#The Mouses Lawyers can smell the fear

[alanshee-keeper-of-realms]

Someone: Have you no shame?

Me: My shame went out the window the moment I started writing Disney and Looney Tunes Fanfic

[itendedbadly]

Invited In

An explanation: So, the reader is going through her fertile cycle, and this thought came to me and I couldn’t leave it alone, so here you are. It’s un-beta’d, purely self-indulgent, and yeah that was an unintentional throwback to Twilight listen it was an accident. Honestly, I wrote this because I’m a horny bitch for Claes Bang and his role in BBC’s Dracula and needed an outlet for my fantasies, no I won’t apologize, and I really like imagining him saying dirty things because his voice really gets to me.

Pairing: Dracula x reader

Tags: Mentions of blood and gore, dirty talk, sexual reference, the reader is not technically his servant freely?, Dracula has a super-nose, honestly the reader should’ve just gone to bed

Wordcount: 2.3k

Summary: “You daft girl,” his voice was a low growl.

Another inhale and a heavy groan vibrated against you.

“Your smell, it makes me want to eat that sweet cunt of yours.”

Three years. It was a long three years you’d been with the Count, helping with personal affairs and just overall trying not to get in his way. The last thing you wanted to be was a nuisance considering his allowance of your stay in his condo ever since the unfortunate circumstance of your accidentally viewing his “extra-curricular” activities. Well, “allowing” you to stay was a bit of an exaggeration. The terms of your agreement not to kill you were that you kept his secret and stayed in his home to help him adapt to the different climate of the present date. This included the management of his social media presence as well as introducing modern fixtures into his lovely home (the television heralded an immediate fascination from Dracula as well as, surprisingly, detachable shower heads).

Now, if someone asked you how you felt about said arrangement (which they didn’t) you would say that while preferable to the alternative, it didn’t come without its hazards. Such hazards including: Constant fear that the slightest mistake will lead to death, the constant degrading reminder from the Count that the slightest mistake could lead to death (should the mood take him), and that no matter how hard you tried, you could never escape. What you wanted was and shall remain irrelevant to him, because how could such a selfish creature ever contemplate the desires of a young, empty-headed girl. Or rather, that’s what he labelled you in his mind, if he ever spared a thought for you at all. Though, you had an inkling that he cared for you more than he let on. If you ever said something particularly clever, or helped to solve an issue weighing on his mind, he would sometimes afford you the same kind of glance an owner would for their pet after doing a trick with no training.

It was this idea that brought a sly grin to your lips while picking up a towel and left-over pieces of clothing Dracula had, again, left on the floor of his master bedroom. Contrary to popular belief, brought about by his well put-together demeanor, the Count was, in fact, a bit of a slob. Constantly forgetting things or just throwing others away out of disinterest, it left you to clean up the mess. Though, you made it known that you drew the line at any piece of clothing or linen with a blood-stain on it. The idea of who it may have belonged to often left you feeling queasy and remorseful for serving such an unempathetic master. Though, you would never admit to his face that you thought of him as such, either unempathetic or as your master. Any scrap of power you could successfully keep him from holding over you, you would.

You’re brought out of your now slightly-dreary musings as the door slams downstairs. Uh-oh. The Count had been in a dreadful mood for the past few days, with no explanation as to why, but it seemed the mere sight of you made it worse. Quickly, you threw what you were holding into the dirty laundry basket and tried to slip to your room, where you would often find your sanctuary when Dracula had said something particularly harsh. You didn’t make it more than a few steps before you heard your name being called in a tone conveying urgency. Your chest swelled and deflated in a heavy sigh as you made your way downstairs. It wasn’t halfway down when you heard Dracula conversing with someone, presumably over the phone since there was no other discernible voice. It took some strength not to meekly peek around the corner of the bottom of the stairs before rounding into the spacious living room.

“Yes, I said that’s what I wanted. No, you don’t need to come my home and further discuss the details.” It seemed you were catching the tail-end of a conversation between him and his lawyer. “Alright, I’m hanging up now, yes, yes, yes, goodbye.” The Count brought the phone slowly away from his ear, and faintly you could hear the sounds of someone struggling to be heard before the call was cut off.

“Y/N, come here a moment. I need you to dispatch of my profile on this particular dating website.” Sigh. Seemed Tinder hadn’t worked out, then, a matter most definitely having been brought up by his lawyer. You reluctantly made your way to the laptop sitting, already opened, on the coffee table. With a few mouse clicks and password entries for confirmation, the Tinder profile was deleted and with it, any trace of how Dracula was finding his victims.

A cold presence settling in behind you made you aware that your actions were being closely observed, and that, if you wanted, a single step back would press you to the vampire, back to front. An errant thought you swept away with a quick shake of your head.

“Are you displeased with my orders?” You quickly turned your chin over your shoulder to address the Count, hoping to dispel any ideas he had towards your dissatisfaction.

“No, sir.” Nothing further was needed, and you hoped he would leave the thoughtless action alone. And, it seemed to be so, since you felt his presence fade and heard soft footsteps to the couch, where he sat down heavily.

“I think tonight will be a quiet one, so you may dismiss yourself to your bedroom.”

Now this, this was odd. It seemed the ever-energetic supernatural being was … worn down. Considering this, what you should have done was thank him and immediately start to the stairs, and then head down the opposite hallway to his, towards your own room for some quiet, personal time. Instead, you couldn’t help the words that practically fell out of your mouth.

“Do you- I mean, are you alright, sir?” The Count didn’t seem to pay any attention to the oddness of your actually questioning his orders, and merely waved a large, pointy-nailed hand in your direction in a clear sign of ‘go away’.

“Don’t bother your pretty little head over it and run along like a good girl.” A flush tried to make its way onto your cheeks, but you successfully stifled it and calmed your heart rate with gentle breaths, so as to not let him know how much those two words actually affected you.

You gave a hesitant nod, even though he wasn’t actually looking at you and made your way past his figure, towards the stairs. Just as you dropped your shoulders and let a long breath past your lips, you felt a hand of icy fingers wrapped like steel around your wrist. With a gasp, you looked back to see that Dracula had nearly lifted himself off the sofa, bending away from it and towards you in his, clearly, unplanned grab of your wrist. Even his eyes seemed to widen a little, taking in what he had done. You looked at his face, expecting another command, but instead found that he would not meet your eyes, merely staring at his own, apparently-traitorous, hand. In a movement that screamed the effort of prying off a metal beam, he released your own appendage finger by finger. The vampire turned his head away, clearly waiting for your departure, but you just stood there, staring at him.

In three years, you had not seen this sort of behavior from him in any way or form. Maybe he was ill, did vampires even get ill? Maybe he was finally getting too old, and he was not, in fact, immortal. In any case, the smart thing to do would have been excuse the action and head back to your room regardless. However, smart wasn’t a word you would use to describe yourself, brave certainly, but not smart.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Count?”

Almost as if speaking was too much effort, his lips parted and closed again, resulting in him turning his entire body away from you. You admired the broadness of his shoulders from this heightened angle, and the always well-styled black locks on his head. You didn’t want to presume the meaning behind his actions, all too aware that jumping to conclusions could not only break your heart, but lose you your life. In a bold move that you normally would never even consider, you placed your hand on his shoulder and let out a shaky breath at the firmness of his frame, unable to help yourself imagining it placed against you. But, even as you thought about it, the muscles beneath your hand began to relax and almost sag down onto him. Well, you had certainly never considered it possible that you could help the Count relax in any way. Even so, you drew your hand back and made a few steps to circle towards the older man’s front. What you saw took your breath from your lungs like a punch in the chest.

