#Ronan (oc)

[envihellbender]

you’re a mill worker boy with few fingers and less teeth who never moved on before they shut the factory where you died. west yorkshire/industrial gothic

Characters: James Sullivan, Ronan (OCs)

Content: rotting corpses

The old Stonemouth Mills just off the Pennine Way coming up to the city of Leeds had become quite infamous since the hundred and ninety years it was built. It had been closed for a century, and it wasn’t until its closure that everyone in the county knew of it. The story was that little Jimmy Sullivan had been a child worker there, he had been sent under the machinery to find out what was causing the conveyor belt to jam. When he found the shard of metal and yanked it out of place the machine began again, tearing off his arm and pulling him into it. They say he screamed so loudly the windows smashed and that’s what led to the end of child labour in Britain. He is said to haunt the Mills to do this day, resulting in many supernatural enthusiasts and ghost hunters visiting the place on a fairly regular basis. They even did ghost tours there sometimes. It is nice story but little of it is true. There was a James Sullivan who died there, no one called him ‘Jimmy’ however. He also wasn’t a child, he had just turned twenty but managed to keep the job he’d been given at thirteen because poor diet had resulted in him growing very little upwards or outwards. What had actually happened is he was cleaning the machines and his hand got stuck. He had only already been missing his thumb on his left hand and he could feel two of them being sliced off. He screamed for help but since it would have cost more to try and rescue him he was left there. The next day it was quiet, and no one tried to find the body. That could have been where it ended, but one worker was a wreck afterwards. He still heard James’ screams in his ringing ears and he told his wife, the story got round the county and it meant the closure of Stonemouth Mills. No one ever went looking for James’ body however. Not that it didn’t make an appearance fairly regularly.

James remembered his death vividly, he remembered oil and soot filling his eyes and mouth, and he still felt pain in his left hand which his little and index finger left. On his good hand he still had three - his thumb, middle, and index finger. He could still grab things, and he’d learned to pull at things with his arms. That was the strange thing, he had been suffocated underneath the machine. He knew he had, but when he pulled himself out of there… he wasn’t him any more. Or he was, just less. His skin grew mottled until it was completely grey, there was still a patch of white on his face but it wasn’t the same as his old pale complexion. The whites of his eyes grew black with the oil or soot that filled them, his hazel irises shining against them. His limbs still worked, in fact it seemed he was more agile than he was when he was alive. He was fast and he could climb spectacularly well. His sight had neither declined nor improved it just changed. In the sunlight things were unclear and covered in a layer of fog, a night things were bright and vivid. He got into the habit of sleeping during the day simply because it was easier, the Mills came to life at night. It never occurred to him to try and leave, once he heard all of the workers speaking of his death, and when the Mills closed down he knew that it was useless. Besides, he didn’t look human any more.

He had a fairly happy time in the Mills, children would often throw stones at the window and he’d sneak into the view of one and giggle as they screamed and ran away. Occasionally they’d even sneak in through the door daring each other to go in further. He discovered this way he could still speak. He’d whistle and shout things down the corridor just to see them pale and run away terrified. He never got too close, he wasn’t a ghost like some of the beings that lived in the Mills. He was solid. He assumed he was faster but he didn’t wish to find out. Things had changed recently however, it was adults scoping out the Mills, with strange equipment that he and the ghosts found annoying more than anything. The smirked and made jibes at the beings, and it simply made them stay silent and refuse to show themselves. Occasionally some where curious and polite, enough so they’d entertain them. James generally preferred those who were quiet and tried their best not to stomp on the floorboards or break in. They came in with what he heard one of them call a camera - baffling to him as he remembered them as huge things that smelled strange with flashing lights. Instead they had tiny handheld boxes that made noises. He followed and watched them curiously, known to him he had been caught in the corner of some photos which had been put on the internet and torn apart for their validity.

