#Gold Chicken Shred

[s3lkieboy]

An observation

[catboyprincess1005]

art i did for a contest on discord!

but also big news guys, my commissions are open on Vgen!! so if you'd like a drawing similar to this one then you know where to find me!

https://vgen.co/Kirai

[endingboyhansel]

the them ever!

do not tag as ship or you will be blocked.

[duoduotian]

lunar gathering quiz

(don’t have everyone since i missed like one day)

[vagrant-muffin]

Um hi there I saw you were doing TTOF art so um if it’s okay… could I request Gold Chicken Shred? ^^

Hello! Yes, totally okay! Here he is~

(Also I’m so sorry I called him Golden Chicken Shred in my last post…)

[gluttonyedits]

@fated-edits's prompt list day 2: a black and white/grayscale edit Gold Chicken Shred headers Please do not tag as kin/ID/me.

[leuri-chani]

▪︎ Free Gold Chicken Shred icons from TToF, hope you like it!

[samahlen]

I finally got Shorts Supreme (Gold Chicken Shred) to drop from the 1-4 hard map!!!!! I swear I've been grinding that map since the game launched lol 🥲

I save my pulls for limited banners, so it was either get him as a drop or maybe eventually get pitied by him!

[angelicapocalypse]

• Mhm Right- •

[thevexinator]

*squints*

hm.

this looks. familiar.....

what a dashing little man i need everyone to see him

[hedgehog-moss]

I have a mason working on renovating some parts of my barn at the moment, and he brings his dog with him every day and lets him run loose while he works. It's a young, badly-behaved dog and he chases my chickens and scares them, digs holes in my raspberry bed, and he tore the cats' mattress to shreds. It was an old memory foam mattress in the barn and I loved the fact that you could see three cat-shaped indentations, showing that the cats had adopted it as a communal napping spot.

I knew the mason knew, and he didn't seem to care. I'm always worried about Pandolf bothering people when I bring him places so it's beyond me how someone could notice their dog's bad behaviour every day and just choose not to care as long as no one complains. So I was forced to complain, but I'm horrible at any sort of open conflict, I'm an olympic gold medallist in helpless placating so the conversation went like this:

Me: "I noticed your dog has been chasing my chickens a lot!" (let's pretend I just now noticed this so you can pretend it's a new problem and you don't feel bad about having done nothing to solve it this whole time!! Haha :) ) Mason: "Oh? Haha he's so young and rowdy! Does it bother you?" Me: "No!!!!!!!! The little rascal <3" (okay now say "but actually yes a bit—") "No worries! I hope Wolfie's having fun! 🥰" (I hate myself 🥰)

I walked away wanting to kick myself, and Wolfie, and him.

So I called my mum for help. I felt bad doing this over such a non-problem, but she's so much more assertive than me. And she's not bothered by loud people—I forgot to mention, this man speaks so loudly. To me people who breathe loudly are already life ruiners, and people who speak loudly are like the matter to my antimatter. I wish humans could live their lives in perfect botanical silence. Plus I feel like a lot of men have a faint belligerent tone in their voice even when talking about normal stuff, and conversely a lot of women have a faint apologetic tone by default, and it's frustrating to see how the two feed into each other.

Anyway, my mum doesn't have this problem. She came over and told the mason that he's probably aware that his dog is an unrelenting nuisance and please stop bringing him along. It worked. Problem solved. I admire the way she said it in a tone that shut down any further discussion, the opposite of the tentative invisible question marks I shed everywhere when I try to address an issue. I wish I were better at this. I felt bad for making her drive all this way but she said she was happy to be of help even if it means snapping at rude men for me. Especially if it means snapping at rude men. Then she reminded me of that time I punched a boy and made him cry when I was eight, because he'd been bullying me and other girls, and she said—"I remember that I congratulated you warmly and told you that if your teacher punished you for refusing to apologise to him I would do your punishment for you—I did try to encourage you in this path!" and I was like, I know, it didn't work 😔 But also that boy enjoyed stealing girls' schoolbags and shaking them open so all the books fell in the mud (Romain if you read this, I still hate you.) If the mason's dog had damaged books I would have made him cry too. I suppose that's my limit.

[incorrectbatfam]

Batfam's favourite ice cream topping

Dick: shredded cheese

Jason: hot sauce

Tim: coffee grounds

Damian: olive oil

Duke: French fries

Cullen: crunchy ramen

Stephanie: scrambled eggs

Cassandra: wasabi peas

Barbara: pumpkin

Harper: bacon

Carrie: chicken nuggets

Kate: black pepper

Helena: balsamic vinegar

Luke: rice

Bette: avocado slices

Alfred: salt

Selina: boba pearls

Bruce: gold

[sincerelyverena]

⟡⁺ VAYA CON DIOS

. . . OLIVER QUICK X GN!READER ‘in a world so fake, i say your name praying. you are my angel and my saint.’ @ajs-222 @michael-loves-chickens @surazim @soocore

in whichꕀ

✦ ﹒oliver and you form an unlikely bond over his hatred for the cattons and your thirst for revenge. but when you dance with the devil, you're bound to fall. for satan himself or something far more sinister...

tagsꕀ

✦ ﹒implied sex ﹐major character death ﹐strangling (non-sexual) (sorry yall) ﹐ drowning

inspired by the pure energy of hot, smothering justice and betrayal kali uchis vaya con dios radiates. enjoy, my lovelies! also felix is so babygirl, y'all just don't like him in this.. ;]

Oliver Quick was your saving grace.