Pupils surrounded by red and elongated teeth were exposed in a pained grimace, as if he were holding himself back. Quickly realising that you had placed yourself into a precarious position you stepped back, only for a low growl to rumble out of Dracula’s chest. You froze, not wanting to further upset him.

“If- uh, if you’re hungry I could go out, maybe bring someone home.” It wouldn’t be the first time you had asked someone on the street to come back with you, to help you with something, only for them to become the main course for the beastial man in front of you, however guilty it left you feeling.

“I’m not hungry” the words left him in a choked manner, “for food.”

“Oh, ah, well. Um, what exactly could I do to help you, sir?”

“You could leave to your room, run away, this very moment.”

You felt a swell of hurt rise in your chest, was your very presence so distasteful and unwanted to him?

“Have I done something wrong, sir? Do I disgust you?” The words slipped past your lips without permission, yet you let them embolden you and took a few steps forward so that your knees nearly touched him in his near-crouch position.

You could tell he was holding his breath, though the reason for why did not make itself clear to you. Maybe, you had a bad smell lingering on you somewhere? Surely, nothing to call forth this sort of reaction. You waited for him to reprimand you for your behavior, or to even threaten you with the end of your agreement, but he didn’t make a sound, to prevent any sort of intake of air.

With red staining your neck and collarbones, working its way onto your cheeks you asked, “Do I smell bad or something?” A quick sniff to your wrist and hair proved useless, you smelled the same as usual.

At your actions he huffed out what might’ve been a laugh, if he hadn’t breathed back in on habit, the air seeming to get stuck in his throat. A loud snarl wrenched the air and his hands appeared on your hips, with a grip tight enough you were sure you’d see bruises later.

You tried to pull away in fear, despite knowing that the motion would prove obsolete, and felt a shiver run up your back. This was it, you didn’t know what you’d done or what you’d been thinking, but this was it, the end of your agreement, and subsequently, your life.

A pitiful whimper left you as his head nodded forward to rest against your lower stomach and he inhaled heavily, like he would never breathe again.

“You daft girl,” his voice was a low growl, “It’s your scent, darling. But, you don’t smell repulsive.” Another inhale and a heavy groan vibrated against you, where you felt warmth start to pool in your abdomen. “Your smell, it’s divine. It makes me want to eat that sweet cunt of yours.”

A shock of arousal shot through you, and any sound you might’ve made got caught in your throat as he pressed firmer against you.

“Once a month, sweetheart,” he started, “Once a month, I can smell how your wet pussy longs to be filled with my aching cock, and every month it gets harder and harder to deny how much I need it.”

His words shouldn’t make you feel as if you are on fire, but they do, and your excitement leaps with every word from his mouth. And, as he lifts his head to make eye contact with you, you know he can see in your eyes just how turned on you are, if he couldn’t already smell it. His lips tug up on one side of his face, and though what he said was filthy, his face seemed to relax as if talking about something as mundane as the weather.

“It’s unusual for someone like me to crave something other than the richness in your veins, but I’ve also never lived with someone living for a prolonged period of time.” He rose slowly to tower over you, “Or maybe,” you felt one of his sharp claws run across your bottom lip gently while looking into his rich brown eyes, “Maybe, you’re just special, hm?” A shimmer of mirth.

Finally, you caught your breath, but couldn’t make your brain put enough words together to make sense.

“I, um- What- Do you, uh-”

“No, no, no,” he shushes you in a sweet manner, though you knew what lay behind it, “No talking, now. I just need one thing.” His head dipped to bring his face closer to yours, and you knew you would be more than happy to oblige to whatever he wanted from you.

“I need an answer, just one, got that, sweet girl?” A sharp nod of your head.

“Good, you’re so good for me, aren’t you?” He cleared his throat, and spoke with clear intent, “Now, may I come in?”

Each word was pronounced slowly, and you knew by the look in his eyes exactly what you would be agreeing to. A moment’s consideration wasn’t need, because you had your answer long before he asked the question.

“Yes, Count Dracula, please come inside.”

[aliypop]

Empatia

Wordcount: 1,925

Character Count: 10,246

Hannibal x Oc

Authors Note: So this is my first Hannibal fic and I hope you guys enjoy, side note this was written in Grammarly which formatting on that is wonky. I do not own the gif or the character Hannibal but I do own Shanel Mahone and I hope that you all like her, lets see uh what else

Warning mentions of eating people and murder! 

"I think it's easy to mistake understanding for empathy - we want it so badly, maybe learning it's distinction is part of growing up, unless I am mistaken, Doctor Lecter,"

The Baltimore office was colder than usual, not because of the Maryland winters that would hit, but because of the shared time in the office between Hannibal Lecter and his new client Shanel Mahone, a woman who was a mix of a wolf licking its wounds and a lion who would go to the ends of the earth to hunt her prey down, But there was something about her that he could sense though she hid it so well that it went by his nose like a short summer breeze, He knew she was a lawyer he was able to smell the scent of the innocent and guilty from the courthouse on her person, though the sinners smell a bit more delectable to him rather than saints,

"If we learn our limitations too soon, we never learn our power." Hannibal gave the semi- young lawyer a smile and a nod, watching her in his darkroom of reds and white almost made him feel as if he had her right where he wanted her, a little lamb simply treading lightly in his trap, and in a way, he was proud of it,

"Think before you speak the last person who didn't... lost more than their tongue.."  Shanel chuckled, her dark curls framing her brown face and eyes.

"Awfully confident are we," a smirk on his wise features, as he stood up behind her, his favorite way to attack some would say like a human boa constrictor sizing up who he picks before he attacks,

"I can kill every person in this building before most of them have a chance to get to their feet. Skills like that do wonders on a person's self-confidence." her head tilted up to look at him, a devious smirk on her face, honey brown eyes meeting the dark maroon glare of a predator, Though most would fear the situation that she was in, however, she was raised much differently than some would be comfortable with,  

"Aren't you afraid of me," he asked his hand around her neck. Nearly trying to squeeze the life out of her. As he hissed in her ear breathing, in the deep scent of A+ blood on her, which clearly wasn't her own, "I stopped being scared of snakes years after I  killed my step-dad."  chin raised high with a fire in her eyes, one that he had grown to admire. Though it confused him like the beauty of Persephone in Hades eyes, and just like Hades he wanted her as his own, though sometimes she made him feel like Hades and other times he was merely just her pomegranate orchestrating him as to where her next demise would fall under, a circle of a cat and mouse game, Once he had looked deep into her eye's he had found the simple answer to her soul,

"I suppose that would make you the hunter," he said a sheer look of surprise something a bit unobtainable for the man who had a few under his own sleeve, "Are you satisfied," she asked her voice a soft whisper, a bit of a gentle to look to her one of a woman who knew how to spin a never-ending web around her prey and may God help anything that flew into her web,

"Oh, my dear, we're just getting started.." his laugh playing in her ear like a tainted sinners psalm, but deep inside she knew she loved it,

"Do you do this with all your clients?" she asked her feeling his hands unravel  from her neck,

"Just the ones I find interesting.."

"So Will Graham.," she mumbled watching him stagger swiftly back to his desk, his scalpel in hand massaging the cold silver metal in his hand as a child holds onto their mother's,

"You've heard of him, I assume?"

"He referred me to you, said you could work wonders on the mind, but I believe you toy with it, like a mother toys with the truth of the world to her child except you don't know where to end it.." she smirked standing behind the slightly taller man,

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you dabble in psychology yourself.." he faced the shorter woman her lips caught slightly between her teeth,

"Law and the practice of toying the mind go hand in hand, besides, in the end, we both want the same things," she took a glance at his suit the way he had unbuttoned his suit jacket as if he knew she was stealing glances of him,  

"And what would that be.." he laughed writing, notes from their shared time together. A bit of a progress report of her recovery from the first time they had met.  

