#c: selene

[jaillir-des-etincelles]

closed starter for @vicletnight​. 

For those who lived off the thrill, they came in droves under the cover of darkness. Participants and audience alike went off road at the edge of a road that seemed to end. Beams off, you would only be guided by certain glow-in-the-dark markers. But you would only notice them if you knew they were there in the first place. The night was invite only, Of course, anybody invited could invite another - with the tacit understanding that if you ended up being a rat, it would be the last event that you ever attended in your life. The abandoned military airbase, no longer on the radar for authorities, whether out of a lack of care or a greased hand, lit up only once a month, but it had grown over time to be more than just passionate racing. From your regular street thug, to the delinquent kid to gangs alike, the Races were viewed as a central hub, an opportunity to connect, to buy and sell, to make a name, do business, and be entertained. Anyone who was anyone, directly or peripherally, in the underground liked to attend, even if sporadically.  Selene’s heels clattered on the ashphalt, inaudible against the engines revving throughout the crowded, as she got out of her black Dodge Charger. Already having placed her money for today’s roster, she was one of the many racing today, the crowd favourite. What new engine would she get when she won today’s races? Selene had made her name in the Races, being the youngest Rider to win. And then win five times in a row after that. Her face was calm, focused and expressionless, as she popped the front open to check on the new customisations she’d done on her vehicle, some more illegal than others. Pulling some grease from her duffel bag that she flung on the ground, she tightened one of the parts. Maybe a new V-8 engine for her Dodge, supercharged rather than going turbo. Or maybe a nitro-tank? Normally she was an overseas sort of girl with her cars, but the young girl had a guilty pleasure for sleek cars. And perhaps that guilty preference extended to men, she mused, as a group of men, too polished and sophisticated to fit into the illegal grunge scene, stopped to talk right by her car. One or two in the group seemed more used to the rowdiness, unfazed by the money and other contraband being handed around. But even then, they were clearly normies. Your average contributing productive citizen who decided their idea of fun would be to observe the underground. Dirty their soles a bit. Feel like they are living dangerously, just by feeling the evident undertone of aggression that hung in the air like a heavy blanket. People here didn’t play nice, and it gave people like them feel edgier than they actually were.  Her hand hovered just above the gear she was working on, as she glanced to take a better look at the group. Immediately her eyes were drawn to him - she could tell who was green in that group. He’d never attended, just in the way his eyes drank in the wild bustle around them. Too put together. Too out of place here, she told herself. He had an air of gentleness to him. She could tell that, even without interacting with him. He reminds me of Atticus. A jolt of guilt passed her chest, curling tightly like a fist. Suddenly finding herself more and more irritated, she glared at the man who looked most out of place before snapping, “Hey, this is the riders area. You’re in the way. If you don’t know what you’re doing or where you’re going, idiots like you shouldn’t come to places like this.” Her eyes hardened, taking in the man’s handsome features. “Especially you. This isn’t the opera or a walk in the park.”

[jaehaerysiitargaryen]

| @purpleeyedwaters | | setting: as he meets with the people of his court he includes the bastard of house velaryon |

“Hello bastard.”

Jaehaerys looked at the Velaryon shame, daughter of the Sea Snake and whore to the Dornish. Still, she was Valyrian, somewhat. And while she was back in his Kingdom he wanted to lay things out clearly for her. He wouldn’t have someone with the blood of Valyria continuing to stain themselves and therefore everyone around her. Jaehaerys could not and would not legitimize her, it wouldn’t work for him. Once she was legitimate she would need to be put into better use, married off and who would marry her when the Dornish returned her?

No one. Perhaps a nice, landed knight. Jaehaerys looked her over. Maybe a nice knight.

“I know of your time in Dorne. No details. I care not about details. I care about making it clear you never go back there and if you do go back there then you’re never welcomed back here. You understand that? I make it clear, the Dornish are our enemies. They are invited here under peace banner, guest right, and they will return to their dunes the same way they came.” Jaehaerys wouldn’t have men, be them Dornish or otherwise, whisper her slaughtered those who came as his guests.