You were more willing to admit he was your soulmate. Oliver Quick. Meek, unsocial, glasses-wearing Oliver Quick. He took you by the hand — and the heart — guiding you into Oxford's inner circle. A place for you to unravel your sabotage and a root for Oliver to plant his destruction in. A place for your ascendancy to seep through the cracks and weave between the breaks.

More specifically, Felix Catton. The college's golden boy, the beloved playboy of Oxford, and why you were so dedicated to fitting in in the first place.

Felix Catton and the entire Catton name were the root of all your problems. They took every opportunity you could've been offered in their palms, tearing it to shreds, and pummelling it into dust. Without even realising it, they had sabotaged everything you could've known.

The limelight of one of the downtown bars you all had travelled to flickers upon Felix, the neon glow outlined every discreet detail he bore proudly on his face. The captured appeal in every crook and dent, to the extent that any flaw he may have possessed is gone and buried before anyone could've noticed.

Felix Catton had the school population wrapped around the slimness of his fingers. Hell, even the once hardened aquamarine of Oliver's eyes softened ever so slightly with every passing grin of Felix's mouth. Every clasp of his back. Every manipulative lie that he’d utter with a smirk pasted on his face. Every sickly-sweet word that sweetly left his lips.

But not you. Even after four rounds of whiskey martinis, you felt like the only sober person in the room. You knew Felix and his family for what he was. 

Selfish, all-wanting, all-ruining rascals.

Your own family once had close-knit ties with the Cattons. Years before your mother was even impregnated. Your grandmother had whispered tales of summers at Saltburn as if it was a fairytale. Endless courtyards, wide, luxurious estate grounds. Wild parties. Even wilder sex. At a young age, you had grown a thirst for experiencing anything that remotely came close to the experiences bored into you time and time again. You needed to quench your cravings, but nothing came near.

Things may have been different if the Cattons sunk your parent's business. For good.

Even the most naive garnered a sense and even an adoration for gossip and rumours as soon as they'd step onto Saltburn grounds, reputation was adorned upon a gold-plated pedestal. The root of striking words and poison-tainted oaths is Lady Elspeth. A wheat-blonde-haired bitch that brought your family so much misery.

A couple of words that escaped the snake's mouth destroyed generations of work. A whole family business deteriorated into the dust, and she didn’t even bat an eye.

This series of unfortunate events resulted in your mother passing you onto your grandparents, fabulously wealthy (but not as wealthy) and luxurious in their own right. 

They raised you under their family name. Esmeray.

This granted you easy access into the prestigious inner circles of Oxford, invited by Felix Catton himself. He had noticed you a few scarce times prior, typically on Oliver’s arm, Ollie, who took it upon himself to sneak you into various VIP parties for the cause. Any remotely attractive person is enough to catch Felix's eye, and lucky for you, you were drop-dead stunning.

That's why you weren't the least surprised when he extended an invitation to stay the summer at Saltburn. The next step is avenging the Marzena family name. For good this time.

Saltburn couldn’t have ever compared to the fairytales whispered in your ear during your childhood days. Those tales did it no justice compared to how stunning and profound the estate truly is.

The molten sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon, and flecks of pure gold ascended throughout the gradually darkening sky. Pure summer drifted through the air, sending a warmth of contentment to settle in the pit of your belly. But your job here wasn't done. It was far from done.

The warmth in your belly reverberated through your shoulder as a firm hand clasped upon the brink of your silhouette.

"We're going to be late for dinner, sweetheart." Oliver's slow words reached your ears, his thumb gently tracing circles into the shining glimpse of skin that wasn't enwreathed by the inky, silk fabric you wore for the Catton’s strict dress codes.

Even though Oliver's hands were glacially cold — practically comparable to ice — the molten glow of his touch rolled throughout your frame pleasingly. This causes your lips to unfurl into a not-so-concealed smile. His words could engrave themselves into your mind, and he knew it as fact. "Come along now."

You tore your eyes away from the purely otherworldly scenery available at your will. In the minute or so that Oliver managed to garner from you, the radiant golden brinks of daytime were gradually drowned out by the raven shadows of nightfall.

"I think I’m in shock." The words escaped your lips with a half-suppressed laugh that reverberated lightly from your chest. Your mind raced to piece together the proper syllables necessary to describe the unfiltered beauty of Saltburn. “This is all so…”

"...unreal?"

Oliver finished your sentence for you in a matter of seconds, as if he plucked it out of your fluttered head. His hand shifted, arm rolled over the base of both of your bare, garmentless shoulders. Draped. Practically protectively he wordlessly guided you towards the door of your temporary suite. Temporary. For now, at least.