"Sympathy"

"Perhaps we could discuss this more over dinner," he suggested pressing a slip of paper into her hand, she had always heard about his elaborate parties especially when it came to his dinners, it came to no surprise that she would be invited to one, and even perhaps another,

"Will 7 do?" she asked as he walked her to the office door, his eyes glancing at her heels, and further to her legs making him wonder what dish would suit her best,

The roads were barely frozen over yet which to her was always a good sign when traveling during the winter. Especially when it came to her pink Italian sports car sturdy tires still never meant one couldn't endure a crash, but while driving she had found that her mind went elsewhere, mostly on doctor Lecter. It was the way he had looked at her with a gentleness of contemplation on killing her if to even keep her alive, in a sense, it was like a non-verbal game of quid pro quo, but their eyes were telling the answers for them their true nature and love for the what some would find morbid.

Stepping foot into his home was like a wonderland for the wicked and the wise, pictures of art with very controversial themes to them, but still, she knew the risk she was taking with this one a chance that could possibly even kill her if she dared say the wrong thing, "Sorry if I arrived early, I usually love to help, a common curtsy I was taught.." she noticed his spacious kitchen one that you would see in an intense cooking show although his use of five ovens was a bit weird to her but not a new concept from what she grew up with,

"Thank you for your offer, but I've already prepared everything for our dinner." he looked at her noticing the diamonds on her neck which he could tell were from Tiffany and Co a sign of high society if he ever did so need one, she looked like an angel prepared to meet God himself, but little did she know he wasn't there, and she was no angel in the eyes of the man in front of her,

"Well, at least let me bake something.." she glanced at him pulling an apron out from her bag, his assumptions about her were right she was, in fact, gentle like Persephone but if pushed a bringer of chaos a chosen one of the all mighty high. He gave her a simple nod and with that, she was invited into his chapel his prized possession that was his kitchen.  

"Have you ever killed someone.. ever felt the life leave out of its pretty little body.. and looked into their soul?" she asked, feeling piping bag up squeezing the feeling into her batch of Zeppole di San Giuseppe,  

" I don't suppose I have, though, why do you ask?" he said as calmly as he could be, taking the main course for the night out of the oven his eyes never leaving her figure,

"Continuing our conversation from earlier doctor Lecter, of course, minus the near do strangling, though I must add.." she stopped to taste the sauce that was on his spoon "A bit of a parlor trick hiding who you are.." she pondered on the taste for a bit,

"Well, I always say perception’s a tool that's pointed on both ends," he winked placing his hand underneath her chin getting a glimpse of her inner beauty, the madness that she forbade to show to the world, which was him, at least he had thought he could be her world let her feel independent when she wanted to, but have her feel weak in his presence when he needed her to, much like a God watching his most devoted worshiper at the shrine of his lies.

"So, are you saying that I'm hiding something.."  her eyes focused on the slight detail of his lips the way they curled when he told the truth yet had a slight pout when he lied, she knew he was confessing to something she just couldn't figure out what it was exactly, but when she found it, it would be known, and she'd keep to herself as a little present. Hannibal pulled out her chair gesturing for her to sit setting the table up with the most elegant dinner she had ever seen since her very own childhood, but she did have to admit it a certain smell she couldn't quite shake it from her nostrils.  The animal on the plate, however, to most would seem unidentifiable and to most even a bit fake for fiction, but nonetheless, she was taught to never judge her food.  Hannibal sat there watching her eat his eyes sparkling almost like garnet jewels watching as he broadened her pallet,

" Tomato cream sauce with basil oregano one onion.. preferably diced, minced garlic heavy cream.." she took another bite, "A pinch of salt and pepper and ..." she paused dipping the meat into the oh so savory pasta sauce that he had created by hand, but the meat was something different. She couldn't taste the acidity of its fear, but she knew that whatever it was she had put in her mouth was a bit too familiar,

"You have a gift it appears.."

"I say it was a curse," she kept eating on the pork like meat, " I was born with highly sensitive taste buds... I can taste every detail of everything.." she shrugged watching the expression on Hannibal's face.

"Even, the taste of an emotion?" he asked, flattered by his guest.

"Even emotions.. though love was never one I discovered the taste of... I never found myself deserving of it.." she looked down at her plate then at him, her eyes soft and gentle towards him, "You could smear the blood of millions and still be a beauty to my eyes.." he placed a gentle kiss on the inside of her wrist secretly taking in her sweet smell of cinnamon, roses, and honey, it was the smell of love mixed with longing and it was strong. she laughed lifting the fork back to her mouth as the familiar scent had hit her again,

"I think I know who we're eating.."  her eyes twinkled at the taste of what was him, the man who was first to make her life a misery since the day she was born, "Alberto Mahone my father.." she grins,

"How'd you do it.."

"Do what ..."

"Kill him .." she asked her heart racing.

"With Empathy."

[juleshq]

*  𝐡𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐠𝐨𝐬  here  and  do  i  have  the  tea  for  you  .  𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 is  back  in  bridgehampton  for  the  summer  ,  living  off  the 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐎 family  𝟐.𝟑 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧  net  worth  .  must  be  nice  to  come  back  home  to  the  hamptons  ,  i  wonder  what  her  fellow  class  of  2017  grads  think  of  her  return  .  you  know  ,  she  was  known  around  town  as  the  𝐂𝐎𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄 and  for  bhs  senior  superlatives  pronouns  was  crowned  as  𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐕𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐒 & 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃 .  i  wonder  if  that  still  holds  true  today  ,  a  lot  can  change  when  you  go  off  to  𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐔𝐍𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐘 and  study  𝐁𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘  .  either  way  ,  i  bet  she  is  still  very  𝐀𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐄 , 𝐃𝐄𝐕𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐃 , 𝐃𝐄𝐂𝐄𝐈𝐓𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐔𝐁𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄  . hopefully  this  time  next  year  the  plans  to  𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 come  true  .  in  the  meantime  ,  i  look  forward  to  seeing  her  blast  𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫 (𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄) 𝖇𝖞 𝐤𝐚𝐥𝐢 𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐬  at  every  hamptons  function  .  it’s  going  to  be  a  wild  summer  home  ,  welcome  back  .

i  don’t�� think  i’ve  EVER  been  this  excited  to  plot  and interact with a group of people ,  u  all  seem  like  such  beaut  ppl  &  i’m  in  love  already  but   i’m  a  little  . . .  intimidated  ADFJH .  anyways  ,  i’m  not  going  to  ramble  bc  i’m  ready  to  get  down  to  business  ,  i’m  sammie  &  i  go  by  she  /  her  pronouns  !  under  the  cut  is  a  long  bio  on  jules !  i  will  GLADLY  give  you  a  synopsis  on  this  chaotic  mess  pls  just  ask  ,  HERE  is  her  pinterest  board  please  ignore  the  sudden  amount  of  pins  of  just  her  , also  i’m  down  to  plot  here  or  on  discord  ,  my  discord  is  @ᵘ ᵍᵒᵗ ᵃ ᵈᵒˡˡᵃʳ ?#3246  

* / BASICS

full name: juliana kaia dicaprio

nicknames: jules , julie / juli 

age & dob: twenty-one , august 14th , 1998

place of birth: long island , new york .

sexuality: heterosexual ( that she knows off )

bender: cisfemale

* /  MORE BASIC INFO

languages: english, french, some spanish.

religion: catholic

education: high school , majoring in biology at stanford

occupation: unemployed

drinks, smokes, & drugs: all of the above

* / PERSONALITY

zodiac sign: leo

likes: dark chocolate , tea in the morning , white roses , instigating bad situations , wine , black coffee , the smell of freshly brewed coffee , talking with strangers , long travels , adventures , being called “ angel ” , popcorn , quick tex responders , products made with silk , athletes , crime shows / films , crowded rooms , glitter .

dislikes: fake designer bags , people who don’t know how to lie , f , people who wear pearls regularly , long text messages , voicemails , men who are cheap , people who chew with their mouth open , humming ,  thrift shops , water-poof mascara , the smell of grass , extensive planning , and arrogance & stupidity combined .

bad habits: breaking promises to herself & others , not thinking before doing , fixating with her hair when nervous .

secret talent: juggling

fears: aging terribly , being widowed , drowning , being buried alive .

positive traits: alluring , convincing , affectionate , ambitious / devoted , systematic .

negative traits: manipulative , conniving , deceitful , dishonest , subjective .