The greatest difference was in his title, a Valyrian king. Not a dragon king. Not just a Targaryen but a Valyrian. The Old Blood as they were called in Volantis. And even then, few of them remained. In a generation the Crownlands would have the look old, the architecture of old where it could be done. And it would stand above all else in the greatest of histories. No more of this warring with each other. No mother allowing outsiders to rip them apart for personal gain. If they were to be ripped apart then he would do it himself with his teeth and claws. But they did not need to continue down this road.

“You should marry a Valyrian yourself or should it work, a man of Lys or Tyrosh. But, you will carry yourself like kin to royals.” He pointed his finger at her, rising from his throne, he began to walk down the steps, stepping toward her, standing before her. Towering over her. The King folded his hands behind his back as he studied her. She was ugly for a Valyrian but so were the Celtigars.

“What are your questions? Consider this conversation your first and perhaps last chance to speak freely. Remember, even freedom is tempered.”

[jaillir-des-etincelles]

@vicletnight this is her thinking about johnnie, my poor heart.

“I don’t deserve you but god, I want to. I want to spend the rest of my life trying to deserve you.”

— (via gwavyyy)

[akemixtuazon]

closed starter for @ofaugury

It hadn't taken Akemi long to figure out where his former Master might be in such a small town. He owned a fucking dojo. Adorable, really. A God, pretending to only be a teacher. He considered it a bit cocky, especially since Tetsuya had to know that he was being hunted. How could he not? Akemi had managed to find him a century ago and he'd vowed to do it again. Sure, it had taken time but Akemi was a patient man. That, and he'd found other powerful witches to take out along the way.

With the moon high in the sky, Akemi used skills that were taught to him at a young age. The metal of the lock hummed, practically begging him to take it apart and open the door. It was a trick he could do with his eyes closed.

Akemi wasn't sure what he expected to find when he opened the door. Darkness, mostly. Mats on the ground, spread out for his students. He hadn't expected to find someone there. His eyes narrowed as his bare feet drifted across the ground towards her. He rarely wore shoes. They made too much fucking noice. Especially when he was on a hunt.

His head tilted to the side as he called upon his dagger, wrapping his fingers around the handle inside of his pocket. "It's a bit late to be training, is it not?"

[vaguely-concerned]

returnal did not cure my depression but it did give me a strangely healing new perspective that makes it all a bit easier to bear. that perspective being 'I may be having a rough time right now, but at least I'm not inside the head of returnal protagonist selene vassos'

[h3rtzoom]

"Oh I'm sure you will achieve just that," Lupe said with a laugh, trying not to get too lost in imagining Selene in the outfit they described. "You got it, boss. And perfect because I'm actually starving and the more you talk about fries the more my stomach is rebelling." She did exactly as Selene asked, actually taking it seriously and not just throwing envelopes around because she wanted to leave. Once they were done though, she was quick to her feet to go back to her desk to gather her things. "I'm just gonna close up at my desk, meet you by the door in five?" And she did just that, shutting down her computer and packing up her bag before she was at the exit waiting for Selene. "You ready? Got your coat on tight enough?"

"I know", Selene laughed, "you've shown me a few. You're right to be proud of her." With a flick of her pen, a few more cards were signed. "Just regular silk pants. Not a full suit, more deconstructed. I want people to look at me and make that Mommy? Sorry. Tiktok sound that Elio sent me once." She said finishing her glass of wine as well. "While I'm delighted to learn about your pubescent criminal past, you can just put this pile into envelopes if you want to help me. I should only have a few more and then we can leave." She said, counting out how many cards were left. Just twenty, easy to finish. "You never have to tempt me with a drink at a bar. I'd go with you anywhere. But I certainly wouldn't say no to a martini and some french fries. Maybe with truffle oil?"

[deathlesssaints]

lizeth selene merci de créditer (c) pau.