"Mmm… something like that." You quipped in turn, deciding with promptness to sink into the mere gentleness of his touch. The work of his hands alone arrowed straight to the pump of your heart and occasionally the heat of your core. These newly established sentiments that you’ve garnered for Oliver Quick had brought you a whirlwind of devotion to successfully come to fruition.

It wasn't an unacknowledged fact between the two of you that a spark had conquered itself, gradually. Every touch. Each glance. Every word that two of you had come to share. Oliver's intensity, his willingness to take you into his hands and never release you. And your revering homage, your tendency to treat him as if he were a god. 

The Catton's were the most oblivious. Oblivious to their guest’s steadily swelling obsession. For each other and the downfall of their own, the destruction that played as a constant in their heads.

In order to play the part, you and Oliver separated from each other in front of the rest of the household to confide in both your constant alliance and devotion. You found sociability and acceptance in Farleigh and Venetia. Stingy, ego-brimming relatives to the Catton name. Oliver confided in Felix and even Elspeth, that as much as you disliked that fact. Alas, you weren't a stranger to the occasional lingering glance. The crinkle of Oliver's midwinter blue eyes, the tug of his sensually plump lips into a gradual, subtle smirk that occupied a lump in your throat. You drove him crazy the same. Or so you thought.

In the quietest hours of Saltburn, you found yourself curled up against Oliver’s silhouette. His godly arms inched around the frame of your torso, pulling you towards his strapping — and occasionally bare — chest. You often found yourself with your head buried in the crook of his neck. Inhaling the fragrances of honeydew and tangerine, the scent that virtually dripped off of Oliver’s altar of a body. A newfound pinkness tainted your cheeks.

"We live in a cruel world, don't we, darling?" Oliver proceeded to fill the silence one sleepless night with his deliberate drawls. His wide palms combed through your scalp absentmindedly. You could feel his warm breaths misting your ear every other second.

"We're living proof of that, Oliver." You gently reminded him.

"They sit on their golden thrones," Oliver raved onwards, irritation hung on every word. You didn't have to advert your eyes upward to know that his chiselled jaw was clenched, the muscles in his neck flexed accordingly. "While I had to grow up with an ignorant weasel for a father and a pill-popper for a mother."

You propped yourself up on your elbow, the pillow under your head sunk under the weight as you essentially crawled towards him. Captured his lips with your own, the taste of spearmint toothpaste meddled within your tongue as he proceeded to tangle into you. The kiss alone was fiery, frantic as Oliver poured his past and present into the serene bubble the two of you had formed, together.

"That'll all be behind us soon." You reassured him with each brush of your lips.

"Very soon, my love. They'll be the ones on their knees begging for our mercy."

Those meaning-filled kisses transitioned shortly into something more, the noises of willing gasps and the frantic rustle of garments echoed throughout the suite. In the head-whirling cloudiness of lust, you weren’t to notice the boy who stands with his ear pressed against the other side of the door. Lips thinned. Eyebrows drawn together.

Felix had heard everything he needed to know.

The racketing denouncing of the door caused your head to snap toward the cause. You’ve spent your morning in solitude, with a cup of steaming tea and a handful of your thoughts. Yet the peace you’ve marinated in over the past few hours dissipated as you witnessed Oliver stand there with promptness, hand still pressed deeply against the door handle. The silence drew throughout your suite, disturbed the slow, heavy grunts that reverberated from him.

Something was wrong,

Oliver sucked in a sharp breath.

"We're leaving after the house party tonight." He announced at last.

Your teacup almost slipped from your palms. Your breath quickened, fumbling to set the object aside before you made a start towards Oliver. And the man — who seemed more like a boy at the moment — inclined his toned arms around the sleight of your waist, clutching for dear life. He held you close. Chest to chest. Heart to heart. You felt each puff of breath escape and fill him, emptying him and deeming him whole. Your arms secured around his shoulders, triceps tucked behind his neck.

"24 hours is more than enough." You deemed.

"You think?"

"I believe."

As you spoke, you felt the muscles that once rippled rigidly against your hands loosen the slightest. Your digits traced absentminded patterns into the hem of his shirt.

“You’re tense.” You pointed out, falling back momentarily in the process. Your eyebrows drew together as you took in the strained look blatantly playing on his face. With the amount of stress filling his ocean-remanent eyes, he had looked to have aged a decade.

Oliver's hands braced towards your jaw, long digits framing your face as he leant in. He peppered a feather-weight kiss to the top of your head. You couldn't have missed his shaky inhales grazing the cuff of your ear as he inched forward.

“I have a plan.”

That's how you and Oliver found yourselves occupying the brink of your unmade bed, the cup of half-drunken tea still allocated in your hands and a look of fierce determination glowering in his unwavering gaze.

Wordlessly, Oliver lapsed a singular, broad hand in the vicinity of his dark dress pants, fingers gliding beneath the denim material. Your breath is lodged in the centre of your throat at the very sight. Your thoughts began to drift, internally perplexing if his grand plan was to fuck his griefs out on you. That was until he retrieved a ziplock bag from his briefs, cocaine weighing the plastic down.

"Oliver Quick. You are a fucking genius." You whistled at the glimpse of the thin, pale powder. Oliver's intentions were as clear as day and the motions for revenge were just as evident.

