spine, like he imagines their cold fingers would.

It’s very rare though. He’s heard the pleased rumble when they’re eating something particularly pleasant. The first time he heard it, he almost dropped his croquettes, choking on his drink. Watching them. Eyes closed, smiling, with that low purr rippling. They’d blinked out of their daze, and made a comment to their brother about missing good quality food, and he’d only been able to tear his eyes from the tongue running over their fangs and lips when an elbow had buried itself in his side.

Elena coughing gently into her own hand, trying to hide her amused smile. His cheeks had heated, and he’d downed his drink quickly. Hoping the cold beer would soothe the very real flames licking around his insides.

You’re not a boy with a crush. He’d reminded himself, irritable and frustrated at how easily they disarmed and shattered him. Without even trying. Which somehow was worse.

He didn’t know how he’d handle the day when Taxionna purposefully tried to seduce him… IF! If they tried.

Kieran felt the exhaustion in his bones. No more, he was fine. It was needless. It wasn’t like they didn’t have their line of admirers… He could at least be more capable of helping them than anyone else.

—————

It’s an unusual day when he and Drike are hired by the Crown. It’s often only as a point, or a ‘peace’ offering. The Goddess favours her son, and she also enjoys reminding the Eternals that she commands them.

Kieran is reminded of the cold look that he received the first time he met the Goddess. A child with no past, no memories, no family, no life. She had looked down her nose at him, and even as a small boy he knew he was being judged. Judged by something stronger, bigger, and more terrifying than he could imagine. As he grew older he learned that the smile she’d offered him then, had been a tool. Just like the boy with a dagger in his hand, became a tool.

One she believed she owned.

He’d long hated the power and status of royalty and godhood. Been tempted to growl at her, a wolf with no pack.

When the warm hand of his mentor had grasped his hand. Drike a shield against his mother, the reason that her eyes had softened. Her favourite. The slightly older boy, had spoken up for him. Requested they train together. An Eternal with no place in the world, that Kieran was, protected by the Mortal son of the Gods. His back had been strong to him, even though he was small.

Warm against the chill seeping from the Goddess.

She had nodded, appeased, eager for her son to receive whatever would make him happy. If he’d been older, Kieran would have felt the treatment of a toy being handed over. So unimportant, and unable to control his own path.

The hand had pulled him out of the room, and led him from the cold throne. He had fought his trembling, refused to let any of them see his fear.

When Drike had stopped, he’d smiled at Kieran, slight fangs peeking out from his lips, and a ruddy flush to his cheeks.

Kieran never could remember much else about that day, working through his daze, his discomfort. He never could forget the warmth from Drike’s palm, or the way the door had opened for him.

An exit if he took it.

He’d known he had nowhere else to go… and maybe, if he stuck around, he could be as strong as the boy offering him a chance to choose.

He’d never, however, forgotten the Goddess, the power of the throne, determining him to be nothing but a toy or a tool. That knowledge had stuck with him all through his life, as he got older, stronger, better. A sharpened blade in the back of the corruption that spread throughout his home.

It was a lesson he kept close, so that she would never get her way to use him. Even though he stood now, surrounded by Gods and the Powerful, expected to keep them safe.

“You’re glaring, quite intensely.” Drike murmured. Mask pulled down, but his smile was audible.

A sigh was the response, irritable… and also disappointed. Kieran adjusted his mask, keeping it low. “I hate it here.” He’s sullen, he’s grumpy, he sounds like a child. His skin itches. He hates it here.

There’s a soft laugh, short, almost like its escaped the other man, “You’re not the only one.”

Their conversation is muted, stood to the side of the room, watching powerful people mingle and chat. He can smell ego. It’s bitter and putrid, and his sensitive senses feel irritated. Drike holds himself together better, Kieran notes to himself… some dissatisfaction to the realisation. He can’t help but compare them, knowing that if it weren’t for him, Drike wouldn’t react at all.

Kieran, however, feels his frustration so deeply… It’s hard not to. He’d always felt too deeply, too much. Drike had nodded, made a comment that his sibling is much the same. Their blood is fiery and passionate, but it can burn them just as much as it warms them.

He wonders if Drike’s mortality means he doesn’t feel the same burning, or if he has simply learned to control it. They have a few years between them… it’s clear in these moments. Kieran yearns for that level of maturity… the self-control.

They just have to get through this very, irritating job. Surrounded by unpleasant, stupid beings.

Whose sycophantic smiles and saccharine words filled the space as though they were not wasting every drop of oxygen.

Damned Gods.

“Finally…” He heard to his side, along with an endeared tsk.

Then, a familiar, chillingly cold voice. “Oh you’ve granted us your presence have you?”

The Goddess stands there, hands clasped before her. Beautiful wings fluttering behind her back. Halo spinning above her head. She stands with her eyes colder than ice, spearing the figure walking down the sweeping staircase. Her other half, a man with pitch black horns and an empty smirk, chuckles next to her. “Come now, I’m sure something important kept our sweet child from such an important event?”

Had they been alone, Kieran is sure the Goddess would have scoffed. In public, however, she was ever the performer. Even though her specific target was easy for the surrounding figures to accept as lesser.

When his eyes are drawn to Taxionna, he feels the jolt of lightning through him unbidden, once again. They’re not hurrying, so much, as they are harried.

Hair a little messy, lipstick smeared on their mouth, he’s pretty sure some of their buttons are undone. Glowing, beautiful, regal… alive.

Their father looks gleeful, dark eyes lighting up like they’ve set fire. “Someone important perhaps?”

Xionna smirks, fangs glinting, and rights themselves with a little wave of the hand, adjusting and fixing gracefully. He can feel the calculation in their gaze. The small thrill at the rage emanating from their mother, the joy at aggravating a woman who sees them as worthless… an amusement at playing to the role they’ve been assigned.

