#claret rose

[see-arcane]

In which I can't stop making fantasy fashion for Doomed Bride of Death characters. This time going classical and giving Persephone a pomegranate punch and a lot of garnet glitter.

[writing-chats]

COLOURS in DESCRIPTION

colour is the lifeblood of a scene. here are ways not to over-use it.

Red: cardinal, coral, crimson, flaming, maroon, rose, wine, brick red, burgundy, carmine, cerise, cherry, chestnut, claret, copper, dahlia, fuschia, garnet, geranium, infrared, magenta, puce, ruby, russet, rust, salmon, sanguine, scarlet, tition, vermilion, roseate, rubicund, ruddy, rubescent, florid

Orange: apricot, tangerine, merigold, cider, ginger, bronze, cantaloupe orange, clay, honey, marmalade orange, amber

Yellow: blond, chrome, cream, gold, ivory, lemon, saffron, tawny, xanthous, sandy

Green: grassy, leafy, verdant, emerald, aquamarine, chartreuse, fir, forest green, jade, lime, malachite, mossy, pea green, pine, sage, sea green, verdigris, willow, spinach green, viridian

Blue: azure, beryl, cerulean, cobalt, indigo, navy, royal blue, sapphire, teal, turquoise, ultramarine

Purple: violet, indigo, lavender, lilac, mauve, periwinkle, plum, violet, amethyst, heliotrope, mulberry, orchid, pomegranate purple, wine, amaranthine, perse, violaceous, reddish-blue

[phntasmgoria-moved]

4/???

[lurkinginnernarrator]

“Shen Qingqiu! What is this nonsense about Qing Jing requisitioning a disguise for one of its members?! You would dare send one of your little disciples trussed up like a pretty young mistress! Even I thought you better than”–

Qi Qingqi’s voice cut off on an extremely strangled note. She and the other Peak Lords all seemed unable to capture an ounce of oxygen.

Cang Qiong’s finest were gathered in a elegant war room, massive tables shoved to the side, covered with maps and intelligence reports: A mind-numbing amount of information scattered across sheaves of paper and neatly written on large boards; they spanned the walls not open to the serene nature of Qing Jing’s outdoors.

The murmuring of focused and purposeful Qing Jing disciples hushed at Qi Qingqi’s outraged exclamation and the sudden appearance of a majority of their shibo.

In the midst of the room, Shen Qingqiu stood, hands frozen in the action of sheathing a dagger to his inner thigh. While normally, such a sight would be arresting enough, it paled in comparison to the vision Qing Jing’s Lord made currently.

His eyes caught wide and surprised were rimmed with coal and rouge, claret lips parted infinitesimally. Gentle strands of hair framed his face and cascaded down his curved back. Hair ornaments tinkled and glittered in the silken black waves.

Delicate, airy robes flirted with graceful wrists, red lacquered nails making a pleasing contrast. Carmine and the tones of blushing rose danced about Shen Qingqiu, gentle fabric draping from his shapely frame; soft skin of his collarbones an–and the rounded mound of his, hi-his bust? Exposed. As was the refined line of sinewy thigh.

S-sshink!

Shen Qingqiu’s hand leaves the handle of the blade, nebulous skirts falling back into place, his pale thighs veiled from sight once more.

“Qi-shimei, Liu-shidi, Zhangmen-shixiong?”– Shen Qingqiu's eyes quickly take in the numerous uninvited visitors, yet his lilting voice doesn’t quicken from its whiplike cadence –”To what do I owe the pleasure of a visit from Yue-shixiong and my shidimen?”

For some unknowable reason, Sect Master Yue and the Bai Zhan War God forsook courtesy for silence.

“Rather, to what does this Master owe my beloved sect siblings appearance,” the polished voice drawled, “ whose purpose is no doubt to meddle in the affairs of a Qing Jing operation? Without, may I add, any proper knowledge of the purpose of this operation to begin with?”

Mu Qingfang, who to this point was standing unobtrusively to the side, stepped forward, courteously greeting the Maste– Lady? Of Qing Jing.