The pressure and strain that pulsated behind Oliver’s eyes softened with every syllable that escaped your lips. His gaze never left yours, deliciously prominent. A somewhat startled squeal echoed throughout the bedroom suite as Oliver hauled you up using the agency of your hips. Your legs sprawl on both flanks of his thighs as he reposed you across the sleight of his lap.

"C'mere 'n say it to my face then, princess."

The house party that arose thereafter that evening was open to all extravagant guests who were deemed worthy enough to be invited personally by the Cattons. You were bursting at the seams with scorching adrenaline at the thought of all of these unsuspecting capitalists, oblivious of what was about to transpire.

You and Oliver remained on contrasting sides of the estate, a fact that brought a sense of yearning. And you yearned for nothing more than to blow the night with the man you deemed to be your beloved. Alas, the two of you weren't established. And you both had a murder to fulfil.

One day.

"Shh..."

Oliver's voice was hushed, his whispers interlinked with a domineering raspiness as the two of you venture away from the club scene of heroin, alcohol and the prominent hue of arousal and cigarette smoke. You spied Felix, his celestial silhouette still visible from a fair distance away. He's accompanied by one of the well-heeled invitees, one of his idolizers who had spent the majority of the night garnering his undivided attention.

You crushed your drug stick underneath the heel of your footwear as you proceeded to wander behind the individuals ahead. They advanced towards the vast bridge that adorned one of the numerous rivers the estate occupied. Which acted as a hook-up spot for most, obvious by the number of condoms and cigarettes scattered upon the planks.

You gave a wordless prayer for the estate maids for their grounds inspection at dawn. But you knew God couldn't help neither you nor Oliver now for what you were about to accomplish.

It was childishly easy. Snag one of the champagne bottles from the downstairs kitchens and instil half of the ziplock bag's contents into the beige substance. Shook it until it was dissolved. Oliver seized it by his side.

By the time the couple approached the bridge, Felix already propped his midnight flings up on the fencing, palms grappling behind their thighs to keep them fixed in place. Their calves squeezed around the roundness of his hips, digits fumbled urgently to undo the leather clasps of his belt.

Within a minute or two, a strangled moan rang throughout the otherwise hushed air as Felix buried his head into the crook of their neck.

Anticipation pounded through you with each step you made. The heart of the Cattons. Soon to be executed under the guise of revenge. And what a bloody revenge it would be. Oliver's vacant hand intertwined with your own for a beat of a second, a rapid squeeze capable of sending any possible doubt into destruction. Replaced by a flutter of warmth that uncoiled in your chest.

Felix had taken notice of you both hastily, balls deep in his oblivious affair – who was spluttering and whimpering around his shoulder. The chorus of smacking flesh subsided, the strike of Felix’s hips diminishing as the man stared at his former friends with a bewildered expression.

"The hell are you doing here?" Felix demanded, grunting a half-hearted apology to his now flustered entanglement as his palms clung to their waist, pulling out with a fluent jerk of his hips. He was in every respect flaccid now, no doubt.

Oliver wasn’t phased in the slightest. "We need to talk, Felix."

“What the hell?”

The individual who once occupied the bridge had already recomposed themselves, looking daggers up at the colossal man that towered over them. Felix scarcely spared them a glance. They seethe at his lack of response, before steamrolling past you to rejoin the commotion back at the estate.

Rendering them alone.

"There's nothing to talk about," Felix contended. He broke his gaze as he heeled momentarily to adjust himself. Sloppily. There’s a shakiness in his hands.

In your eyes, he's the remnant of a fallen angel. Shadowed eyebags dominated the space beneath Felix’s whisky-glittering eyes, his wolfish-like face wiltering, hollow cheeks thinned out excessively to be presumed normal. You acknowledged it was a fact that everyone else's value of him wouldn't budge. Not even a dent. Not even in the grave.

Oliver thrust the sabotaged bottle against Felix's Herculean chest with a forceful arm, prompting him to grab hold. Your pulse rang in between your ears. You wished you could’ve engraved this moment in time into your mind.

"You're right." You reasoned. Your words seemed foreign to your ears as if it were someone else that was speaking. You could only pray that the ecstatic nervousness that jolted throughout you wasn't manifesting outwardly.

Oliver’s fingers laced within your own. The sweat that prickled along the curve of his palm signalled to you wordlessly that he was experiencing the same, intense elation that grappled at your abdomen and twisted. "We'll see you back at Oxford, yeah?"

Felix scrutinizes the somewhat empty champagne bottle in his palms (courtesy of you pouring it out an hour prior). His words falter and for a moment you begin to ponder if his perception of you two was corrupted for good. Nevertheless, Felix fixated immensely towards your linked hands.

"Yeah. I'll see you back at Oxford."

As you and Oliver diverged from Felix, you could hear the droughty gulps of the spiked substance. It was apparent to you that you'd never see Felix again after this moment. The reassurance of that fact, set in stone, brought about a flutter of relief to overtake the apprehension you once esteemed.

A slow, deliberate smile crept onto your lips.