[bombshellsandbluebells]

Juliet and Ewan would never team up for a mission because Juliet frankly doesn't want to be involved in Ewan's work and it definitely doesn't fit in her sense of Right and Wrong and outside of definitely not having the right clearance, Ewan probably also doesn't want to drag her into it

BUT

if they did I would love to see them go undercover and Juliet pull her typical move of getting waaaaaaaaaayyy too into character

[diskaywrites]

Fluffbruary 2025 A Sickly Sweet Sin

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 #𝟐𝟏: 𝐇𝐞𝐥𝐩 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐧 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐲 (𝐨𝐜) 𝐱 𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐁𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐩 (𝐨𝐜) 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝, 𝐯𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐜 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟕𝟔𝟑 @fluffbruary

Selene Bishop knew that look in her partner's eyes. It was a look he had given in the ring, on the microphone time and time again. Most of those who saw the look in Devin Heraldry's eyes called it a look of madness, the look of a man who had nothing left to lose and would burn down the world just to feel its warmth. The world didn't know what she knew. The world didn't know the truth.

Some of it was madness, but most of it was 𝒉𝒖𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒓.

The first time Devin Heraldry had told her was he was, Selene Bishop didn't believe him. Her grandmother had once told stories of strigoi, troubled spirits that rose from the grave to feed and gain vitality from the blood of their victims. Stories about monsters and the things that went bump in the night were just that, stories. It had made the truth harder to come to grips with, seeing that the man who had freed her from the heartbreak of a failed marriage was one of those sorts of creatures. That didn't mean, however, that she would turn him away.

She had promised that night that as long as her heartbeat in her own chest, Selene would do anything she could to stand by Devin's side, no matter what it took. And on nights like this, when that look took his eyes and he paced the hotel room restlessly? On nights like this, the best thing she could do was feed him.

"Sit," Selene's voice was firm, not giving Devin the opportunity to argue with her. When he turned to face her, she crossed her arms over her chest, "I'm not asking."

"You can't keep doing this," Devin's voice was like gravel, but he moved to sit on the edge of the simple bed. They never stayed at extravagant hotels with all of the amenities when they travelled, choosing to instead stay at seedy little hotels with threadbare beds and the chance that any new stains on the walls or carpet wouldn't be noticed in the case that feeding grew more into a frenzy. "You can't keep offering your blood."

"Then go hunt," Selene gestured to the door, voice simple though her slate gray eyes sparkled with defiance. She knew that Devin wouldn't take up on the offer. Hunting was still something that, without a real enemy and a real focus, Devin wasn't quite sure who to focus that hunger on. "Go hunt and find other blood. If not, then let me help you as I always have."

She sat on the bed next to him, hands folded in her lap and head tilted dutifully to the side. Devin's calloused hand slid up her bare arm, moving past the strap of her forest green tank top. It finally moved to play with the end strands of her ginger hair. His actions were gentle as he sat there, one hand playing with her hair and the other on the small of her back, "Are you sure? I don't want to hurt you, Selene."

"It doesn't hurt," she whispered as he pressed gentle kisses along her shoulder to the bend of her neck, "You would never hurt me."

His lips, cracked and rough, lingered at the crux of her neck as he inhaled sharply. His hand that had moved her hair away now rested on her arm, fingers wrapped around her wrist. His fangs, glistening in the low light, sank into her pale neck as blue eyes turned crimson in the haste of his feeding. A low moan left her lips as her hands tensed, Devin's grip around her wrist tightening. The initial bite 𝒅𝒊𝒅 always hurt, but then it gave way to an exquisiteness that she had never known.

Not until Devin had shown her his love, at least.

Devin's hand on her lower back rubbed small circles to calm her, even as she sagged sideways into his firm frame. Her broad arms moved to hold her, pulling Selene flush against his body. Her hands rested weakly on his muscular chest as her lifeblood was drained from her body to feed the man that she loved above all else. After a moment, he pulled back with a satisfied groan, mouth stained with red as his own head tilted back in bliss. Selene rested with her head on his lap, one of his hands coursing through her hair. The smile on her lips was faint, but there. This would happen again, she knew it would happen again.

And she would always be willing to help.