* / APPEARANCE

tattoos: dagger on right index finger , “ devil ” on left index finger .

piercings: three in each ear , cartilage .

* / FAMILY INFO.

parent names: claire boucher & david dicaprio .

parent relationship: divorced .

sibling names: annalise , ashton , keller , & wade .

sibling relationship: step siblings & half .

children: none .

pets: 2 family dogs on her moms side.

* / BIOGRAPHY

i’m sorry it got long

             𝐂𝐋𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐘𝐋𝐄𝐑’s entire childhood was spent in the spotlight -- her father was a huge rockstar in the 70's & 80's, and her mother a model . Claire spent her childhood between Florida , California , and New York , attending red carpets , premieres , etc. Claire attended Stanford to obtain a bachelor in science but was in and out of modeling in her teens and early twenties .

            𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐃 𝐃𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐎  lived an affluent life more under the radar . His grandfather is CEO of JD banking , one of the four largest banks in the world . He attended Princeton as the rest of his family did . He got involved in the company business at a very young age as did his brothers , but went on to become the new CEO after his fathers unfortunate passing in 2002 .

            𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 was and will forever be her parents pride & joy . her parents were high school sweethearts & got married young -- at a twenty-two / twenty-three . they had been trying for two years to start their own family but jules’ mother struggled . thanksgiving in the hamptons , a dicaprio family tradition the day is engraved in her mothers memory , in 1997 , they announced to their family that after years of trying , they were pregnant .

            𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 grew up completely pampered ; bi-weekly trips to the nail salon with her mother and annual father-daughter trips . her mother was her best friend until she began morphing jules into what she thought was perfect . making sure she spoke at least one other language , was active in school , extracurriculars , how she presented herself . her mother cared about image due to her own childhood of growing up in the spotlight . besides the near brainwash to fit her mother’s image of perfect , everything was ideal &  ‘ normal ’ up until the summer before her freshman year of high school . her mother discovered the affair her father had been having for months with a woman he did business with . he claimed it was due to the fact that jules’ mother had returned to some normalcy and wanted to work again , modeling and doing some traveling , therefore he ‘ just missed her around ’ . jules was aware of everything going on  , heard the countless nights they spent arguing in the opposite wing of the house , she picked up on her father being late to family dinner because “ he had work to do ” . her parents tried their best to keep her in the dark for the sake of her sanity , innocence , and view on her father . jules went along with it all , the daddy’s girl in her was in denial for all of the months leading up to their divorce . at the end , her mother got full custody of her .

             𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐎𝐑𝐂𝐄 came two “ yes ” parents . everything became a competition between the two , trying to one up the other ; who took jules on the better summer vacation , had the most over the top christmas morning , etc . it  was insanely manipulative & jules there wasn’t a time period where jules felt more alone ; not having a sibling to relate to , she was embarassed to tell her peers the real reason why her parents split , it was so cliché . both parents didn’t take too long to remarry , her father found another stay-at-home wife and her mother lucked out with a lawyer ten years older than she . her step-father had two daughtes & son with whom jules hated in the beginning – it  was a lot to take in and she was used to being the only child . her father went on to have a child with his new wife two years after their marriage . it was all an immense amount of change within seven years .

              𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 for jules had been constantly changing since the news of her father’s affair , she’d spend her summers & holiday’s going back & forth between each parents in the hamptons until her father moved to calabasas to be closer to his wife’s family as soon as the baby was born . jules had always been a wild , reckless child at heart and the divorce between her parents only allowed her to push her limits even more . the two-three years her parents spent processing their divorce were her golden years -- she could not get in trouble with her parents and they never got upset with her . she took advantage of it all and abused drinking , hanging out with boys , you name it . she loved the attention she received from any male figure -- it made up for the lack of attention she was getting from her father once he got the boot .

              𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐄 was where jules found her safe space ; she could be her wild self , far away from home and only a five hour drive from her father that she still rarely sees . she joined a sorority , joined the exec board , was forced to join french club by her mother , all while maintaining a 4.08 gpa .

           *  ` 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄 jules has always been a wild child . she’s always had a desire for attention , all eyes & attention on her , though the B I R T H of her uncontrollable desire for attention from males stemmed after her parents divorce . the lack of attention from her father allowed her to realize her dad wasn’t the only one who could spoil her & every man was basically the same . she’s not super close with either of her dads at the moment and sees her father about three times a year , two of which are holidays & every now and then the spontaneous visit from him in cali .  

          𝐉𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 is a h u g e  cry baby in the sense that she hates not getting what she wants . its not on purpose most of the time , it’s the way she was raised and the nature of her parents . she’s never had to ask for anything twice & hates doing so . though she’s a huge cry baby , she will try her best to mask her actual tears . she does a good job of seeming innocent , she’s that one friend that is super sus & lies a lot & keeps secrets but somehow is so good at convincing people other wise ? she’s a huge flirt , even when she’s not doing it on purpose , it’s sort of a weird practice or habit she’s grown into ? she feels empowered in the weirdest way of owning men and being able to form their opinion of her for them , this stems from her newly founded daddy issues  it’s more so due to the fact that her relationship with her father began to diminish once he moved out . she is & has been on her “ fuck love ” rampage .

       𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 do whatever she wants and will hide her bad intentions . she lives for chaos , loves enjoys pushing limits & boundaries . she loves a game of cat & mouse / teasing just knowing she has someone in her grip is what helps her sleep at night . she is a bit crazy . . .  the type to watch someone’s snap score go up . def that type to block and unblock someone 238473 timES . she has an underlying need of approval from others and she almost needs to be liked by everyone she meets .

     𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 she wants to model & be a playboy bunny BUT her dad would literally disown her if she didn’t follow her family legacy and attend stanford or yale to use her brains for good . she’s in school to be a pediatrician because at the end of the day she loves children and always wanted to seek a job in the healthcare field . she has plans to attend yale’s medical school after her senior year is complete at stanford .

i really based her off of american beauty & angela in the movie ( if you’ve seen it omg ily ) g

[barbecuedphoenix]

I would like to see a AU with the Eldarya guys in a police station (pleeeease, give me a police officer Valkyon!)

Hang on… the Guard of El is not a medieval police station? Whatabout those underground cells? And Miiko and Leiftan’s good-cop-bad-cop-add-Jamonroutine? o_o  

Oh, all right. Let’s assume theGuard of El has been given badges, handguns, and sirens they can stick on topof their car to tell traffic on the road to clear out. Are they going to be anymore efficient?