As predicted, the entire Catton household fell apart after Felix was found. He collapsed on the wooden tiling of the bridge, sprawled out with a mouthful of his puke pooled around his ever-paling silhouette.

It was obvious he suspected. He trusted them anyway and attempted to save himself in the process.

Even though you both were invited to the funeral a couple of days after the fact, the rock-tossing (an off-putting tradition in the Catton family) was regarded as family only.

You sat, only an hour later, bare feet dangling off of the edge of the bridge as Oliver attempted to retrieve each rock from the drafts of the flowing river current.

"Don't fall in and drown, Ollie!" You exclaimed, playfulness irking your tone as you grinned down at him. The sight of Oliver, ass-up, in an attempt to grasp the smooth, memorial rock was a sight to witness indeed.

Oliver turned his head and snapped out of his focused determination to flash you a similar smirk. "I'd have to be bound and gagged for that to happen, sweetheart."

His words caused a particular imagery to pollute your thoughts.

Alas, your plans towards the Catton family and their demise were practically writing themselves. Venetia was becoming heavily depressed by the absence of Felix and Farleigh (whom Oliver framed and resulted in him having to exit Saltburn for good).

With a few metal blades smuggled into a porcelain bath and a few encouraging words from Ollie, the woman was found bathing in her crimson remains. Funeral. Rock-tossing. Rock-retrieving.

"Be careful the rock doesn't weigh you down, Ollie!"

You continued to tease him as he soon approached you. Oliver's typically straight, combed-over locks of caramel were drenched. The waterdrops highlighted the olive of his skin, and you wished desperately to kiss all the droplets away.

Oliver took hold of your waist, pulling you in. A droplet of water splashed against the end of your nose, causing a stray laugh to rise out of you.

"If I'm goin' down, you're goin' down with me."

Oliver lowered his head, his water-dripping, plump lips placed a long kiss on the end of your nose. The sudden shake of his wet strands caused water to spray all across your face.

You groaned in protest. You kissed him back anyway.

Laughing felt foreign to you. Especially when you were smuggling a dissolvable pill or two in the alcohol-infested substance of both Sir James and Lady Elspeth's glasses. It lies atop the tables decorating either side of the king-sized bed. They were preoccupied with the purposeful ruckus Oliver was causing downstairs and lurched up from their sleeping quarters to investigate.

Like all the victims before them, it was elementary. James and Elspeth evolved into a habit of indulging in a few (or five) drinks before bed. The tendency to stress drink evergrowing with the funerals and departures that lined up before them. Before their own.

Oliver slid the build of his toned arms around you, sensing his biceps straining straight into your waist. You watched as the drugged solution dissolved into nothingness while he watched you. A singular reached upwards towards your mouth which was pulled back into a grin. He bore a cool palm over your lips.

"If you keep laughin' like that, you're gonna give us away." His voice rumbled into the curve of your ear. The assertive husk of Oliver’s tone was enough to cause you to fall silent, only the ghost of a smile flickering upon your lips.

Elspeth dreaded the idea of the lovers ever considering their departure from Saltburn. James desired the absence even more. You both decided to make it easier for them.

A choked cry echoed out, barely five minutes later.

Oliver towered over the end of the bed. He never wanted it to transpire this way, but Elspeth refused to bloody die off. Your lover's fists decorated the weak column of her throat like a collar, harsh palms proceeding to crush down against skin and bone without a sleight of hesitance.

"Sweetheart, look away." He evoked.

You couldn't.

Elspeth gawked up at Oliver with wrinkled eyes. Once brimming with adoration. Now dull with despair, her calloused hands went as far as to claw against the relentlessness of his hands. Elspeth's air supply grows limited, a strangled outburst that escapes her at this realisation.

It didn't take long for her to stop fighting, and collapse against the paled corpse of her husband. You peppered lightweight kisses along the gaping nail marks dressing the skin atop Oliver’s hands. Oliver's blood was left smeared across the frame of your lips. Like he was your sacrifice. Like you were a god.

He looked at you like such.

Disposing of the bodies was even simpler. As you laboured to wipe the bedsheets clean of any possible evidence, Oliver tossed the carcasses into the wide, sprawling woods a mile or two away from the estate. The wild animals are bound to eat away at the rot infecting the pale, cold meat.

From scum, you came. Now scum you become.

The Catton Family Players music box is anchored to a table, presented in the middle of the foyer. Four smooth rocks perched on top. Even though there wasn't a funeral explicitly necessary in this case, it grew to be a game. You and Oliver took turns tossing the engraved rock into the rivers before plunging after them.

In no time at all, whatever garments you possessed were cast aside. You were shoulders-down submerged in the pummelling waters, each movement rippling the moana-blue waves.

Oliver bore his arms around you, encompassing your waist to keep you afloat so you would be able to soak in the scenery ahead of you. Submerged in the serenity of nature. With only the limelight of the sun sinking below the horizon to keep you two company.

You trusted him not to drop you. Of course, you trusted him.

Why wouldn't you trust him when he gave you everything you had ever wanted? His lips pressed warmly against the curve of your forehead. You were both skin to skin, but it didn't feel enough to you. He could’ve been inside you (in whatever way that struck the imagination). And it’d never be enough.

