ur a fucking abuser sympathizer. this fandom has no place for trash like you. i hope you fucking die you tamtard🤮 honestly thinking that tampon is a good person after everything he put Feyre threw shows me how dumb you are😂 after everything he wouldnt even let Feyre be high lady! but Rhys gave it to her like that. didnt even let teach her to read n write and he abused her! but your so blinded by that fucking fiddle. he never tried to help her with nightmares! he destroyed his own cort and he deserves what he got
It's late so I'm going to sleep but bitch rest assured I WILL be back for you tomorrow.
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[ my favorite Cornwell-ism is Schrödinger's Tom Garrard... he was Sharpe's friend in India, but then it seems like he just pops up in the series randomly. He's sometimes an officer, sometimes a sergeant. He's been hanging out with Sharpe recently. He hasn't seen Sharpe in years. Sometimes he's dead. ]
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I'm planning out a little comic that's, very ambitious for what I'm used to doing but we gotta grow that skillset somehow you know how it is
Anyway I'm willing to let you guys witness my godawful handwriting in order to show you these, the best visuals of three of my ocs that will ever exist:
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They're taking a nap, head pillowed face down on their forearms at the table, and Raum (seeing an opportunity to sate his curiosity) gently twirls a wayward strand of Lyric's hair around his finger. [ pssst. i'm really glad to see you're back!! <3 ]
-> There was something to be said about not letting their guard down around someone as powerful as Raum if they valued their sanity and soul intact. If anyone else had dared to do it, Lyric would have promptly given them a hard smack to the back of the head to wake them up, uncaring if someone's ego felt wounded or not. And yet here they are, asleep in the middle of their research once again with their face cushioned only by their arms above their book and notes and drying inkwell; they had likely claimed they were only resting their eyes for a moment before they found themselves fast asleep in that very spot ( and if it was them, or the tea, or insomnia catching up... who was to say? ) The typically vigilant magi, ever aware of their surroundings down to even the unseeable minute things, inhaled one long slow breath before breathing it out at the same place---a sure sign of their slumber.
-> With no awareness to swat his hand away, Raum is free to investigate it's texture all he likes. Lyric's hair is dense down to the roots, loosely coiled and springy: it's rich russet color was their mother's just as much as their own. Despite it's plush, rich appearance the hair around his fingertip is rather dry, splitting ends from lack of care, knots every so often if he looked close enough. Like many things about Lyric's life it was clear: they had never been taught how to care for their hair, and it's quality has suffered. What should be soft, bouncy, strong hair had become brittle and dulled by harsh, cheap shampoo ( hand soap. sometimes it was hand soap. ) and inconsistent washing, it's ends uneven from many years of self-given haircuts before they abandoned it all together. The split ends make its appearance seem all the more unruly and frazzled, even the lock curled around his finger shows signs of breakage that could have been avoided. It had gotten only minimally better since Raum started doing the shopping, if only because Lyric couldn't buy a single-purpose soap for every part of their body any more. For someone who might have hoped their hair was lush and rich as it seemed it could be, it was probably disappointing to realize how much Lyric's self care lacked when examined up close. ( their hair wasn't the only thing that way, of course. their dried, calloused skin; how they treated wounds; their clothes with many patch marks. every part of lyric screamed that they felt their own body didn't matter. pampering, or even basic self love, was far beyond them. )
They shift a bit in their sleep, unconsciously making themselves more comfortable for rest even as his long, leaned form with the small of his back against the table edge treats itself to an indulgent inspection of their features.
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