One evening, there was another group of ghost hunters. James saw them from his spot on the roof, he ground what was left of his teeth in annoyance as he saw them with huge equipment. They chatted amongst themselves and seemed fairly harmless however. James decided to keep an eye on them. By the time he climbed down to the entrance they had just walked into the Mills. One of them, a lad about James’ age with copper hair, freckles, and eyes that were two different shades of green, was speaking into the camera. James stayed crouched into the rafters, he expected them to start shouting and goading them… instead they talked about the history and the famous deaths. The lad’s voice was similar to James’ mother’s, a harsh and lilting Donegal accent with a hint of West Yorkshire round the edges. Maybe that’s what made him follow them, he thought. He realised quite quickly that the group didn’t believe anything out of the ordinary existed there, they were telling the stories of the place and whenever there was anything strange they documented it and discussed possibilities. Perhaps that what made James get careless. He hung from the rafters as they reached the place he did to get a better look and to listen, suddenly the young man’s eyes widened and he pointed in James direction. He managed to pull himself up and flee before the others saw him or a camera fixed on him.

James felt guilt twist in the remains of his stomach as he watched them speak afterwards. The young Irish man insisted he saw something, something solid and rotting. It looked a boy. The others looked at him in concern and asked if he’d been sleeping okay or working too hard. James started to wonder if he should have just let them see him… except he learned from experience that the living become obsessive and terrifying when they get too close. What he didn’t expect, was to the young man to come back the next night. He saw him from the roof again, but he was alone this time. He was armed with a torch and a warm coat, and James went to go follow him again… against his better judgement.

“Hello?” The young man called through the halls, inspecting the corners and ceiling with his torch and jumping with every noise. James watched him tremble and cry out at everything that shocked him. It was almost cute, he thought. “I’m not- I’m not going to hurt you! I didn’t bring a camera,” he continued projecting his voice as he entered the same spot he’d seen James the night before. “Hello?” He called again. James decided, against his better judgement to let himself fall to the ground, bending his knees as he fell and pressing his hands to the ground almost like an animal. The young man held the slight noise and spun round, paling and freezing in spot as he saw James looking up at him.

“Hello,” James responded casually, not moving as he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“It’s you! From last night. I- I saw you- you’re real.”

“It would seem so,” he replied slowly. Deciding that the terrified lad was not a danger to him he got to his feet and took a step closer looking him up and down. He was tall, at least a foot taller than he was and chubby around the edges. His clothes seemed fairly standard with what people wore at present, a lot cleaner than James’ old rags. “What do you want?”

“To know you were real. To know you weren’t a hallucination, mostly.”

“I shouldn’t have let you see me, sorry,” James mumbled, feeling a little embarrassed for the first time in a century.

“Why did you?”

“I… I liked your voice. It reminded me of my ma. Haven’t really thought about her in a long time. I don’t even remember what she looks like,” James said, surprised at how he spoke so freely. He narrowed his eyes and became cautious again, was this truly a normal living human?

“Wait- so you’re Jimmy Sullivan, right? The son of Mary Sullivan?”

“How do you know-”

“She killed your dad. And ran away to England. It’s an old story from back home. Sorry.”

“It’s fine, he was a bastard.”

“I’m Ronan by the way,” he offered with a slight smile seeming a little more settled. He offered out his hand without thinking, and James reluctantly took it - amused at how Ronan looked shocked at how cold and harsh his skin was. Or perhaps it was the missing fingers. He wasn’t sure.

[romanoe]

[aroaceleovaldez]

was thinking about next-gen kids and decided to doodle a couple. elaborated thoughts below:

Iphis is named with the same naming conventions that Sally used when naming Percy - primarily, mythological figure who had a good fate. Nice for Percy to honor his mom by naming his own kid the same way and Annabeth gets a fun nerdy mythology name. Also sending good vibes to their kid. Plus middle name directly in honor of Sally, of course.