The fuck up royal-ling.

“Just got a little carried away, apologies for my lateness. It won’t happen again.”

He notices a flushed goddess in the background, lipstick ruined, bite marks on her neck, escape the room to avoid attention.

Jealousy is not molten in his stomach. It’s not. He’s never thought about sinking his teeth into their neck, and hearing their beautiful lilting voice turn rough with pleasure.

They look over at him, and he’s taken to moments where they’re partners in crime. Dealing with corruption against the orders of their all-seeing mother. He sees the twinkle in mismatched eyes, pupils blown from slits and a tongue running over painted lips.

The fantasy gets louder in his head, before they’re pulled away. Laughter in their voice, as they’re forced to make the rounds. The connection broken, he sinks in on himself, like a puppet with cut strings.

—————

Gods are hedonistic, by nature. He supposes. Perhaps its the power, the long lives, the boredom, all of it. They care for little but their own pleasure. He’s used to their parties dragging on, until the drunken revelry merges into other kinds of chaos.

Thankfully, he’ll be released before he has to deal with another orgy. Especially after the last one had actual goats… and he thinks a badger.

While Drike keeps watch, Kieran’s found his eyes unable to separate from Taxionna. After all the years he’s known them, he’s used to their act. They antagonise their mother, payback for years of abuse, years of being made to feel like a failure. In return, they act the failure. Live the life of the gods they were raised around. A fool publicly. It doesn’t make it settle better in his stomach.

The fake smile, the quiet death in their eyes, the discomfort in their stance. All these gods, all the powerful, all the royalty in the room. Faun, and try to manipulate, to use. Thinking they understand them. Empty headed, flirty, powerful, but foolish.

He wants to growl, and bite, and snarl. Blood in his teeth, and daggers in hand. Over them.

It’s not a normal feeling, he thinks, to want to guard and kill for them. A tool for them. He thinks about how they’ve taken blades meant for him, blood on their hands for him. Perhaps its part in parcel with their emotions.

They can’t imagine who his Heart really is. He coughs on his drink, hand at his mouth to smother it and slinks back into the shadows. Hiding, pulling away from the world. His… Hear-

“Key?”

He blinks up through his mask, righting it with a hand quickly, and as he goes to fix himself. His lessons with Drike filtering through his mind, he sees sparkling mismatched eyes. Concern deep. No longer quietly dying.

They tilt their head, hand extended, “Are you alright?” The coldest of touch against his clothed arm, the chill of their skin is so intense he can feel it through his uniform. It reignites the heat in his body.

“Fine. Drink went down wrong.” He excuses. It’s not a lie. He just doesn’t need to tell them why it went down wrong. The feeling in his heart. It’s not there.

He’s not that foolish.

This time they rub at his back, even though the coughing is calmed, he finds himself unable to move away. They’re steady, and each touch sends a tingle down his back.

Gods, he hasn’t been touched in so long. That’s why he’s reacting like a schoolboy.

It’s not them.

It’s not him.

“Be careful.” They tease, though the concern hasn’t bled away. As though he could die from choking. As though there’s a real threat to him, to what’s keeping him in this room with them. Tethered. “I wouldn’t want to lose one of the few people who can keep my back safe.”

He lets out a laugh in response, quiet and warm. Trusted. Comforted. Gods, he wants to keep that tether forever, and when he speaks his voice is low and honest, “I’ll never stop keeping you safe.”

Their hand stops, and he sees eyes widen just a little, mask forgotten, blinking dolefully at him. It’s unusual to see them surprised, perhaps he’s held his feelings too close… had they really not noticed? His loyalty, his friendship. That they would doubt his devotion?

Devotion?

No, that’s not in doubt. He is devoted to his small group of companions. He would fight for them. Die for them if he were able.

He has very little in this world, and he will not lose what he has.

He will not lose them.

It’s simply because he… cares. As a friend.

The internal process halts, as eyes soften, the silver around pupils expand. Their smirk turns into a small smile, nervous and unsure, and their hand moves to his cheek. Cold skin against him, thumb brushing over his cheek… and he freezes.

They are not shy about touching, they nudge him, hold his hand, lean on him… he has grown numb, so he thinks, to the electricity of their contact. The casual way in which they give him everything. Even if it makes him greedier.

This time, however, he is held. Tethered. Consumed by their eyes. Their hand moves down, fingers through his beard, fingertips drift just slightly over his throat. He notes, or wishes he notes, the spark of obsession in their eyes, as their nails scratch at his adam’s apple and a small noise builds in the back of their throat… Before they pull back.

He watches a mask shutter down, fear flickering before they pull back into themselves and grin at him. Fangs on full show, “What a good guard you are.” The tease, this time, is their act. False ego. He notes the way their feathers ruffle, honest even when they try hard to control it.

Noticeable, if you know them.

“T-”

“I better get going, stay safe Key.” They cut off, stepping back, and disappearing back into a party they don’t want to be at.

——————

It’s days later, when a job is over, that he finally gets to breathe with them. They’ve wrapped it up successfully, handing over their target and freed those under his heel. He feels a satisfied thrum in his body. Worn, but relieved.

They’re too far from home, so they make their way to a safe house. It’s rundown, and not the comfiest, the first time he came to one with Taxionna… he’d admittedly had a less than positive opinion of the royal.

He’d made a snarky comment about silk sheets, they’d raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing and their fangs had glimmered with their smirk.

“I don’t need to sleep, I’m sure I could make you forget about the quality of the sheets though.” He’d swallowed the saliva in his throat at the slow drag of their eyes.