… …Why am I even asking…? -_-

Nevra, the Detective

The star of the El Police Department’sinvestigative division: the high-flying lead detective with the unerring nose whonever works in anything but dashing black. (Hey, being a plainclothes officer meanshe can actually dress the way he likes on the job. And despite what colleaguesmight say, he does need the sablecashmere scarf, the tight black trench coat, and the designer leather ankle-boots because… it gets cold in the city and he’s not going to miss a day ofwork because of the flu.)

Anyway. Nevra will be happyto confirm that 1.) he does have a veryacute sense of smell, and 2.) he has neverfailed a case since joining the department, even after the Oracle’s fall.Once he’s on the trail, you can bet that he’s going to unearth answers andproduce an arrest warrant for so-and-so. (Actually getting the reprobate into acell isn’t his job though.) In fact,there is no such thing as a cold casein his book; merely one that’s…. waiting patiently for more evidence. (If youtry riffling through his office, you’ll find years of ‘not-cold cases’. But don’tsay a word to anyone, or Nevra will be after your ass for ruining his image as ‘theBloodhound of El’. And for bypassing that custom lock on his office door.)     

For all his over-achievingtendencies, Nevra’s actually a popular guy in his department: charming,amiable, savvy, extremely loyal to the force, and the best man you can have foreither a night of swing dancing or a weekend football match. The only catch:think twice about inviting your girlfriend. And sometimes your boyfriend. There’sa running poll in the office on how many disgruntled exes have tried stabbinghim with a cafeteria steak knife this year. And a second poll on how many ‘damselsin distress’ that visited his office this half-year have walked away decidedly lessdamsel-like.

Also, be careful whenworking with Nevra on the field. His loyalty to the department can’t bequestioned, but there’s a reason why he works primarily with his loyal caninecompanion Shaitan (AKA the world’s most terrifying police dog). Ex-partners willwarn you that he never gives up a chase in the long run,even when outgunned and kneed where it hurts the most (and yes… they do have afew stories about that….)      

Ezarel, the Chemical Forensics Specialist  

Every department needs anegghead who can prove to the court of law that that rust-colored smear isn’tfrom a jar of strawberry preserve smashing into the wall. Or that the faintspecks of dust on a man’s coat lapels are what actually killed him, and not thebullet that was inserted into his chest a few seconds later as an afterthought.In the El Police Department, that (figurative) egghead is Ezarel. (Because hehas an honest-to-goodness ponytail that reaches to his waist. Don’t bother to tell him to get a haircut; he’ll just tell youthat he works in a lab-coat, not a suit.)  

No one really knows why thisfilthy-rich trust-fund-baby from uptown is working voluntarily in the dingy labof an inner-city police department. But if they have to guess, it’s eitherbecause he watched too many episodes of ‘NCIS’, ‘Sherlock’, and ‘The First 48’ whilegrowing up, or he’s really a mad scientist looking for a passably legal applicationfor his experiments. It’s honestly hard to tell which theory is true when talkingto him, since the man seems incapable of taking most people seriously unless they’reasking for a report. The number of smart comments that fly out of him at anyand all hours is on par with an award-winning novelist living deep in a forestcave. Or the typical biochem student. He reacts about the same way when untrainedvisitors try touching things in his lab. Including him.

Still, for all his curmudgeonlytendencies, Ezarel inspires respect from the police force for his completeindifference to rank, his thoroughness, and his generally nonlinear thinking (whichcomes in handy for reconstructing crime scenes from tiny scrapings of suspectsplatters). And he’s feared for his pranks. Department rookies are hispreferred prey (though again, office rank means little to him). Many of themhave never forgotten the night that Ezarel secretly smeared ghostly faces,handprints, and body-prints across the walls and windows of the lounge, in apeculiar type of paint that came alive only when the Halloween strobe lightswere switched on. Or that time he posed as a fresh corpse in the archives, withhis arm still caught in a file drawer and ‘bullet holes’ peppering his back,just in time for the records officer Kero to find him. (To this day, Kero stillrefuses to file any of Ezarel’s paperwork for him.) The day never gets boringif Ezarel’s in the building.        

Valkyon, the SWAT Captain

Police captain Valkyon—from thespecial response division—is one of the few full-time ballasts in the dysfunctionalpolice department. Part of it is because the man seems incapable of losing histemper. He may frown like thunder, but no one has ever witnessed him so much ascurse, even after all his years in one of the toughest divisions of the police force,that sees the highest yearly casualties from the number of riots, armedhold-ups, city terrorists, mobsters, and generally-lethal upstarts they engageon a regular basis as the frontlines of the city’s peacekeeping forces. Then again, tough talkmight be unnecessary in his case; would-be troublemakers on either side of thelaw only need to look at the span of his shoulders, or the number of pale scarscrossing his chiseled chest and back whenever he drops his shirt in thetraining room, to think hard about their projected lifespans.  

Except for his clean (andsomewhat wooden) language, Valkyon comes across as the quintessentialhardboiled officer. Colleagues know him as either a.) the by-the-book workaholicwho refuses to flinch in the face of fire (and doesn’t have much of a personallife), or b.) the dedicated bachelor who defends his privacy with deadpanremarks and genuinely doesn’t know what to do with himself during an officeparty. Besides downing a few bottles of beer in the corner. Personally, Valkyondoesn’t really see it as his fault if people mistake him as unsocial—since whendo people need to talk so much tomake themselves understood?  

Even after he downs five tosix beers, no one has ever succeeded in prying from Valkyon the story of hisdays before the police force. (And when his face shuts like a hangar door, it’sa good idea not to piss him off further.) But there’s a running theory in theoffice that not all of those famous scars and tattoos seen in the training roomcame from upholding the badge. That some might have been acquired from a lifeon the opposite side of the law. But who would think of slandering their big bronzebear of a captain that way? You don’t find many people who’ll charge a riflemanon the street with just a riot shield and his weight, coming at speed from halfa block down. Much less succeed.  

He does have a darling inthe office though. Sadly for some hopeful officers and interns, Valkyon’snon-professional eyes are trained solely on his pet mouse Floppy, who lives agenteel existence rotating between his office, his coat pocket, sometimes underhis cap, and her handmade little house inside his one-man apartment. At leastuntil the flighty thing escapes again. That’s when he starts papering thebulletin board with office-bounties for her safe return.   

Leiftan, the DistrictAttorney  

It’s one thing tochase hardened criminals through faked financial reports and pitch-dark docks,prove that three-day-old blood is in fact blood, or send a rifleman sprawlingonto the sidewalk with just a dented riot shield. But if you can’t bring themall to court and convince both judge and jury to believe what happened, thenthere will be no justice. That’s where Leiftan comes in: the so-called WhiteKnight of the El Police Department, always toting a mysterious briefcase and asoft smile that’s even more mysterious.

Although there’s along-running tradition of animosity between policeofficers/detectives/forensics specialists and anything that resembles a lawyer,the El Police Department makes an exception for Leiftan. He keeps reasonableexpectations on them and the court, does his best with what he can workon, never loses his temper when a case is thrown out or grinds to a stalemateand settlement (which happens despairingly often), and is so ceaselessly politethat it’s hard for even the dedicated grouches on the force to hate him. (Maybejust a little for how he never loses his gentleman’s polish like a normalflesh-and-blood person). But more importantly, it’s because Leiftan’sunofficial job is being their PR man whenever a case becomes high-profile enoughto hit the headlines. The public is more likely to buy an assurance that ‘dueprocedure is being followed’ and ‘several promising leads are being explored’if it comes from the gentleman-lawyer in the suit than one of them cops. Especially if they did actuallyslip up once or twice in the chase. And sometimes (i.e. often) Leiftan is the one thingstanding between them and their fire-breathing chief-of-police Miiko if ahigh-profile investigation goes awry, raising one hand politely from the sidewith a life-saving suggestion that they might be able to use acertain piece of evidence in court.  