Specific myth is Iphis and Ianthe, with the idea that a.) it's gender-neutral so works regardless of kid's gender and b.) not only does Iphis have a good fate, but arguably nothing bad happens to them ever and they get helped out by like three whole pantheons who show up in a literal parade and they live happily ever after. Percy and Annabeth are pushing for the BEST vibes possible.

(Also I am a very strong proponent of the "I don't think they'd name their kids after dead family/friends" so none of them have that)

Iphis of course inherited the Jackson family early grey hairs <3

Virginia is named after Juniper (cause Juniper is specifically implied to be Juniperus virginiana). She's probably been childhood bffs with Iphis since Iphis was born.

Chuck is Chuck. I gave him a Yankees jersey cause you know he's being raised as a sporty kid.

Do you ever think about how OP Frank and Hazel's kid would be. It's ridiculous. Quadruple legacy, including 2/3 of the Big Three. Frank by himself was already so OP the gods had to nerf him. Hazel came back from the dead and Frank kinda just said "nope" to dying that one time. Hazel presumably has every power that Nico has which is. A lot. Not to mention what Hazel has been shown to just be able to do on her own (including but not limited to SINKING AN ENTIRE SMALL ISLAND). Ares/Mars kids can functionally be completely invulnerable sometimes and also have some limited necromancy. Combo that with Hades/Pluto kids also being hard to kill and having necromancy as one of their main powers. Not to mention how Pluto geokinesis might combo with Chloris (goddess of spring) powers? And this kid is 100% being protected by both Nico (who is probably a deity by that point) and probably Pluto himself as well? Hello?

Anyways Hazel and Frank's kid is a total powerhouse. Possibly functionally immortal. Easily strongest demigod of her generation.

I like to think the latent Chloris legacy would crop up (probably in combo with Mars and Poseidon's plant aspects) and give them an accidental Persephone-type theme and that's fun. Frazel's goth daughter who takes after her grandmother (and uncle).

Figured since Frank is Canadian and Hazel is from Louisiana they'd go for a French name. The flower theme was not intentional on their part it just happened. Law of demigod naming conventions appears nonetheless.

I figure Leo might not have kids of his own but he probably still hangs around with Hazel and Frank so of course he's going to make their kid a cool thematic robot pet. He's probably her godfather or something.

Ronan is literally just some kid who showed up at the Chase Space who coincidentally was a legacy of Freyr and could shapeshift. Magnus and Alex obviously can't have kids cause they're dead, BUT some orphan with essentially a combo of their powers just shows up on their doorstep? Their kid now.

The ironic part is of course their shapeshifting powers just happen to be because they're distantly related to one of Annabeth's friends. Ronan finds himself suddenly gaining two parents and two cousins (Iphis and Lily) in rapid succession.

He only picks up Magnus' last name though cause Alex has 100% disowned her mortal parents.

He has a seal flipper cause shapeshifting and apparently "Ronan" means seal. I just wanted to draw those two showcasing their shapeshifting a lil bit.

Might try to doodle the other next-gen kid thoughts I had at some point but idk when. anyways yeah.

[sonnae]

it’s vortigaunt friday, have a desert vort

[chiropteracupola]

She was a seal, of course, everybody knew it.

[irlmumrik]

her agaiiiiinnnnnnn

[oddsconvert]

My brain: make friends! Send asks! Exist in more then just your blog!

Me: but what if I'm scared of friends!?!?!

Anyway, can I request Ronan catching Issak hurting Henley?

Flowers for author. 💐💐💐💐💐

Friends!!! It's official! No being scared! <3 I am so sorry for the delay with this but I hope this ticks your boxes! :D

---

“How do you sleep at night?”

Henley stirred awake, his world a blurred mess of throbbing pain. Crusted sleep clung to his lashes, he blinked fiercely to chase away the haze. He could only just about make out a hulking silhouette looming over him. When his vision finally sharpened, he instinctively clutched his scratty blanket closer to his heaving chest - his futile shield.