This time, as they enter, Taxionna moves over to the terrible bed and lies down, watching him put his weapons on the side, loosening his uniform. He chuckles softly as they kick their shoes across the room. Lazily reclining, wings flicking and fluttering, as they lean their head on cross arms in front of them. “Comfortable?”

Their fang peeks out a little, as they respond. Voice a low grumble, muffled, “Not silk sheets, but better than running around fighting Guards.”

He rubs the back of his neck, guilt biting at his heels, but strangely satisfied that they never forget a moment. He knows its general, they remember everything… still. To be remembered so vividly by them.

When he’s finished cleaning up, removing layers until he’s in sweatpants and little else, he moves over to the bed. Sitting on the corner, watching the god in front of him. He can almost see a tail swishing behind them. Lazy flicks. He’s seen it a few times, but they normally keep it glamoured, along with their horns. He wonders idly when they let themselves be comfortable enough to lower all their glamours.

They blink up at him, the use of their powers today wearing them down, tired, and in need of feeding… or sleep. Their fangs are slightly peeking out under their angel-bow lips, and he tries not to think about the former.

“You need rest.”

They grumble a little not responding, but roll over onto their back. Their shirt has ridden up and they’ve unbuttoned their trousers, shoving them down a little. He tries really hard not to focus in on the pale stretch of skin, and the line of their underwear.

“Come on.” He reaches over, soft smile aimed at the unmasked royal, stretching out like a cat. They easily let him lift them a little, to sit up. What he doesn’t expect, is the way they lean into him. Their nose buries into his neck, and a cold hand runs up the warmth of his chest, through the hair there and onto his shoulder. “T?” They rub their face against him, yawning as they do so. Fangs scratch his skin, almost catching, before they return to rubbing their nose at the crook of his neck.

He freezes, unsure what to do with his hands, as the god in his arms tightens their hold a little. “Tired.” They grumble, and he feels his molten heart soften, hands reaching up to scratch the back of their head, while the other rests at their waist, pulling them into his lap as he realigns them, sitting back in the bed so they can lean fully against his bare chest.

His friend is tired, they’ve burned themselves out. They want to be somewhere safe. If they think that’s him…

His traitorous heart skips at every brush of their lips against his neck, especially every catch of their fangs.

Kieran wants. He wants them to sink in, drink and feed and live, and he wants it so much it startles his hands to stop.

His feline companion grumbles, nudging their head back into his hand, urging his movement, and nipping at his shoulder. He hopes they don’t think too much about his hips jumping, and he quickly resumes his petting, hand at their waist moving under their shirt to rub at their cold skin.

That’s when he hears it, the purr rumbling up their throat. Vibrating against his chest.

His fingers tremble minutely, breath catching, and his hand tightens against the back of their neck.

He wants.

To hear them purr forever.

To feel their skin pressed against his.

To feel their fangs in his throat.

To have his hand around theirs.

To kiss them.

To guard their body and their heart.

His Heart.

His Soul.

They don’t need his dagger, but they have it.

They don’t need his protection, but they have it.

As he feels them drift off, the purring tapering off as their arms wrap around his neck, and their face in his neck stills, he promises to himself they’ll always have a safe harbour with him. Where the mask that kills them quietly, can be laid down.

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Chapter 1

Nessie

When I would think of college it wasn’t this. Running across campus because my brother forgot his practice bag. To be honest he’s luck I have a free afternoon for the afternoon and the fact our mother brought it to her job. Making the move from Massachusetts to London because of my dad’s job was a hard transition. We originally didn’t want to do it until dad convinced us too. So me and Arthur applied to Oxford and got in (it wasn’t my dream college since my whole family’s been here) but for the meantime it will do. My mom got her professor position transferred to here so she can be close just incase of a medical emergency. Since both of her children are medical babies; Arthur has scoliosis and I have EoE with a bunch of add ons. So bring my brother sports bag that my mom took on her way to school and asked me before my class to bring it to the feild my brothers practicing on and to not make a scene.

“Why did it take you so long?” Arthur my brother asks me as he takes his black sports bag out of my hands.

“Small legs?” I say shrugging my shoulders because I’m not that fast. Watching him roll his eyes and walk away without saying thank you. For the past three years we’ve grown separately, I mean bring twins and having your own personality and likes is a thing. We were thick as a school of fish, my mom will tells us how we are inseparable and were conjoined to the hip. I don’t know what happens but he’s been doing his own thing. Well it seams like our whole family is drifting apart; my mom and now not having the parental have been trying to live the life they couldn’t when they had kids, I’m doing my own thing even though I don’t know what it is, and Arthur focusing on lacrosse. I didn’t necessarily wanted to move over here I was more convinced by my parents. I mean I get it…

“Fuck,” we both say as we hit the ground, I don’t know what just happened here? One minute I’m walking and looking at my phone to check the time and then this hard thing runs into me or maybe…shoved very hard? Either way the impact was hard enough to knock us both off our feet. Seeing that it’s a guy my age with brown hair and green eye, he’s white like most of the people on this campus, and wearing the lacrosse team sweatshirt.

“Fuck,” I hear two other British people say to see a guy with raven black hair and tan skin with tattoos and a guy with blond hair and blue eyes who like the dude that’s on top of me right now is also white.

“Hey,” he says, he smells of expensive cologne but the kind that’s not too strong and with a hint of orange to it.

“Hello,” I say akwardly as he gets off of me.

“Run,” he tells his friends and seeing them bolt up to the field. Seeing him get up and brush himself off and then offers a hand to me.

“Thanks,” I say nervously as I take the offer and get up on my feet. Brushing myself off and looking him… well looking up at him since he’s a foot taller than me. Walking away before saying something stupid.

After classes my mom decided to drive us home.