"What's happenin' in your pretty little mind, sugar?" Oliver hummed, his articulation was in the form of a mere whisper. Yet, the rumble of his words solicited you with so much warmth you had to take a second to respond.

"You." His eyebrows raised at the simplicity of your words. "How lucky we are."

The familiar warmth of that chuckle you love so much leaves his chest in a glowing reverberation. "We are a lucky pair, aren't we, darlin'?"

You would've never guessed for revenge and lust to be written on the same page. But through vengeance, and the motions of murder, you had gained your other half.

You had never felt happier. Never felt more whole.

And you loved him. You loved him so immensely. Nobody could have ever doubted that fact in the first place.

That's why you were the most bewildered when you stirred from rest, aroused into waking. You had foreseen residing in Oliver's arms, in the master suite the two of you now occupied. You were in Oliver's arms, yes. But not in the way you hoped for.

That's exactly how you got to this point in time.

You strain and challenge the thick ropes constricting the frame of your ankles and wrists, alerting Oliver to your consciousness. You incline your head over the brink of your bare shoulder, catching a glimpse of nothing but fields surrounding the two of you.

A river draws closer and closer in the distance.

You attempt to will yourself to speak, but your lips are harshly taped shut. Oliver doesn't need to receive your words of interrogation anyway, as he proceeds to speak.

"You were always a feisty one." He comments loosely, voice casual as if you weren't bound and gagged in between his defined biceps. His bare feet hit against the ground beneath him, muffled by the field's natural grass dressing,

"What a shame it had to be this way."

As the river grows nearer and nearer in your line of view, you spy something bland and metal perched on the rocks beside the streaming current. It's rougher today. A contrast in comparison to the passive waves you and Oliver bathed in the few days prior.

Your eyes rounden in realisation.

Fully aware of the restraints diminishing your speech, you attempt to grill the man above you on why the hell he possesses a weight. No properly audible sound manages to slip out.

A dry snigger escapes Oliver. "It would've been too obvious, my dear. I mean, we're the last ones standing." He falters in step, the waves of the river's current join the throbbing of your heart, roaring between your ears. Oliver inclines downwards, fingertips as gentle and purposeful as ever as they tease the edge of the tape. "What a tragedy it'd be for my lover to be taken away from me as well."

Tears prickle at the edge of your eyes.

The tape rips away from your lips, strangling a cry from deep within your throat at the throbbing pain that overbears you. Oliver tosses the tape aside without a second thought, the pad of his thumb rubbing easing circles into the somewhat swollen attributes of your mouth. "Shh..." 

"Oliver, this isn't fucking funny."

"I know it isn't, sweetheart."

The man you thought you loved lowers his head and meets a feathery kiss against your lips. Once. Twice. Thrice. He leans upwards, and an indescribable emotion flutters in the whirling aquamarine of his eyes. "But it has to be done."

Oliver's broadened palm takes hold of your mouth harshly, sinking his slender digits into the flush of your cheeks. A sharp distinction to the flutter of his lips seconds prior. You howl your protests into his fingers, writhing in his overpowering arms as he works to lock the weight onto the rope decorating your ankle. Your howls turn into sobs that wrack your chest with each breath, the colour promptly draining from your face. Oliver stands right at the edge of the rocks lining the river, decorating the roaring waters below.

Molten tears ride down your cheeks. Your voice rasps. "Ollie?"

"Yes, princess?" He still garners the ability to serenade you with the sweet tinges of his words, as if you weren't on the way to your inevitable death.

"Venetia was right about you. You're fucking sick in the head."

There isn’t a trace of aggravation that crosses Oliver’s face. His unruly eyebrows raise for a moment, overcome by amusement as he scrutinizes you darkly.

"Now, now. Let's not forget who was by my side the entire time."

He's right. You know he's right. You glare up at him with a twisted combination of loathing and horror at the enlightenment. You took down every one of the Cattons by his side. He took you under his wing and assisted you in getting your way against the people you've despised for the majority of your life. This was your way of repaying him.

"I'll see you in hell, bastard."

These are the very last words you manage to seethe before your bound silhouette is freed from Oliver's bone-chilling palms. Before your entire physique sinks into the freezing waters, swallowing your entire body whole as the weight anchoring your leg propels you further downwards.

Your last breaths escape you in a gust of bubbles, rising desperately to the top as you reach the bottom of the makeshift hell you were tossed into.

The last thing you see is a rock with your name on it.

—Pues mírame a los ojos, dime si ves el vacío que deja amor perdido— "LOOK ME IN THE EYES, TELL ME IF YOU SEE THE VOID THAT LOST LOVE LEFT BEHIND"

WORD COUNT: 4K MASTERLIST

[queenlakiefer]

I guess you’ll never know

Sam was finally pulled free from the vampire’s clutches after the light of the sun burned his undead hand. David screamed in agony as his flesh sizzled. He quickly regained his composure as he saw the younger Emerson and the Frog brothers fleeing and yelled.

“I guess you don’t want to know what happened to your sister!”

This stopped the Frog brothers in their tracks, causing Sam to stop as well. The brothers turned around in disbelief at the mention of their missing sister. Edgar was the first of the brothers to speak.