Cold dread flooded Henley as he saw Izaak, free of the chains that usually rattled with every twitch of a muscle. The chains that kept Henley safe and sound, out of harm's way. Far from Izaak’s reach.  Izaak's fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white, his face contorted in a feral snarl. Panic squeezed Henley’s chest like a vice. He was a rabbit trapped in a fox's den. 

“Wha-?” Henley’s voice was a hoarse rasp. He’s half-convinced no sound left his lips at all. 

"Oh, did I interrupt your sweet dreams, Henny?" Izaak's voice was a low growl, sending shivers trickling down Henley's spine. That nickname. The way it dripped with mocking familiarity, but years of ingrained fear hid within it. It made all the hairs on Henley’s arms stand on edge. 

Izaak suddenly lunged forward. One massive hand clamped around Henley's throat, squeezing every last drop of air from his lungs. Henley's wrists burned in protest against his chains, straining as he fought for a sliver of slack, a desperate inch to reach his throat and fight Izaak off. "You," Izaak spat, barely containing his rage, "are the reason for my suffering. The cause of my anguish. Every scar on my body has your name written on it.."

Tears pressed from beneath Henley’s eyelids, and he shook his head furiously. Passionately. No. It’s not true. He’s not responsible for this. He didn’t land them here, he didn’t start all of this. This is all Izaak’s doing. This is the price he has to pay. 

“So answer the question,” Izaak demanded, now nearly crushing Henley’s windpipe as he choked and wheezed, “How the hell do you sleep at night? No. Scratch that shit. Better yet. How do you live with yourself? After what you’ve done to me?”

“I-Izaak, pleas-”

Izaak’s fist came at Henley with such speed it was like a cannonball. It connected with a sickening crunch as Henley felt his nose cave in, and hot-white pain erupted. The force of the blow sent him sprawling, the floor rose up to meet him with a jarring thud. He lay helpless. Cool blood dripped from his nose and pooled on his lips, he could taste the metallic tang. 

“You dare call me that again, and I’ll put you six feet under this fucking cement. Understand?” Izaak seethed through gritted teeth, with spit spraying and a vein pulsing from his temple. Izaak didn’t even give him the second to respond, Henley was still reeling and seeing stars. “I SAID, “DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!” he roared. 

“Yes!” Henley wailed miserably. Tears mingled with blood and dirt. He sniffed pathetically and whimpered as new pain flared through his obviously broken nose. He stayed glued to the floor. Too afraid to move, to even dare lift his head up. Henley didn’t see Izaak reaching for his long curls of hair and wrenching them in his fist. Yanking his head back, Henley’s Adam's apple bobbed against his collar as he gasped and gulped back the fear.

“‘Yes’, what?” Izaak whispered. It was hard to miss the element of enjoyment in his voice. It sounded like old times. Must feel like it to him too. 

But Henley immediately knew what he was looking for.

“Yes, sir!” Henley gasped out. There’s not a beat of hesitation. Izaak can say many things about Henley. A bad pet, he is not. 

Henley’s head smacked to the ground, his forehead banging against cold, unforgiving cement as Izaak threw him out of his hand. He’s on a warpath. He paced back and forth, contemplating what to do next. 

Izaak's foot then swung into Henley's gut. The air whooshed from Henley's lungs in a strangled scream that ripped free from his throat. The world lurched sideways, a wave of nausea crashing over him. Bile rose in his throat as pain lanced through his abdomen. Izaak unrolled Henley from his cocoon and straddled his hips, slamming his palm over Henley’s mouth, “Shut the fuck up! Don’t you dare make a sound.”

Henley obeyed. He forced himself to seal his lips, now sobbing silently and huffing through the pain. 

“You got us into this fucking mess. You deserve everything you’ve got coming to you. I’m going to make you wish you were never born-”

“I already do-” Henley croaked.