Just because he’s thesoft-spoken type of lawyer doesn’t mean he can’t go toe-to-toe with the best ofthe officers. Over the years, Leiftan has survived many attempts by opponentsto ‘privately settle a suit’: on the street outside the court-house, at thedoor of his apartment, behind a bar, from the back of his car, or even (on onememorable occasion) on the witness stand in court. In all cases, pistol-packershave learnt the hard way that Leiftan has an aikido master’s reflexes and amean right-hand undercut. Not to mention that that reinforced briefcase—withwho knows what in it– seems as determined as he is in defying bullets.  

Jamon, the Bailiff  

Cell occupants at the policestation know Jamon as that taciturn, terrifying mass of muscle with hands thesize of dinner plates who just shoved them inside. Or if they were out-coldwhen that happened, they know him as the living pillar watching them from themain door of the detention center at the moment they woke, crunching casuallyon raw carrots that are each roughly the width of a girl’s wrist. In eithercase, the possibility of escape tends to leave them. Even if Jamon offers them carrotsthrough the bars as a healthy snack for behaving well.  

For a senior police officer,Jamon’s responsibilities are fairly light: he’s mostly tasked with watching theever-revolving population of temporary inmates in the holding cells at thestation. And to escort (and occasionally subdue) the more ornery detainees throughthe foyer, fresh from the patrol car or on their way to the court house. But intruth, it takes a very peculiar figure to turn this precarious, powder-kegposition into little more than a routine stroll through HQ, accompanied by anoccasional loud clearing of the throat when inmates get restive.  

No one’s inclined to test aseven-foot officer who prefers five-word remarks and has a grip like a parkingboot. No matter how good he is with the occasional child who visits the stationand insists on climbing onto his shoulders, or how friendly he is if you’requiet and stay at arm’s length when he opens your cell door.

Kero, the Records Officer  

The long-suffering head ofAdministration, whose primary task is to ensure that the bunker’s worth ofpaperwork in the station gets filed, stored, and used correctly. And from there…very, very slowly translated into electronic data. Make no mistake: it’s adaunting task even for a modest-sized police department, where at least half theforce despises picking up a pen (for all the other shenanigans they get into ona daily basis).

Or maybe they just love tokick at him… It’s not his fault that he dislikes pulling a gun on people, andinstead honors the tradition of muttering darkly under his breath in theirdirection. And wears glasses. It must be the glasses; who on earth says thatthey’ll make you look more respectable at work? The only one who gets moregrief at work than him is that rookie Chrome.

Needless to say, Kero spendsmost of his daily existence either instructing (for the umpteenth time) hisfellow officers in what needs to be filled out and in what order and where theyshould be deposited. (Not in his briefcase!) Or running a never-ending cycle ofproofread-return-receive-file-repeat for police records, statements, and other liabilityforms deep in the archives. Until a kind soul remembers to bring him outsidefor sunshine.       

Chrome, the Rookie  

A kid swept in from thestreets who, after the Oracle’s fall, ran odd jobs for the police in exchangefor quick cash and amnesty from the neighborhood gangs, even acting as an occasionalinformer for Nevra. Once he hit fifteen, Chrome finally applied for detectivetraining under the latter’s encouragement, figuring that he can apply hislifetime’s worth of street smarts, spying, making Molotov cocktails, and vanishing through alleyways togood use: cleaning up his hometown.  

Unfortunately, he firstneeds to survive both basic training and the company of his new colleagues atthe station. Not all of whom are impressed by his bluster and recklessdetermination in field exercises. Or his notoriety in returning to the stationhours late from a routine patrol. (For the last time: he swears he’s not visiting any girls on the side! Just because he’s ateenager doesn’t mean his hormones are always raging! The last thing hewants in life is to grow up to become his boss, thanks.)

Needless to say, this poorkid is a regular target of Ezarel’s jokes. Within a few days of his official adoptioninto the force, the forensics officer has coined a new nickname for him thatspread through the department like a virus: ‘Puppy’.

Karuto, the Donut Shop Owner

A police force cannotsurvive without a steady supply of cheap donuts and coffee that comes withinwalking distance. But unlike some franchises that offer free pastries inexchange for police protection, Karuto doesn’t actually need police protection: he was first brought into the station afterusing a kitchen blowtorch against a luckless punk who tried pointing a gun athim over the register one night. The punk lost, by the way, and it was theoutraged donut shop proprietor who was slapped with heavy charges instead. Can’ta man defend his own property anymore without the police state cracking down on him?

In exchange for reduced policesurveillance for his ‘dangerous temper’ (you’ll find out what ‘dangerous’ is ifyou dare clap an ankle-monitor on him),Karuto agreed to provide free pastries and coffee to the entire department.Which inevitably brings them sniffing around his shop every morning andafternoon, but at least they’re there as (nonpaying…) customers instead oflegally-mandated babysitters. For the vast majority of officers, he’s oldenough to be their father.    

Ashkore, the Urban Legend

The notorious master hackerand systems saboteur who was never caught after bringing down the Oracle: the cutting-edgesupercomputer that once occupied a building of its own just behind the policedepartment’s headquarters. Once upon a time, the Oracle had single-handedlytracked city-wide activities at all hours, from mass civilian movement andcommunication, to entertainment and news broadcasts, local traffic on land, sea,and air, changes in the local power grid, economic transfers, hospital activity,and population fluctuations. It was the (some say sentient) supercomputer that keptvigil over the entire city of El and predicted where and when crime happenedfrom a precise convergence of socio-economic triggers, with an astonishingsuccess rate that ushered in years of civilian peace. The police force backthen were merely the arm of the law, arresting the troublemakers that theOracle identified. They didn’t even need to patrol.    

To this day, no one knowsfor certain how Ashkore and his group destroyed the Oracle. (Perhaps they hadcolluders from inside HQ. Or perhaps Ashkore was an ex-officer himself, whichcould explain how he knew precisely when, how, and where to strike.) But their methodseemed to have involved a precise tripping of the city power grid in the deadof night to force the Oracle to fall back briefly on its reserve power sourcebelow its mainframe, shutting off noncritical external security systems forjust a few minutes. Then the hackers moved in, cutting through theround-the-clock team of technicians and engineers who maintained thesupercomputer in the adjoining office. And the next thing the dazed policedepartment of El knew, a fire had broken out from a catastrophic cascade ofshort-circuits that came from deep inside the august machine. By the time thesmoke cleared the following morning, the charred, office-sized hunk that wasthe Oracle was taken apart for inspection and eventually pronounced dead (muchless its cadre of engineers). All except for a single, hand-sized matrix ofcrystal memory chips that miraculously survived the night intact. This mega-chipis now stored in a maximum-security bunker underneath thenow-fearfully-independent police force, in hopes of being the first data blockof the new incarnation of the Oracle (still under construction).

The day after the sabotage,Ashkore’s group leaked an untraceable video on the internet to claimresponsibility for the attack, hailing a new era of freedom now that the commonpeople have wrested control of their lives back from the machine, and that the yokeof the police-controlled city-state has been overthrown. The mastermind himself—wearinga CG dragon’s head digitally-imposed over his face– signed off the video by mock-lecturingthe police force to get off their lazy asses and patrol the streets as wastraditional, using just their wits, brawn, the people they spoke to, and theevidence that they found directly. Oh, and good luck at their new job.          