[artmograine]

O homem exibiu um sorriso malicioso, levemente satisfeito com o comentário provocador dela. ''Eu sou muitas coisas.'' Murmurou, quase como um segredo sussurrado ao vento. Aquele sorriso travesso em seus lábios escondia segredos sombrios e motivos obscuros que a garota mal podia imaginar. Arthas era um enigma, uma mistura intrigante de mistério e sedução. Havia muito mais sob a superfície do que ele estava disposto a revelar, e a verdade oculta nas sombras era um fardo que ele carregava consigo silenciosamente. Ele poderia se justificar, dizer que a vida lhe trouxe amargos golpes que o moldaram até chegar naquele momento, mas a verdade era que suas motivações eram nebulosas, até mesmo para si mesmo. Mentiras eram seu escudo e a verdade raramente encontrava morada em sua boca. Ele escondia sua verdadeira essência de quase todas as pessoas ao seu redor, com exceção de um anjo caído, expulso do céu, que ocasionalmente cruzava seu caminho em seu abandonado apartamento nos extremos da cidade. As lembranças de uma vida passada, em uma mansão que pertencia a seus pais, ecoavam na mente de Arthas. Em algum momento, talvez anos atrás, ele poderia ter sido mais do que Selene poderia imaginar. No entanto, as escolhas que fez, os caminhos sombrios que trilhou, matando bruxas e mergulhando em um mundo de trevas, moldaram o homem que era agora. A realidade era implacável, e ele tinha feito escolhas irreversíveis, sabia que sua alma carregava cicatrizes que talvez afastassem a moça que agora o beijava nos lábios. No entanto, apesar de todas as trevas que o envolviam, ele se permitiu relaxar naquele momento, deixando-se envolver pelos movimentos suaves de Selene. Fechou os olhos, entregando-se à sensação que a presença dela lhe proporcionava. Após alguns minutos, ele finalmente quebrou o silêncio que pairava no ambiente. ''Espero que você se sinta melhor.'' Sussurrou, com uma voz carregada de um misto de preocupação e desejo. O olhar penetrante do homem percorria o corpo da mulher, como se ele pudesse enxergar cada pensamento e emoção que a dominava naquele momento. Havia algo hipnótico na maneira como ele se aproximava, como se estivesse envolto em uma aura de mistério e perigo.

☪ o selar de seus lábios em um beijo brando, a descontração, eram o sedimentar da companhia familiar do mograine. selene não conseguia importar-se suficientemente com os aspectos externos àquele: a intimidade particular que partilhavam tão fácil. esperava o intoxicar tanto quanto ele fazia. a interrupção que precedeu o apontar do gloss lhe retirou um sorriso fácil, estranhamente dócil, e não conseguiu evitar senão mordiscar a ponta do dedo masculino com o findar da ação, travessa. arthas deveria saber que qualquer distanciamento, a contragosto como demonstrava, somente a faria deslocar. acomodar suas reticências, apaziguá-las, para atender a vontade — a atração— que, no fim, pareciam compartilhar. o contato com a água morna era um contraste bem recebido ao banho gelado que seguiu os acontecimentos, agora distantes da mente ocupada, na floresta sombreada. a boca esticou-se, entregando a atenção que mantinha no corpo desnudo e figura atrativa até que ele ocupasse o lugar atrás de si. não vocalizou, mas quando finalmente optou por descanso mais cedo, não esperava verdadeiramente encontrar. melhor que estivesse, agora, positivamente surpresa. falhando em segurar um som entre um suspiro e gemido aliviado, as mãos foram até as pernas masculinas. ❛ é, secretamente, um massagista ou algo do tipo? ❜ o arfar dramático não tinha o propósito, exato, de evadir o fato de que fazia questão de manter o toque. o contato constante, momentos como aquele... torcia por compulsão, que as mãos afáveis e tudo que era capaz de oferecer se tornassem uma adição. pensamento rápido, teimoso; imaturo, talvez, mas sincero. como quem dizia eu ‘espero que não consiga se livrar de mim’. o trazer dos joelhos para perto desempenhou o papel único de facilitar o girar da própria figura, arrumando-os da melhor forma para que pudesse, então, alçar suas pernas sobre as dele. com as coxas dele entre as suas, aproximou o rosto, o lábio tocando o dele, seu maxilar, seu pescoço. não eram beijos, mas sim um unir rápido. ❛ me deixe fazer o mesmo por você. ❜ os dígitos foram até onde o ombro e pescoço se uniam, aplicando pressão nivelada.