Izaak doesn’t hold back anymore. He unleashed a flurry of punches, raining blow after blow down on Henley. Henley’s already-battered body convulsed with each hit - he twisted and flailed in a desperate bid to shield himself from the onslaught. It was no use. Darkness cornered his vision, and ringing screeched in his ears. His entire body was slowly growing limp.

Henley squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the sweet relief of unconsciousness. He waited for the next punch. And waited. But it never came. Confused, Henley cracked open a swollen and purpling eye.

Izaak was no longer looking at him, and a flicker of raw terror replaced the unhinged rage that had plagued his eyes before. Henley groaned as he lifted his pounding head, and turned to follow Izaak’s petrified stare.

A shadow shifted at the top of the stairs, a tutting sound emanating from the darkness.

“What are you doing to my boy?” Ronan asked, cool as a cucumber on the surface, but fury bubbled below. The calm facade didn’t last. Ronan flew down the stairs, and pulled that oh so familiar remote from his pocket. In the blink of an eye, Izaak was a quivering, jittering wreck as his shock collar lit up and shocked him stiff. He collapsed from Henley’s body like a tonne of bricks. His screams pierced the sound barrier - his fingers scrabbled and ripped at the collar, kicking his legs and bucking his entire body. Ronan punched the button again, and again until the screaming stopped. It’s just silent gargles, with drool dribbling down the edge of Izaak’s blue lips. 

Ronan threw Henley a single, and quick look as he bolted past. It wasn't a look of reassurance, but a quick flicker up and down to acknowledge him. Reaching his locked cabinet, Ronan fumbled with the combination and finally, the cabinet swung open, and he snatched a vial and syringe, and a length of rope.

He wastes no time in racing over to where Izaak is heaving and panting on the floor, and stabbing the syringe in his neck. Izaak roared, a sound that curdled the blood, but it was cut short by a weak gasp as the muscle relaxant began to take hold.

“There, there. That should settle you down, big-un,” Ronan chuckled, patting Izaak on the chest.

“F-ffuc- fuckk y-yoou,” Izaak slurred, his eyes rolled like pinball machines in their sockets. Henley watches as all the tone in Izaak’s muscle depleted and he flopped lifelessly. Izaak lay sprawled on the floor, a pathetic mew escaping his lips as the muscle relaxant coursed through his veins. His previously violent thrashing had dissolved into a pathetic trembling, his limbs heavy and unresponsive.

Henley's cry echoed through the basement. Now that the threat was neutralised. "You didn't tie him tight enough, sir! He almost—!" His voice choked on the rising panic, his gaze locked on Izaak's slack form. “He was going to kill me.”

Ronan paid no mind to Henley, the shivering wreck that he was. Instead, he focused on yanking Izaak’s arms behind his back. With rough rope, he bound Izaak's wrists together with a vengeance, the knots pulled tight, drawing a choked gasp that did little to faze Ronan. Next, he secured Izaak's ankles with another length of rope, the slack yanked out until Izaak's legs were splayed uncomfortably wide. Finally, with a cruel twist, Ronan bound Izaak's ankles to his secured wrists, hog-tying him in a position that screamed discomfort. Izaak's gasps faded to choked moans as his body contorted in a way it wasn't meant to, forced into an arched bow.

Ronan left Izaak on the ground and approached Henley slowly. With a touch that could have been gentle or cruel, he cupped Henley's bruised and bloodied cheek. Henley flinched at the contact, a hiss escaping his lips. Ronan’s eyes flickered over the damage and he tsked, disappointed. Then his eyes met Henley’s and locked in. “Do you really think I’d let him break one of my favourite toys?”