“What the fuck happened to the sweater?” She asks as we walk to the car to see Arthur standing there for us. Before I could even say anything tho here Arthur interrupted me.

“Thanks to you I got penalized,” Arthur tells me.

“Why?” Our mom asks as I get in the back seat and her and Arthur get into the front.

“Because Nessie over here wasn’t fast enough,” he says annoyed as we buckle up and pull out. Staying quiet because I know it’s going to start another fight between us.

“Arthur your sister is little and has asthma,” she tells him for the hundredth time.

“Yet she still has time to run off and get snacks that make her look in the middle of the day,” he says under his breath. Driving to the place or as people call it

the royal palace we live in with the rest of my dad’s family. Driving into the main entrance and getting out, walking past my dad because I feel like crying.

“What?” He says as my mom walks in behind us.

“Ask your son,” she tells him as I just walk up the stairs and head to my room. Taking a long shower in the bathroom my grandparent re model for me. They had white tiles with ducks scattered about, got new dark wooden walls, the bathtub on the raised floor got replaced and even its little island got remodeled with this dark blue tile. My walk in shower has a little stoop my grandfather built for when I get really sick, they replaced all the piping and added new golden fixtures, and I have a small counter top with dark wooden drawers that doesn’t make me overwhelmed. After my shower I got into comfy pjs and did my whole after show routine with all the creams and ointments with CeraVe. Getting started on my calculus and algebra homework, which is a breeze for me unlike the rest of my family. My mom says my head is chaotic which makes it great for science and math but terrible for history and English, but I am pretty good at history though. Dinner is awkward everyone is silent because they’re all mad each other. Working in the family business is hard especially since everyone has very strong opinions and can never admit to being wrong. Chicken, mash potatoes, and broccoli all boring and unappetizing, I wondered how this had slid over the crown. Waving over Dicky to see if I could have anything in the kitchen next door. He could tell my taste buds wasn’t having a bland British dinner. Seeing a plate of corn pasta with the meat sauce I made the day before. Buying food I can actually eat is hard, we haft to buy my pasta that’s only Mae’s from corn from an online store and then get the rest of my groceries from the market. I rarely go out of the path of new foods since it makes me anxious. But I try new recipes because only eating poultry and pork is just boring.

“Thank you,” I whisper as he takes my other plate and gives me a kind wink.

“When could we have a say in dinner?” Lenora my younger aunt says breaking the silence in the room.

“Since when did your opinion matter at this table?” My aunt Isla says to her younger sister that’s the same age as me. Isla is the middle child and she gives middle child energy; She’s hard headed and very smart and she knows since she is the first girl to be born in the family she can get whatever she wants. Getting up to get so fruit punch since I know I can’t have carbonated drinks and a heavy meal. I’m not in the mood for my food to come up because of the gases building up and my stomach unable to digest faster. Hearing the sound of arguments as I head back to my seat with my drink.

“So you do admit to giving them special treatment?” Lenora says loudly and angry.

“Maybe because they aren’t so far up their asses,” my grandmother says as her strong Scottish accent comes out. She doesn’t look how she sounds; she has pale white skin, bright long red hair, slime body, soft facial features that I inherited like the round head and doe eyes but hers are green instead of my deep brown. So having a strong Scottish accent that makes her more… scary instead of sweet. Seeing my grandfather walk in at the best part.

“Well last time I checked I’m not a stain to the family name!”Lenora shouts back as the room gose quit and I mean quit to the point when no one is eating beside me. We don’t like to say the word “stain” beside when we make a mess and it’s impossible to get out. The royal family has an image to keep of being just perfect, sadly that’s impossible. It started with my grandfather marrying my grandmother who’s a Scottish farmer’s daughter who is also technically the true ruling family of Scotland. Then my dad and his antics of not wanting to fit into the perfect mold which my grandparents didn’t really care. To us: me, my mom, and Arthur; we are considered a stain not because the color of our skin but because we are mixed blood not born from this country. That is literally rule number one in the royal family and my dad broke it.

“All I wanted was a normal family dinner,” my grandfather says making me giggle a little.

[oc-writing-corner]

I mixed space marines, platonic intimacy, angst, and love to create this delicious concoction of paragraphs.

I was alone when I came into this fraternity of transhuman warriors. Alone and directionless, but not without purpose. I had taken it upon myself to take care of my aging guardians before they had died, and I was left alone to fend for myself. I was not related to them but saw it as my duty to repay them for taking me in. I had done the same thing for the Lamenter that had taken me in. He was a kind, albeit stern, teacher. I wonder if he saw me as a successor to his legacy. I never cared about the title that would pass to me after he died; I only cared for the aging warrior who had taken me in. He was my duty as much as my position was.

I can feel the beating of his twin hearts, erratic and warm against my palm as I press close to him. I support his armored body in a steady grasp, not heeding nor caring that his dark transhuman vitae that streams from his wounds and stains my tabard a deep crimson. His breathing is shallow and quick. His warm, hazel eyes that once held the glimmer of wisdom and faith i so adored cloud over with pain. His normally warm, dark skin was an unnaturally pale shade. 

Gerlaen, my teacher of one hundred and fourty years, is dying, and I am at his side to bid him farewell. As I did in my years as his pupil, I stay with him to see him till death takes him at last.. I once thought we would go together. I have thought and dreamed many times of dying by his side in glorious battle. I would have preferred it. Well,  I should have expected I would bid farewell to him after a century of kinship. It is time I will cherish until I die.

I feel can feel the warmth of the hand encapsulated within steel and ceramite. He takes my hand from his pauldron and places it over the crater on his cuirass. His eyes flicker with a note of affection. For but a moment, I wonder if it was possible that an astartes could feel fatherly affection. It was a foolish thought. Of course, he did. Why did I think this way?