Needless to say, the manhuntfor the dragon-headed hacker and his cohorts is still ongoing. But without theOracle to guide them, crime spiked in all sectors across El, as civiliansupport fell proportionally and police casualties mounted. The El Police Departmentwas hard-pressed to reapply their old training to keep the main avenues of thecity more-or-less safe to walk through, much less pursue Ashkore and his hostof internet ghosts. Who gallingly proved their corporeal existence by branchingout to other activities: from city council blackmail, to leaking highly-classifiedsecrets apparently copied from the Oracle’s databanks before they fried, tofree-for-all theft, to sabotaging whatever convenient police car strays too farbeyond HQ. Just to be considerate, they always email a photo or video of theirlatest stunt to the police department from an untraceable device less than anhour after the event, signing off with a grinning cartoon dragon icon.    

Actually, it’s hard to sayany longer if it’s really the original group of saboteurs who’s sticking athorn in their side, or a larger, looser offshoot of the original group, or amotivated team of copycats taking up the cause of city anarchists. Regardless, it’sup to the motley, much-reduced police department of El to save their city,restore their people’s trust in them, and rectify what Ashkore and his grouphave catalyzed, before he strikes with a still more ambitious blow from thecrowbar of civil anarchy.  

Whoops. I might have gone a little far with the plot-crafting for that last one. Social subversives are the engine of stories. 

Anyway, I hope this satisfies, @mentacomchocolate. :) Though I’m getting the impression that you’d really like a Valkyon-in-SWAT-uniform picture to go with this, but I can’t find any on the internet. :(

Maybe one of you readers can help out? ;) 

Oh, and uh… don’t forget to review. If you do, I might post part 2 of this set. ;) A police station isn’t just a chest-thumping club anymore. 

Edit: In fact, part 2 is right here. Time for some estrogen action at the police department. 

[serendipitousoracle]

zodiac shooting star mixtape & fragrance for Eg(any aus) & Ria & Sov plz

[ ♡OC ask meme ♡ ]

By question:

zodiac: what’s their sign? does it influence theirpersonality? do they care about astrology?                              

Egeire Mahariel & Egeria “Ria” Surana:

As Egeire is a derivative of Egeria and Egeria is originally aSelf Insert, both are born in the twelfth month, known as Cassusor Haring. Unfortunately if I ever nailed down a date fortheir birthday/s I absolutely cannot find it.They very likelystill both fall in the range for Sagittarius, though. I don’t thinkit terribly influences their personalities, though I am very biasedby years of being umimpressed with the common astrology babble of“Sagittarius is an extrovert who loves adventures and excitementand is changeable and spontaneous!!1!!1“ Ria would probably payastrology no mind and Egeire would probably mostly do the same but heis also absolutely the type to lowkey look up sign compatibility withpeople he gets crushes on.

In the Chinese zodiac, they were both born in 9:08 I believe,which if you translate that straight as 908, means they’re EarthDragons. I… think.

Soveliss Liadon:

yeah I’ve got 0 idea when Sov was born. soz fam. if it becomesimportant to his backstory or if aub develops any Cool Year Info NShit maybe I will figure that out but honestly I never come up withcharacter birthdays until it comes up. which is not often. I don’teven have any real vibes for seasons they all seem Fine.

shooting star: if your OC(s) could have one wish whatwould it be?  

Egeire Mahariel

Perhaps… peace, or maybe life depending on the timeframe. Peacebeing the ability to be cured of the Taint in his blood and live alife that makes him happy with the people who make him happy.Alternatively, life– namely, Tamlen’s. He feels guilty aboutTamlen’s death for a long time. Even if Tamlen isn’t his…Egeire wants his friend to live a full life and die a death not inagony.

(Egeire’s wish for peace extends to any Warden Egeire AU, but inWAW!AU imagine his life wish expanding. it would probably take quitesome rules-lawyering to keep it from being disastrous, but what ifEgeire could undo so much sorrow? Tamlen lives, and so does anybodyfrom Clan Sabrae who might have perished in the Blight. The Circle isnot ravaged, and so many mages who were locked behind heavy doors andleft to die have a second chance at life. Hundreds of soldiers, lostat Ostagar and beyond, return home to family and loved ones.Consultation is probably needed to keep his tongue from erring intosomething unwise, but what if the past year did not need to be soakedin so much grief? And, well… he has plenty of role modelsfor ambitious goals, now.

Royals AU Egeire would consider it, and… honestly find hedoesn’t want for much. He is happy with Denoreth, and unlike theother royals AU, this Egeire is not as scarred by Cyrron beforeCyrron is eliminated from his life. His training with Cyrron isultimately what allows him to keep Denoreth safe, in fact, and evenDen likes watching him fight. so Egeire would probably just wish forsomething like eternal prosperity upon both their kingdoms or somesuch.

Fugitives AU Egeire probably has an interesting wish: A life wherehe is never taken and broken by Cyrron, but still gets to meet andend up happy with Denoreth like he is now, without the trauma.Failing that, the follow-ups would be erasing the aftereffects ofsaid trauma, or him and Denoreth having a life of comfort where theynever have to struggle to get by again, like they did when they firstfled their past lives)

Egeria Surana

I think the big thing that would address a lot of Ria’s hurts inlife would be equality; if elves and mages and non-Andrastians wereon even footing with humans (etc), maybe then she and those who comeafter her wouldn’t have to worry about mages (some of themso young) leaping from high windows or choosing Tranquility,and elves wouldn’t suffer in alienages, and she would not feel socaught on a tightrope between Warden and elfmagegirl, the latter ofwhich also becomes a real threat to her relationship with Alistair.It is a gigantic scale wish, but it’s one concept, and itwould likely be hers.

Post-Inquisition, the wish she makes probably wouldn’tchange… but honestly, on the inside, she just wants Alistair backfrom the Fade.

Soveliss Liadon

There are two major angles Sov can wish for: past and future. Onthe one hand, he could have everything he lost back. The monks couldlive again, he could have a home, they could perhaps reconcile, andhe could spend like a week straight just crying and holding onto eachand every one of them for dear life.

But on the other hand, there is the future. There is him as anadventurer, a warlock, and a traveling acolyte. For the future, hiswish would likely be power. Knowledge, magic, and control farbeyond his current comprehension. With enough magic he could protectwhat few things he still cares about, and fulfill his duties toKelemvor in protecting others and striking down undead. With enoughmagic, he might not feel so small compared to his patron, though hewould not be able to fathom being on equal footing (or being morepowerful than?) his dear patron, an archfey. With enough magic… hecould perhaps bring his family of monks back himself, or at least putthem to rest so they no longer haunt the halls of the monastery. Sogiven the choice, Soveliss would probably wish for magic, power, andknowledge.

What could possibly go wrong?

Under the cut: mixtape & fragrance

mixtape: 5 songs that describe your OC(s) or songsthey themselves would like

Answeredhere for normal Egeire, Egeria, and Soveliss.

Royals AU Egeire:

1. “TheBest Is Yet To Come” - Frank Sinatra (once Egeire and Denorethfinally get to the point of being in love… things are reallylooking up)

2. “I Lived” - OneRepublic (being very suddenly thrown into an arranged marriage feels a bit like being thrown to the wolves, but perhaps by the end of everything, he will have finally lived a life of his own choosing.)

3. “Collide” - Howie Day (tentative, sweeter love song for boys gettin’ to know each other)

4. “Float On” - Modest Mouse (chill song about carrying on through setbacks, bc hey that’s p much all Eg can do at this point)

5. “Any Way You Want It” - Journey (surprise most of this AU rn is young princes falling in love and holding onto themselves despite the politics as much as possible)

Fugitives AU Egeire:

1. “TheOnly Exception” - Paramore (Egeire learned from Cyrron thatlove was fickle and fleeting and led only to hell and heartbreak, andDenoreth had figured out pretty quickly that getting attached topeople was a fool’s errand, but…)

2. “Be OK”- Ingrid Michaelson (Poor tol has spent so long being torn topieces and scrambled and he just… wants to have the partsof himself he lost back)

3. “Field of Innocence” - Evanescence (The sadder half of the above coin. Flip-flopping between wanting to Be OK again and just wanting to go back to before he was ever hurt.)