[queensparklekitten]

time princess players how do y'all picture the MCs of every story

like since every set and piece of official art has a different hair colour, length, and style with every picture of them, and sometimes there's descriptions that don't match the images, which one do you go with

and do you make half of them look like your avatar or have your own designs

[brainrottingg]

Dia: I prevented a murder today.

Avas: Really? How’d you do that?

Dia: self control.

[sunburstlink]

life  could  just  hit  someone  right  in  the  nuts  at  any  time  and  then  they  would  be  gripping  onto  a  fucking  flying  horses'  mane  with  a  handful  of  personal  items  when  being  offered  an  opportunity  to  learn  about  that  feeling  that  pestered  you  your  whole  damn  life.  you  weren't  sure  why  but  people  gravitated  towards  you  and  things  seemed  to  always  work  out  —  well,  until  they  didn't.

  three  seriously  failed  relationships,  two  spawns  later  and  lincoln  was  a  thirty-one  year  old  who  seemingly  had  it  all  and  still  had  nothing  to  show  for  it.  a  successful  company  ;  clout  and  social  prestige  but,  everything  in  front  of  him  seemed  to  incinerate  as  soon  as  people  passed  a  threshold.

  after  dropping  his  things,  lincoln  briefly  took  a  look  around  and  mostly  saw  a  male-dominated  camp  and  he  groaned  thinking  that  there  seemed  to  be  skewed.

  "  where  the  fuck  are  all  the  women?  "  lincoln  groaned  while  entering  the  mess  hall,  hoping  perhaps  they  were  all  in  the  kitchen  cooking  or  something  that'd  explain  this  fiasco.  [  @abrakabullshlt  ]

[seaspraycd]

information,  ronan  craved  information  like  a  super  computer  needing  to  feed  and  engorge  himself  on  knowledge  in  a  way  to  help  him  compute  and  decide  when  all  he  had  sometimes  with  his  gut  decision.  ronan  wasn't  the  type  to  lean  too  heavily  on  emotion,  logic  and  reasoning  was  very  much  that  for  a  reason.

so  after  he  spent  some  time  within  the  infirmary,  the  son  of  poseidon  excused  himself  and  went  to  look  for  the  other  person  who  looked  new.  "  hey,  new  guy!  "  ronan  simply  called  out,  the  evening  skies  made  it  hard  for  the  man  to  see  but  he  figured  with  such  a  direct  call  out,  the  other  would  make  himself  known.  [ @abrakabullshit ]

[vaguely-concerned]

there's nothing quite like a dark souls game when you're really depressed. fromsoft places a hand on your shoulder and says "yeah no you're right. sometimes the whole world really is coming at you shrieking and flailing and trying to claw your face off and there is no hope in sight. what is left for us here but the deep sorrow of a magnificent beast doomed to a slow and possibly endless descent into ruin? here's a sword about it. go wild"

and then you stand there with tears in your eyes clutching your giant claymore to your chest like a lover and whisper "I. love my sword" and you do. you love that sword

[akemixtuazon]

closed starter for @ofaugury @miyazakit

Akemi had no intention of interacting with Tetsuya in such a populated area. After what had happened a few weeks prior, Akemi was back to the drawing board, trying to figure out the best way to go about taking down his old Master. Clearly, his original plan -- nor the plan he'd developed when running into Selene -- had worked. No matter. He'd figure out another one. Several other ones.

None of them had anything to do with attacking the old man in a crowd of people. Not only that, but there were too many covens, clans, and packs present. He didn't need any other targets on his back. It would only make his mission harder.

His eyebrows rose slightly when he noticed Selene making her way towards him. In tow, Tetsuya. He'd kept an eye on them while arriving, but he'd had no intention of approaching them. The little bird clearly had her own ideas, though, as she was the one walking directly towards him, intent written all over her face.

Once she was within a couple of feet of him, Akemi bowed his head, offered a smile, but said nothing. He didn't even direct his gaze towards Miyazaki. The man was a ghost -- a dead man walking -- and he would earn no further attention from Akemi other than the final blow of death.