“Listen to me, Dear Taharaen, one last time. I have something important to say.”

I shift my gaze to his eyes and fight the urge to look away. There is so much pain and sorrow in those eyes I loved; it is hard to keep my gaze on him. I must hear this, even if it rips my soul in two. I am not quite ready to let him go, but I must.

“I know you hate Phoros,  but you must do for him as you did for me.” It was an earnest plea. A last request. His voice was soft but filled with a gentleness that mercilessly wrenched my hearts out of my chest. I could not refuse him. Not when the father I had so loved wished one last thing of me. I would carry it out to my dying breath, and he knew I would.

               “He needs you.”

I nod, tears streaming down my face as I begin committing his words to memory, searing them into my head. I gather up his wounded form in my arms and press my forehead to his as his eyes became vacant and glossy with death.

“I will miss you, Gerlaen. I will miss you dearly.”

I closed his eyes for the last time. couldn’t speak well, my throat clamped with grief and relentless cursed melancholy, but I forced it out anyways, hoping the dying man would hear me. I closed his eyes for the last time and carried him out of the wreckage.

[oc-writing-corner]

With the encouragement of my friends, I finally posted something on Ao3 for the first time!!! It is a retelling of a wild west themed DnD campaign we had during the course of the summer through the pov of my character, Nyarla! (shoutout to our dm @kiwinatorwaffles)

I wanted to motivate myself to actually finish this project! I hope you'll like it ^^

also shoutout to @skyspersonalhell who helped me wrestle the beast that is Ao3 tags and motivated me to post this!!!!!!

[oc-writing-corner]

The man was tall, thin, and pale. A pale frayed suit on pale hair and pale skin, skin that, though it shone with an uncanny luster, wrinkled and sagged and pulled taut as it moved, as skin was prone to do in any human past a certain age. Through its paper-thin fragility Stephen could see a blush of warmth as blood coursed by beneath. Exactly what one would expect to see.

The man by no means looked to be dead. But there was something about him that just felt incorrect. He moved with a total disregard (borne from ignorance, or possibly disrespect) for the obvious fragility of the body he inhabited. When the man leapt up from the bench before Stephen, he felt an urge to gently grab the man's arm and guide him back to his seat. The overall impression was that of an elderly used-car salesman rendered effectively immortal through the consumption of vast quantities of caffeine.

[oc-writing-corner]

Hurtcember Day 21: Afraid

“I really don't need one.” Septhis was trying to sound convincing, but their voice broke a bit near the end of the phrase. 

During the last mission, he got hurt. And not just simple bruises, no he literally cut his palm open over a rusty nail.

“And maybe die of tetanus? We’ll do the shot” Irina was the one who stole the serum, and also risked a lot doing so. She won't simply let her best friend choose to die after all of that. “What’s the problem with it anyway?”

Septhis looked away, fidgeting with the edge of their shirt. “I mean, come on. I survived on the streets for years, a stupid nail could never kill me.” “Better to be safe than sorry, dad always repeated that, right Aaron?” 

The boy was helping Corentine prepare the shot “For once, I think my sis is right.. “What do you mean for once?!” “...we can’t lose you. You’re the only one who knows how to cook after all.” When he turned, he made Irina a sign and they switched.

“So, what’s up?” “Oh my, your highness has decided to descend between us mortals?”  “Oh shut it, I’m serious. You’ve never refused something this openly, you often cover it in too much sarcasm until the other gives up. So, I'll ask again, what’s the matter?” Septhis sighed, and his gaze fell on the ground.

“...I'd rather don’t talk about it.” “Ok, I won’t press, but… is the shot going to be a problem?” Septhis’ grip on his shirt tightened. “Will you become even more insightful in the near future, Mr. Sherlock?” “Here’s the sarcasm we all love and missed so badly” Septhis’ cheeks got a little colorful, despite his major annoyance.

“So.. I don’t want to press on delicate matters, but what’s the problem?No ok, I mean… Like in the practical way, not the reason behind..it; ehm, like i said i won’t pry in that, but if you need anyth…” A hand is pressed on Aaron’s mouth, shutting him up “Ok, geez, I get it. Do you ever stop overthinking any stupid thing that you say or do?” Laughing a little, the boy removed the hand “Oh I would love to be careless like a certain someone, but yeah, my destiny is to have big crises over the brand of cereal I eat in the morning.” “Oh wow, it must be so hard, especially now we can’t even afford them”

“Yeah, a real tragedy. Back to your favorite topic..” with the most dramatic display of discomfort possible to man, Septhis answered “Ok, if you must know, I… don’t.. like needles.” Aaron took their hand and tried to lift the mood a little “Your acting talent never lets me down, drama queen” 

In the meantime the girls were done with the procedure and were waiting for them. Septhis took a glimpse of the medical tools and found himself unable to look away. “And you… you di..dn’t… saw.. a..ny.” All colors drained from his face and his breathing became more erratic. Two hands cupped his face and forced his vision away. “Hey, still with me? I’ll go tell the girls about this, ok?” Septhis only nodded, he still felt like he was in another dimension. 

When the grounding presence of Aaron left, his head rapidly fell in his hands. “Fuck, this is ridiculous. It makes no sense, I’m not a child. I could literally climb the highest building without protections or fight against man big twice as me and be fucking fine. But nooo, fucking needles and i’m here, shaking like a motherfucking loser. I hate this.” “It’s not stupid.” Septhis raised his head and looked at Aaron with disbelief. “Ok, let me rephrase it. Phobias are stupid by definition, but they’re normal. I didn't meet a single person without his secret one. And don't worry, knowing this, your amazing friend group and even more amazing boyfriend come up with a plan.” 

“You’re an idiot” “But you’re laughing, so that’s what I care about.”