His fellow peak lords prayed blessings, to be gifted such a level headed martial brother!

“These shidi apologize for the discourtesy, Shen-shixiong.” Mu Qingfang’s voice may have hesitated, or stuttered, and almost uttered ‘shijie’ but no one noticed because they were too caught up in their own lawless thoughts.

A Qing Jing disciple helpfully handed Shen Qinqqiu a fan. With a crack! It met his open palm, a gavel descrying doom.

Haloed in light, the Qing Jing Master stood like a wrathful goddess, a holy judge tired of the sullying presence of mortals.

Qing Jing’s Master, when garbed in his usual attire, was a sharp, intimidating figure. Graceful in his execution of masculinity, not unlike a dagger. Moreso, then, donning the mantle of femininity. Some intangible attributes changed, that when masculine, repelled, yet when feminine compelled. Those certain peak lords were unprepared to handle such a thing.

Shen Qingqiu tsked, turning his back he subsequently ignored them after hand-waving a disciple into acting as the hospitality.

The wrong-footed peak lords were bundled off to the side and laden with tea and light victuals, being appeased into silence and unobtrusiveness by snacks. If some of the scholarly disciples secretly thought of it as the kiddie table, that's for them to know, isn’t it?

[herpsandbirds]

What is your favorite species of fruit dove?? I just learned about them and they look so cool👀

I really cannot pick a favorite, I love this group of beautiful doves so much.

Some favorites are the Golden, Jambu, Yellow-bibbed, Superb, Orange, Rose-crowned, and Pink-headed.

Herps and Birds (and More) (Posts tagged fruit dove) (tumblr.com)

Do y'all have a favorite?

Here's one I haven't posted yet...

Claret-breasted Fruit Dove (Ptilinopus viridis), male, family Columbidae, order Columbiformes, Lihir Island, Papua New Guinea

photograph by Alexander Babych

[angrycommielez]

Mr Everdeen's name theories

Ok so I listed all the options I had in mind for Mr Everdeen’s name, including the theories about him being related or close to the Covey. ✨Feel free to add more✨.

Ballad names : 

Although I love the ballads of Joe Hill, Tom Joad, Michael Collins and James Larkin etc I don’t think this is what she has chosen (cause yes she has decided his name and she better gives it to us sorry that sounds like a threat) because it’s not really related to his story. 

Annarchie from Annarchie Gordon : I saw someone on Tumblr or Reddit talking about this scottish ballad and how they could see Mr Everdeen being named after this song for it’s about a women, Jeannie, who “is to be married off to the wealthy Lord Saltoun, but she is in love with Annachie”. Contrary to Katniss’ parents who end up together, Jeannie marries the Lord. So she, and Annarchie, both die of a broken heart. Similar to Mrs Everdeen falling into depression when Mr Everdeen literally dies. 

Also, if he’s named Annarchie, wouldn't it be funny if Mrs Everdeen’s name was Peggy (because of the ballad of Peggy Gordon). 

Jack from Black Jack Davey : When I heard this song and its differents versions like “G**** Davey”, “The G**** Laddie” or “The G**** Rover”, I thought of Mr and Mrs Everdeen. I mean, look at the lyrics : 

He whistled and he sang 'til the green woods rang And he won the heart of a lady

It is also a ballad about a girl from a wealthy family falling in love with a man she’s not supposed to marry. There are multiple versions and in some, while she left her husband (and sometimes baby) behind her to go with her lover, this man leaves her. But in most of the versions I listened to they live happily together. Plus, in this ballad, the man sings and he’s a traveler, like the Covey. 

And in “Black Jack Davey” well, there’s also a color, so…….

Robin from Robin Hood : Many people have said this was one of their guesses, due to the obvious connection with the woods and the use of bow and arrows, but also because Robin is kind of a rebel. Just like Mr Everdeen. It’s also a name connected to nature since Robin is a type of bird. And god do I love birds images in THG. 