“We know what happened, you blood suckers killed her and we won’t rest until every last one of you has a stake through the heart!”

Alan nodded in agreement, staring at David with more disgust than he usually would have stared at a vampire…he was offended that this…THING…this MONSTER dared mention his sister. This monster didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as her let alone mention her.

David wanted nothing more than to tear them limb from limb for killing Marko but they were still safely in the sun’s rays. However he knew their weakness, he had an ace up his sleeve like he always does and the perfect bait to tempt them to their deaths.

“Never found a body did they? For all you know she could still be out there somewhere”

David was beginning to enjoy himself despite the events that unfolded not long ago. He enjoys toying with his food. David’s sadistic smile grew bigger and his gold and red vampiric eyes gleamed. He nodded behind him in the direction of the dark abyss of the sunken hotel.

“Could even be somewhere in this very cave”

The Frog brothers glanced around the small cavern as if hoping for a glimpse of their missing sister but quickly turned their eyes back to David. Alan was slightly weakening and Edgar spoke out as if sensing his brother’s hesitation.

“He’s lying! It’s just a death breath trick!” Edgar yelled, trying to convince his brother but also trying to convince himself.

This blood sucker wants to kill them, he’ll say anything to lure them into his trap. There is no way she is still alive, she would never abandon her family. If she was alive…no matter what, she would’ve found a way to escape and come home. She would never have put their parents or little brothers through this pain.

It was like a game of chicken, who was going to crack. Believing David wasn’t an option, he would rip them to shreds in a heart beat. Sam was taking all of this in and could only imagine how they must be feeling and how tempted they must be wanting to know what happened to their sister…if it was Michael then he’d feel the same way but perhaps this was for another time. They must go, they are wasting precious time.

“Let’s go.” Said Sam and Edgar nodded reluctantly.

Edgar wanted to know, god knows he did but he can’t believe the words of this vampire. There was no proof she was still alive and what matters now was to avenge her death. Take every last one of these blood suckers down…we owe her that. Edgar and Sam started to make their way out but realised that Alan was rooted to the spot so now it was their turn to drag him out, they grabbed Alan by his arms and pulled him towards the mouth of the cave.

“Don’t believe a word of it Alan, remember what he is.” Said Edgar before continuing.

“It’s classic vampire mind games. You know she would never abandon us, her family. She’s gone and we must slay every damn blood sucker in her memory.”

Alan came more to his senses as they were leaving, realising that Edgar and Sam were right and muttered.

“She’s gone”

David was still grinning and watched as they left. Before he disappeared into the shadows of the cave he chuckled darkly and spoke to the retreating vampire slayers.

“I guess you’ll never know”

[tastesoftamriel]

I hate hot food. For many reasons. I know a lot of Argonian meals are served cool/cold, but do the other races have meals intended to be the same way?

While not particularly common in some Provinces, chilled dishes can be found across Tamriel and are the perfect refreshment when hot food feels a little too weighty.

Altmer

Probably the Tamrielic masters of cold dishes, the High Elves are probably best known for their cold raw seafood dishes. Fresh fish, prawns, squid, octopus, sea urchin, and much more are sliced with a deft hand and served with wasabi and saltrice sauce. Sometimes, the seafood is placed atop rice and wrapped with a thin slice of nori to hold it together. While the idea of eating cold raw fish may not appeal to many, it's one of my favourite foods in Tamriel.

Argonians

Keeping clay or metal vessels submerged in water is an age-old Argonian technique of keeping their food cool, which is an absolute must in the hot and muggy climate of Black Marsh. Cold swamp jelly and seafood salad topped with grilled prawns and chilled marinated snails is a customary dish offered to visitors, and it's delightfully refreshing! The swamp jelly doesn't taste of much, but its soft, jelly-like texture complements the crunch of the seaweed.

Bosmer

Cold food isn't much of a thing for the Wood Elves, but one exception jumps to mind: the humble cottage cheese dip. Cottage cheese made from timber mammoth milk is aged in caves for two days, seasoned, and kept chilled. The dip is served cold with dried cured meats to dip with. It's not terribly exciting, but there's nothing quite as satisfying as eating meat and cheese in one bite!

Bretons

Chilled soufflés are all the rage in High Rock, and require lots of patience (and swearing) to master. Both sweet and savoury soufflés are served in this manner, from orange liqueur to parmesan and rosemary. My personal favourite is the chilled chili chocolate soufflé from the Rosy Lion in Daggerfall, part of their seasonal menu. The combination of rich dark cocoa with a touch of Alik'r spices is out of Nirn!

Dunmer

Chilled foods aren't an integral part of Dunmeri gastronomic culture, but certain Houses, namely the Telvanni, Hlaalu, and Redorans, do enjoy them. A Telvanni specialty is a cold chicken salad, where the chicken is marinated overnight in a blend of matcha, fire fern, saltrice sauce, and secret spices. It grilled and shredded, and served cold with hackle-lo leaves and gold kanet seeds atop steamed saltrice. However, don't let appearances fool you; any Telvanni with cold chicken salad leftovers can probably be found gobbling it at midnight straight from the cold cellar.