Aaron escorted Septhis in the kitchen and made them sit on the table “Well, the girls will be doing the thing, in the meantime i will be the distraction. “Is it because they thought you’re too clumsy to be the doctor?” Aaron rolled his eyes and kissed Septhis’ forehead “Nah, I’m just the best distraction, aaand you're proving my point with all this blushing.” “SHUT IT!”

“Anyway, what are they doing…” Septhis tried to look at Core but Aaron stopped them and placed his hand to block their vision. Meaning they’re preparing the shot. Shit shit SHIT

“Hey, breath” The hand on his face started to slowly rub his cheek, while the other one was back at holding Septhis’. Trying to keep his focus on Aaron, Septhis regained some composure.

Then Irina got closer and made a sign at the blonde guy they were ready to begin. “So, have you heard of that time I almost burnt down the castle?” Septhis knew this was just an attempt to distract him, but as she pulled up his sleeve and the sharp needle started to enter his skin, he clinged to it as if his life depended on it. “No… I’ve.. you’ve never told.. me… about it…” “Yeah, yeah, it’s a crazy story actually. I was alone in the kitchen. I think I was around, like, eleven or twelve years old, it doesn't really matter. Well, I was hungry " "Mh.. mh...” “And there was no food ready for me.” 

Cold liquid started to flow inside of Septhis’ arm and that was the last straw. He felt so embarrassed when tears fell down his face and he just wanted to run away. But instead he squeezed harder Aaron’s hand, while he just brushed away the drops with his fingers. “So, in the end I found myself in front of the stove, keep in mind that I've never used it before..” “And won’t ever again, trust me on this” Irina added from behind “Anyway! Till this day, i still don’t know how, but i’ve managed to burn not only my steak, but also the whole pan. It had completely melted on the stove. Both were changed that day.”

Finally Irina finished and rapidly took away the syringe. Septhis, letting out a weak giggle, let himself fall forward. Aaron caught him in a hug.

“I’ll NEVER do it again.” “Hey, you did it! Good job” “Pfft. As if. I didn't run away just because it would have  made me look too stupid.” Aaron stroked their hair “Still, you took the shot, that’s what matters.”  “if any of you ever thought of pranking me using this…” “Wouldn’t dream of it, we swear.” “Good, because I could AND would stab you.”

“Yeah we know, don’t poke the bear” 

Aaron broke the hug and took Septhis' face in his hands “Nevertheless, I think you did great” and placed a small kiss on their lips. 

“Don’t you dare ever cut your self with rusty metal, idiot. I'm not doing all of this again. Never!” Irina had returned in the meantime.

“If I could choose, trust me, you would never have to do this, starting with today.” Aaron gave a last squeeze at Septhis' hand and left to go help Core clean up. Septhis had Irina to talk to, and their voices could be heard from the other room. It was nice after all.

“So, had your brother burnt to ashes something else?” “Oh, I must tell you about that time with aunt Tina's jelly” Well, maybe not that much.

I'm still late, but shhh... Hope you enjoyed reading as much as I've enjoyed writing it <3 Have a nice day/night

[oc-writing-corner]

Listener

🦢•fluff/wholesome content

This. Might be a little boring but I just. Wanted to write something wholesome wahahaha.

Ocean has a cat named Cinnamon hehe. I know several years ago she had. A dog with the same name at some point??

Also, um. Ocean goes by she/they pronouns, which is why I alternate between them in this. Yeah!!

content warning: there is a tiny bit of self-doubt but it's mostly just. Ocean and her cat, and a little bit of Riley (her roommate). Nothing bad happens this time I PROMISE *gets pulled off the stage*/j

1.05k words.

It was at least a quarter past five in the morning when Ocean managed to sluggishly pull herself from the bed’s comfort and drag herself to the bathroom. Her body ached, as if she'd woken up from a coma instead of heavy sleep caused by working an extra two hours the previous night. Her co-workers had tried convincing her to go home, and she was starting to wish she’d taken them up on that offer. Even a cold splash of water on her face wasn’t enough to wake her up.

After brushing their teeth and taking way too much time to brush the knots out of their hair, they pushed on the door to the bedroom a few times before grumbling to themself and pulling it open. She was immediately met with the feeling of something soft and fluffy rubbing up against her leg. A needy “mreow?” followed shortly thereafter.

“Hi, Cinnamon..”

She leaned down to give the feline some ear scratches, earning a few nuzzles against her hand. She remembered when she found Cinnamon, almost a year had passed by now. Poor thing was huddled inside a small cardboard box, shivering from the cold, and they didn’t have the heart to leave him there. A few vet appointments and trips to the pet store later, and the cat was flourishing in his new home. A small, but functional apartment Ocean shared with their roommate, who was currently still sleeping on the couch. It was supposed to be her turn, but.. Riley insisted. She almost didn’t fall asleep due to feeling so bad about it.

Ocean brushed their cotton-candy pink hair out of their face. They strolled over to the kitchen cabinet and pulled it open to grab a can of cat food, emptied the can into Cinnamon’s food bowl, and made sure to fill his water bowl up too. She disposed of the empty can before leaning against the counter, watching the cat happily munch away at his food with purrs so loud his body was practically vibrating. Even while half-asleep, Ocean couldn’t fight the small, weary smile making its way onto her face.

In her eyes, having Cinnamon in her life was some sort of blessing. Even when her roommate wasn’t home, she was never truly by herself. With him around she didn’t feel alone, even if he was just a cat. A cuddly cat. He really loved his head scratches.

“You know.. I'm glad I found you.” She said quietly, petting Cinnamon on his head. He wasn't paying her a lick of attention, and probably couldn't understand her at all. Food was more important to him at the moment.