4. “Jump the Fence” - Mother Mother (Fleeing and freedom and not necessarily goodness, only looking out for themselves and going straight back to merc work and profiting (surviving) off of doing richer bastards’ dirty work)

5. “Give Me A Sign” - Breaking Benjamin (Just. Boys gotta hold onto each other and try to keep each other together through financial struggling and moral conflict and internalized shit and the scars will remain but they can too.)

Bonus: “Home”- Phillip Phillips (could apply to both AUs, really. everything is uncertain- and inFugitives AU especially even terrifying- but they will have a home.This new place will be home, one day.)

fragrance: what do your OCs smell like?                              

Egeire Mahariel:

Canon/WAW: Leather and sweat typically, from being out on the road, often with some measure of blood. When they get to Vigil’s Keep and there’s room for fancy soaps and shit, he would probably be particular to pine or herbal scents or smth.

Royals: really it’s going to be like soap and scented oil rubbed into his hair or halla and sweat and there’s not a whole lot of in-between

Fugitives: When Denoreth first meets him, it is the light, almost undetectable scent of salt water and ocean breeze. This lingers through most of their encounters, at varying degrees of intensity, until they make their break for it– that day is just sweat and fear, ironically as they are surrounded by the real sea and eventually have their final confrontation with Cyrron. After that, Egeire never smells of the ocean again. He likes apple and water lily and honey scented soaps, and the smell of flowers often lingers on him when he leaves his room. He also specifically keeps unscented soap around for when they’re working.

Egeria Surana:

Scents don’t cling to her much. Soap and books if anything, in the Circle. Sweat on the road. Likes flowery soaps once she can get her hands on them. Still only lingers for so long, though.

Soveliss Liadon:

Pre-adventuring Sov mostly smelled like old, old books and incense. Adventuring Sov probably smells of pretty little considering he is extremely ready and willing to basically prestidigitate off layers of skin to keep himself fairly clean. Dusk of the New Morning Soveliss probably smelled like dust and food, while Here There Be Kerbolds Soveliss (aka current Sov which is absolutely getting a The Adventure Zone reference name bc of the Abraca-Fuck-You quote) probably smells like either linen or faintly of swamp (bc grumblegrumble it takes /so much prestidigitation/ to get swamp water out and he’s probably still going to have to wash so much shit after this is over).

[awritersrejections]

Tagged by the absurdly talented and eternally delightful @blind-inviting-alleys​! Midterms just ended and I am absolutely looking to slack and do the meme thing, so thank you much :)

Tagging anyone who wants to do the thing!

1. Are you named after someone? My paternal grandmother. Apparently she was super smart and kind of dreadful at being a care-giver. I feel like we would have gotten along.

2. When was the last time you cried? um... early January? Feelings are hard.

3. Do you like your handwriting? Occasionally, but mostly I acknowledge it is exactly what you’d expect when a doctor and a lawyer have a child who decides to be a writer. To quote parks and rec, “It looks the chicken that scratched this had a stroke on the page.” I do sometimes take pride in the fact most people I’ve met have never seen worse.

4. What is your favorite lunch meat? turkey? does this say something about me?

5. Do you have kids? To which I say:

And also to my family members with kids:

Jennifer Barkley is my spirit animal, in this regard.

6. If you were another person, would you be friends with you? I am a real life Narcissus, and get frequently distracted by mirrors and reflective surfaces. Additionally, I know myself very well and long story short we’d probably fall into some sort of weird poly thing with ourselves that’d be difficult to explain to the family at Christmas.

7. Do you use sarcasm? ...is this really a question?

8. Do you still have your tonsils? honestly not sure. probably? 

9. Would you bungee jump? terrified of heights, but probably. Depends on the situation I suppose.

10. What is your favorite kind of cereal? it changes month to month, but at the moment honey bunches of oats.

11. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? I don’t think I’ve worn shoes with laces since middle school, but I didn’t then and I probably wouldn’t now.

12. Do you think you’re a strong person? yes.

13. What is your favorite ice cream? this mango gelato I had in Palermo. Even if it takes me years to find my way back to that city that place is one of the my very first stops.

14. What is the first thing you notice about people? How they express themselves, focused mostly on body language and vocal habits.

15. What is the least favorite physical thing you like about yourself? odd wording, but my least favorite of my physical features that I still appreciate is probably my eyes. They’re dark brown and smolder quite well, but occasionally I wish they were a dark green or blue. 

16. What color pants and shoes are you wearing now? Please, it’s 2am, why on earth would I be wearing clothes.

17. What are you listening to right now? Ziggy Stardust. "He took it all too far, but boy could he play guitar.”

18. If you were a crayon, what color would you be? not sure which colors are crayon colors... let’s say alizarin red and just pretend :)

19. Favorite smell? I suppose it’s all contextual. Books is the smell I’d surround myself with at all times if possible—if there was a books perfume I would probably wear it. In the kitchen I love vanilla, but also olive oil or bacon. Outside I like running water or ice (like, the clean, almost empty smell of glaciers).

20. Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone? my brother

21. Favorite sport to watch? any form of dance or acrobatics

22. Hair color? brunette

23. Eye color? dark brown

24. Do you wear contacts? nope

25. Favorite food to eat? fresh pasta. aged gouda. vegetables sautéed lightly in olive oil. red wine.

26. Scary movies or comedy? Movies almost never scare me, except for the creeping existential dread that overcomes me when I feel I’m wasting my time, which happens most often with lazily written comedies, so... Depends?

27. Last movie you watched? The Lobster. Generally a good weird movie, but the ending irked me. 

28. What color of shirt are you wearing? see above about pants

29. Summer or winter? winter, winter, a thousand times winter—there is no upside to global warming for me.

30. Hugs or kisses? can’t we have both?

31. What book are you currently reading? Our Lady of the Nile by Scholastique Mukasonga, but I should really go back and finish The Ramayana, The Persian Book of Kings, Joseph Andrews, Gulliver’s Travels, and Robinson Crusoe. (There has been a lot of reading this semester... the last couple hundred pages of a few things may have fallen through the cracks.)

32. Who do you miss right now? an old friend who’s rather sick.

33. What is on your mouse pad? I... am not sure I understand. Nothing? I’m typing?

34. What is the last TV program you watched? Amazingly NOT Hannibal (although that was recent too, never fear). Lately I’ve been very, very, very, very into Rick and Morty. It is quite possibly the darkest, funniest, most fucked up show I have ever seen and that is saying A LOT.

35. What is the best sound? one of my favorite friends has a really excellent story-telling voice that I have listened to for straight hours without getting bored.

36. Rolling Stones or The Beatles? the Beatles—when I was a kid my dad had me half convinced there was no point in ever listening to other music.

37. What is the furthest you have ever traveled? New York to South Afirca was quite a trek. Including layovers it came to around 34 hours of travel. 

38. Do you have a special talent? I mean... special? I have lots of normal talents. Writing, painting, memorizing poems and poetically written things. I’m a pretty decent aerialist, so I can hang from things by my ankles better than most people. 

39. Where were you born? Berkeley, leaving me baffled whenever one of my rather intensely not-born-in-Berkely friends uses “communist” as an insult ;)