“He - He got pretty close, master.” Henley snivelled. He flinched as Ronan’s arms moved, expecting another blow, but instead, his arms wrapped around Henley’s tiny frame in a sudden and suffocating embrace. Ronan’s grip was tight, possessive, leaving no wiggle room. Defeated, Henley sagged into the hug and rested his head on Ronan’s chest, letting his eyes flutter shut. It was always easier to give into this than brave the pain. Ronan began to stroke Henley’s hair, twirling it in his fingers. It wasn’t a gesture of genuine affection and Henley was never under the impression that it was. It was Ronan’s sense of ownership. Like Izaak’s claim was the bruises and scars. Ronan’s was more inside than out. For Henley, at least.

“Shh Shh. Come with me. I’ll get you patched up, little one”. Grunting with effort, Ronan hoisted Henley to his feet, a hand wrapped under his armpit to guide him up the creaking stairs.

Ronan turned at the very last step, leering at the sight of Izaak, bound and subdued. "That little temper tantrum of yours was cute, pet" he called down, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "But playtime's over. Now, you get to lie there, nice and quiet, and contemplate all the fun things I have planned for you when your little cocktail wears off. I want you to feel every second.”

----

Taglists!:

Henley taglist: @livelaughwhump @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @sorrowful-hyacinth

Ronan taglist: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

Izaak taglist: @emmettland @kira-the-whump-enthusiast @sorrowful-hyacinth @whumpsoda

Drabble taglist (which I forgot existed and have recently rediscovered assdfghjkl so will be using from now on unless you would like off it <3 ): @whatwasmyprevioususername @whumpsday @sparrowsage @whumperfully @wolves-and-winters @canislycaon24 @happy-little-sadist @darkthingshappen @whumping-in-the-dark @vagabouund @turn-the-tables-on-them

[praxieserver]

piercings

[skeleton-chef]

This picture of my friends falling off a lime scooter in a McDonald’s parking lot at 2:00am is just so raven boys core.

[thrawns-backrest]

doodle and wip dump! descriptions and headcanons under the cut

Thurfian and Chiss OC (yet to be introduced). I really wanted to draw these two as I imagined them with similarly elongated face shapes and needed to work out the differences in their features. really happy with how Thurfian's hair ornament turned out. I imagine traditional Aristocra hairstyles as long and flowy while the military has more practical cuts

my funky little man and his outfits! love the thigh length cape so much. the final one is what I imagine him to wear at his new position in the Ascendancy (as per my fic). these are actually simple low level bureaucrat robes, the Syndics have even more elaborate outfits. I also imagine the waist tie knot to have additional status/occupation meaning

Ba'kif progress wip. just the base sketch with some colors thrown in for now. I want to finish his portrait ala Ronan style so fingers crossed we get there. this is what I imagine as a service dress uniform, as opposed to full dress where he would be wearing his full chains. these smaller chains are kind of like medal ribbon bars, for a more practical style

and finally someone mentioned Ronan with shorter hair and I couldn't resist. and the sketch that started it all next to it (first time I drew my man). I think I prefer him with his curls, it says more civilian which is what he is essentially, with that obligatory slicked back quality for some pomp. That said, I do imagine younger Ronan with a short style like this and it's neat that he actually looks younger here.

[entans]

🌿 ˚｡⋆˚☁️‎🍃♡

[reapersynth]

first time fully making and finishing a piece in procreate!! Trying to get the hang of it bc I don't want to pay the subscription service for csp </3 (srsly celsys i bought 2 licenses from y'all and you still wanna charge me a monthly fee? Ghastly 💀) featuring detective ronan killdeer, one of the 2 primary protagonists (deuteragonist?) of an indie horror project @first-blight and i are working on :] the background for this one was fun, it's been a long time since i messed with perspective lol

I also threw together a speedpaint from procreate's timelapse bc why not ??

[romanoe]

[ruvviks]

FAR CRY 5 ➤ scenery [6/?]

[willfullwanderer]

yall mind if i just

[chiropteracupola]

Then they sat down and sang / but my love sang the clearest / Like a nightingale in the spring / saying, “You’re welcome home, my dearest...”

[moth and compass is a collaboration with @natdrinkstea]