They didn't know why they did this every morning. Talking to a cat like a person. Probably more so than any actual person in their life. Sure they had friends, and family. But even around them she was still so.. painfully awkward, fumbling over her words and secretly thinking she was bothering them despite being reassured a million times that she wasn't. She didn't feel that way with Cinnamon though. Maybe because he couldn't exactly give her a response, so she had nothing to overthink about.

She pet him a few more times before retracting her hand and standing up straight. Her eyes flickered over to the couch, where her roommate was still sleeping. She debated on waking her up, but decided not to. Riley needed her sleep too, and neither of them had work or class today.

Actually, that was a lie. Ocean had work later in the afternoon.

She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling through her nose. At least she didn't have to work for many hours today. The job itself wasn't too bad. Being a bakery assistant usually meant she was to herself, putting things in the display cases or checking storage. But, sometimes she had to run the register. Thankfully most people who came in there were pretty nice, and still had their head up on their shoulders.

They gave Cinnamon a small pat on his head and went over to the other cabinets, tiredly looking through them before deciding on a granola bar and a glass of orange juice for breakfast. They looked at the granola bar packaging to make sure they didn't grab one of the strawberry ones and opened it, taking a small bite. Homemade was definitely better, but they wouldn't go near the oven for anything after the.. last incident. It was so ironic. They worked in a bakery, but couldn't bake. People always laughed when she told them that. They didn't find the humor in it.

“Wow, you're up early..”

Ocean jumped when they heard the familiar softness of Riley's voice and slowly turned their head to look at her.

“I'm.. always up this early…” She murmured, feeling her skin flush. She heard Riley laugh quietly and yawn, probably feeling more tired than she was. The couch wasn't the most comfortable place to sleep.

“I know, I know.. Just teasing you..” Riley hummed lazily, running a few fingers through her curls.

“Do you have a hair-tie I can borrow? I think I've misplaced all of mine..”

“Oh, um. Yeah. I have a couple. They should be in one of my bags..”

“Thanks, Shelly.”

Ocean could hear the smile in Riley's face while her footsteps faded into the bedroom. They weren't sure how to feel about the nickname.. A lot of their friends called them that. It started out as a joke, but ended up sticking. It was a cute and harmless thing, so.. they decided to go along with it. For now.

She took another bite of her granola shuffling on both of her feet. God, she was such a mess. Couldn't talk to her own roommate without fumbling a bit. Stupid, stupid, stupid-

She shook her head.

No.. she shouldn't be so hard on herself.. It wasn't like she didn't enjoy being around anyone, she did. But, she was better at listening than she was talking. She'd always been that way.

It wasn't such a bad thing.. was it? Being a listener?

They could hear Riley struggling to find a hair-tie and drank the rest of their juice. They threw the granola bar wrapper in the trash, and slowly re-entered the bedroom to help her search for one.

No, it wasn't a bad thing.

[oc-writing-corner]

Now, me and Stephen sat on either side of a campfire, facing each other but making eye contact only with the flames that lapped at the air between us. On the table beside me lay Bromley’s smuggled game of Jenga: Paradox Edition, advertising Infinite Blocks; Infinite Fun! It flickered, causing me to feel a stabbing sensation between the eyes, and I eyed it suspiciously.

The whole situation really was a lot like a game of Jenga, I thought. Almost an entire day had passed since our reunion, but somehow we had miraculously avoided having any discussions at all about certain topics and certain events, particularly the ones which carried a certain emotional heft. Neither one of us wanted to be the one to collapse the tower— so, in order to keep it upright as long as possible, we had locked ourselves in a game of revealing as little as we could about our grief-ravaged mental states, back and forth, each of us removing and replacing single wooden blocks, ideally until the end of time itself. As long as the tower stood, however rickety, we could at least pretend that everything was normal and as it had been before.

Stephen finally spoke, with a measured, tentative tone that didn’t match his words. “Oh, I wanted to say earlier— your new paintings are awesome. I only look a little bit goofy! It’s great.”

My turn. “Dude. I’m lionizing you. You look a lot goofy by default. I hate to break it to you, but the paintings are supposed to be generally improved versions of you, facially-speaking.”

“Can’t you make them have—you know—a total absence of goofy? Absolutely no goof at all?” He was matching my energy, warming up to me. Good. This was how we had used to talk to each other, right?

“Even for the greatest painters of our generation, there’s a limit to what’s physically possible.”

He gave a shout of mock despair. “So I suppose I am doomed to wallow in my own misery forever, then? Knowing that even the best possible version of me continues to have, at minimum, trace amounts of goofy?”

The tower wobbled precariously. I couldn’t keep doing this. “My condolences, sucks for you, et cetera. Me, personally? Can’t relate.” And I stuck out my tongue and did a half-hearted little peace sign. “That’s right, folks, she’s a perfect ten.”

I dared to lift my gaze from the flames, and was startled by the earnest spark I glimpsed in Stephen’s expression. It was a joke, and he was laughing, but I think some part of him wholeheartedly believed what I had said, and some part of me didn’t like that. The Jenga tower in my mind teetered on the edge of collapse.

[oc-writing-corner]

winter party, in the future!!!

nelly walked through the streets of City of sirens. she pulled the green scarf around her neck tighter. moss used to be so easy to reach, the robot nelly's friend used to be just a text away. now their keeping away from most everyone.

approaching a small apparel shop nelly finally sees moss. They're leaning against a light post with something gripped in their hand. As nelly approaches moss, she sees her friend quickly close their "bad" eye.

moss straightens slightly, shoving their hands into their pockets. Nelly wavers. Did moss even want to talk to her? it had been twenty some years since everything but moss was still so... distant.