Imperials

The Gold Coast is famous for its chilled seafood soup, made with a creamy tomato and fish stock base, and loaded with all manner of fish and shellfish. While the hot variant from Bruma is more popular in colder climes, the cold seafood soup is a delightfully refreshing meal when beating the summer heat, especially when served with a mojito on the side.

Khajiit

If there's an excuse to make a food cold, the Khajiit will find it, and for good reason: the Deadlands-like heat of Elsweyr. Cold vegetable curries are a notable mention. Three or four small bowls of different curries, from mild okra to spicy potato, are served with moon sugar, saffron rice or tandoor flatbreads, and are meant to be eaten with your hands. I must say, though, that there's a rather jarring contrast between the cold curry and the searing heat you get from biting into a bird's eye chili.

Nords

Unlike the Khajiit, Nords look for any excuse to make food hot, with a couple of exceptions. Cold smoked salmon, mudcrab, or trout with dark rye bread is one of them. This rustic lunch dish is served with chilled horseradish cream, goat cheese, and fish roe topping, and is the perfect meal for when you want something filling that won't send you straight to sleep.

Orcs

Glass noodle salad is an Orcish delicacy said to have originated in Wrothgar in the early Second Era. The noodles, made from sweet potato starch, are thick and chewy, and are served chilled. To turn it into a salad, simply throw in some cold shredded daikon radish and carrots, sweet frost mirriam vinegar, peas, cold rare beef tongue slices, and fried chorizo. Easy and delicious, while packing lots of flavour!

Redguards

Cold foods are a welcome treat in Hammerfell, where the searing heat can be just as unbearable as Elsweyr's. Cold, pulled goat in a chilled tomato and harissa-based stew is eaten as a soup, and is a filling meal when mixed with bulgur or cous-cous. While it may sound and look a little like last night's disappointing leftovers, one bite of this on a Midyear day in the Alik'r will have you moaning with delight.

[octuscle]

Fuck man using this app whilst I'm currently so horny might be a mistake but please tell me this thing has a forced growth feature. I'm so bored of being small already I just want to become so fucking huge the only thing I can fit in is under wear, skin tight gym shorts at the most. I want my stench and B.O to instantly fill up a room and make lesser men fall to their knees.

I just wanna be forced to become a young insanely huge freakshow of a bodybuilder.

RIPPPPPP! In the middle of lunch, the seam of your jacket rips open across your back. The whole restaurant is looking at you. You barely look up from your plate, on which instead of a coq au vin there are now six boiled chicken breasts with rice. You struggle to free yourself from the shreds of your jacket without stopping to gulp down your food.

RIPPPPPP! Your biceps burst the sleeves of your shirt. With your mouth full, you mumble something like "sorry" and just rip the remnants of the sleeves off the rest of the shirt. You eat your food like a pig. The glass of Merlot is now a canister of protein shake. Your colleagues and business partners stare at you with open mouths. You pause for a moment and do a double biceps pose. Fuck, the bushes under your armpits stink like a horse stable. You take a deep breath and grin. PIIIIING! Two of your shirt buttons can no longer withstand your pectoral muscles as you inhale and fly through the air like projectiles. You stand up with difficulty, apologize again with your mouth full and spit food scraps around. On the way to the toilet, you let loose a huge protein fart. A quick look in the mirror… You can throw away the shirt. For the rest of lunch it must still hold out with torn sleeves and unbuttoned. While you first fart and then burp even louder, your boss comes in. Holds you a telling off, what that was for an impossible behavior on your part. He asks you to leave the restaurant discreetly through the back exit. And to report to him in the office tomorrow morning.You put your hand to your temple in an "Aye Sir". And you fart again as a farewell.

Your fancy Porsche convertible groans as you squeeze your body into the tight seat. Fuck, the car is much too small for you. The remnants of the clothes you're wearing on your body are much too small for you. You desperately need a change of clothes. In your gym there is a small corner where they sell fitness clothes. And the gym is nearby, so you drive the car there. The receptionist stares at you. This is actually a posh place for yuppies and influencers who want to keep fit. Not for the big lads like you. You ask if they have anything to wear in your size. The lady asks you if you speak English. You repeat your question with a heavy Russian accent.

The only thing they have here in your size are shorts that are frighteningly tight on your thighs. At least there are shoes and socks in size 14. You look good. You do another pose in front of the mirror. The passing visitors of the gym hold their noses. You smell your armpit again. Good honest pumper sweat. You want to go to the training area when you are asked for your membership card. You search for your wallet in the rags that used to be your suit pants. There it is. But Anatol Ivanovich is not a member here. Anatol is a member of Gold's Gym.

You love your Jeep Wrangler Rubicon. A car like you. Massive and bursting with power. And fortunately well ventilated for any passengers. As you roll into the parking lot in front of the gym, you and your car stick out. This is certainly a place for the big guys. But you're the biggest of them.

After the third set on the leg press, you take a deep breath. Yes, this is what a gym must smell like. Like burps. Like protein farts. Like sweat. Like testosterone. Just like you!

Found the pic of your new you @muscleaddictza