"hey moss. umi and i are hosting a small winter get together on the twenty-fifth." Nelly scratched at her neck nervously. "the kids really want to see their "uncle mossy" sometime soon" nelly chuckles.

moss isn't saying anything. nothing, just as silent as when they were found. they shift slightly and look downwards. "how many people would be there...?" their voice is so different. Nelly would never get over that.

"not many people. mostly family, maybe some others." Nelly left a few bits unsaid. Moss didn't enjoy some of the company Umi and Nelly kept. Nothing too extreme, Just some family stuff.

"we'll see you there." nelly looks back and sighs. "we're here for you moss, wherever you're at." The quiet promise lays in the air. Moss nods and Nelly reluctantly walks off.

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

Nelly fixed Nikol's bow tie. the young siren had grown so fast, being just four when Umi and Nelly took him into their home. Now he's eight. how the years fly by.

the parties full swing in the backyard. Jess is lounging on one of the deck chairs, umi was talking to Rena, Alon and, Starlight. Nelly went back to checking up on her kids. Nikol was already fidgeting and his baby sister, janet, was bunching up her dress. Nelly sighs.

the doorbell rings and Nikol runs to answer it. janet toddles behind and Nelly follows her childen. "Uncle Mossy!" Nikol's voice rings out. janet's babbles follows suit. Nelly scoops up Janet and looks over to moss.

"You look like a Pirate!" Nikol shouts. Nelly agrees, but reminds her son to be nice. Moss has a simple eyepatch over their "bad" eye. they shift slightly. "guess i do." moss shrugs. they step into the house past a excited Nikol.

"Nikol, could you go see if Mummy needs any help?" nelly gently prods. She starts to rock Janet carefully. Moss wipes their shoes off on the entrance mat. Nikol looked up at moss before running to the back.

"before you go-" Nelly looks over at Moss. "your grandmother's here." moss looks conflicted. they pause before sighing. "can i just stay with the kids?"

Nelly nods. She hands Janet over to moss, who holds the baby as if She's the most precious thing in the world. Moss carefully shuffles over to the couch and sits down with Janet. Nikol rushes over. "Mummy didn't need anything Mommy! can i play with uncle mossy?" the eight year old is bouncing up and down "please, please, please, please, please?"

"If Uncle moss is fine with that." nelly looks over to Moss. Moss sighs. "sure kid. careful, your baby sis' is asleep." Nikol runs over to the couch and starts talking on and on about his latest interests.

Nelly swears its the first time she's seen Moss happy in a while.

[oc-writing-corner]

The earliest writing I did for my OCs was back in January (even though I've had these OCs for 6 years already)

(Script format, short scene)

[int: Norven's apartment. Norven lying on the couch with her head in Birdie's lap. TV on faintly in background]

- Silence -

B - [unprompted, a little distant] "Do you like me?"

N - "Huh?"

B - [a little more intensely] "Do you like me?"

N - [turns her head to Birdie, face scrunched, confused] "Like romantically?"

B - [instinctive, confused/annoyed] "Ew gross, no."

N - (snort laugh)

B - [pissed] "Don't fucking laugh at me! Why is that funny to you?"

N - "Why did you come over again?"

[they both know their hookups aren't romantic but to anyone else it might seem that way]

B - [pause, the laugh was reasonable, she's pissed about it] "Just answer the fucking question. Do you like me?"

N - "Honestly?" [pause, confirmation from Birdie] "Not really."

B - [resigned look. She knew this already. She understands why. She's a bitch.] "Yeah, me neither."

[they both know she wasn't talking about Norven.]

- beat -

N - "Do you like me?" [she doesn't care much either way]

B - "Not particularly."

N - "OK."

[the conversation is over. They both knew where they stood but there's reassurance in knowing for sure. They turn their attention back to the TV.]

[oc-writing-corner]

“What's that?”

Carlisle peered over his head to glance at Ruaridh, who stared at the tree looming over him with wide, awestruck eyes. They were bundled up on the sofa, nursing a mug of hot chocolate in their clawed hands. Their gaze flickered to Carlisle, then back to the tree and then back to him, urging him to answer.

“It's a tree,” Carlisle hummed, picking up an ornament and hanging it on a branch, “a Christmas tree. Remember what I told you?”

They nodded. “I, I know. But why a tree?”

“It's tradition.”

Ruaridh frowned, “Why's it inside?” taking a delicate sip of the hot chocolate, they continued. “Trees are meant to be outside.”

“Oh— Ru, this isn't a real tree,” He chuckled, picking another ornament. “Some people pick real trees, but we don't. We've had this one for a few years. We keep it in the attic until Christmas time.”

“Some people?” Ruaridh asked, shuffling across to make room as Carlisle walked over to sit beside them.

“Mhmm. People all over the world do this, at the same time, every year. Others don't, and that's okay,” He smiled, carding a hand through their hair. “It just depends on what people believe in.

"But we do. We decorate it every year, like I'm doing now. And we put presents under it."

"You told me that."

"Yes, I did," His hand settled on Ruaridh’s shoulder, thumb stroking the sleeve of their jumper. “Do you wanna help decorate it?”

Ruaridh seemed hesitant, eyes drifting back to the twinkling lights adorning the tree. The reflection of the lights shined in their eyes. “...Yes.”

It was strange to see such a formidable creature partake in something so gentle. Calloused hands handling ornaments with care, as if afraid to break it; hanging them from branches carefully, slowly, following Carlisle’s gentle guidance. At the very least, their height came in handy when it came to placing the star atop the tree.

Standing before the shimmering lights and ornate decorations, the star standing proudly over them, a smile beamed on Ruaridh's face.

Carlisle smiled with them. “Merry Christmas, Ru.”

UARAD Taglist: @creppersfunpalooza @toyybox @whumpy-wyrms @vidawhump