Ira from Ira Hayes : He was indigenous (an Akimel O'odham American) and was a marine who fought during the Pacific War. He suffered from PTSD and alcoholism. It’s not in relation to what happened to Mr Everdeen who wasn’t even born during the Rebellion and died in a mine accident, but Ira is also a common name in the South and it’s my hc that the Everdeens are part native. 

Covey name : ballad + color 

If Mr Everdeen not only has a ballad name but also a color, maybe Black for “Black Jack” as stated before. But others could be : 

Ash (for Gray as in Lucy Gray but also for the fire symbolism).

Russet (color of fall “often associated with sorrow or grave seriousness”).

Cornsilk (if he is Maude Ivory’s son or grandson, it could make sense to have another shade of an off-white color. Specially in contrast to Snow’s obsession for his white roses). 

Crimson (deep red, similar to Carmine so perhaps a link with Clerk Carmine Clade. And numerous birds have that name although not in America).

Copper (reddish brown, there's a venomous snake named “the eastern copperhead” in eastern North America that can be found in Appalachia). 

Or types of green like Erin (also an irish name), Myrtle (a dark green + Myrtus is a kind of flower). And obviously, Evergreen. I remember thinking it was a funny coincidence that Katniss’ favorite color was green when her family name was so close to Evergreen. Then TBOSAS came out and I thought maybe the Everdeens are descendants of the Covey but they have changed their names or were forced to. 

There’s Canary and Olive but too obvious imo. Maybe Beaver (color + animal so linked to nature and hunt), Chestnut (named after the nut of chestnut tree so nature and food), Fallow (a pale brown associated with fallow deer) or Fawn. 

I saw Claret (color of red wine) and the word has a nice ring so it stuck with me, even though I don’t see why specifically that could be a covey name for him. 

Traditional / nature names : 

I'd like to believe that naming Katniss and Prim after plants was a personnal thing for Mr and Mrs Everdeen, in relation to how they met. But since others in 12, especially in the Seam, have nature names perhaps Mr Everdeen has one too.

Ira / Hayes : traditional names in the South, also a link to Ira Hayes. 

Fawn : traditional appalachian name (and linked to the animal). 

Lafe : traditional name in the South, means “heir, descendant ; faith” (could refer to Lucy Gray and the Covey’s legacy, that Mr Everdeen passed down to Katniss).

Merle : traditional southern name and also a bird. 

Earl : traditional southern name which means "nobleman” or “warrior.”

Tanner : traditional southern name which comes from the profession of tanner as someone who made leather from animal hides. The name “is often associated with hard work and practicality, reflecting the practical and hands-on nature”. 

Chayton : originates from the Lakota word čhetáŋ, meaning “falcon” or “hawk.” 

Willow : traditional appalachian name and also linked to nature (now imagine toast babies named after him)

Harper : traditional appalachian name and a link to the musical instrument. 

Yarrow : traditional appalachian name, meaning “rough stream” but also associated with a wild herb and flowering plant.

Hunter / Archer / Forest (but let’s hope it’s not hahahahah)

Knowing that if it's a traditional name, she probably changed it a bit.

[insane-brit]

Pray to me (Teaser!)

Priest!(Still Demon King) Muzan Kibutsuji x fem!reader

Tags/Warnings: Cunnilingus, begging, blood, saliva, compliments/praise, edging. 

A/N: I couldn't help myself. I have to share a bit of this one shot. Full piece will include religious imagery/symbolism, degrading, and possibly rough sex. 

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word count: 293

The tips of his fingers dug into her thighs. The pads leaving imprints behind as he gripped them fiercely, holding her in place. Her hands entangled themselves in his hair, gripping and tugging. Blissfully unaware of her nails digging into his scalp. Scratching and drawing beads of blood that trickled down the back of his skull and down his nape. Her chest rose rapidly, pulse straining against the indulgent activity. Extremities shook and her legs ventured to tighten around his head, but to no avail. Gasps left her slightly parted lips, complexion flushed, as his tongue raked through her. Entry breached, she could feel the fluid mixed with his saliva trail down the bridge of her thigh and ass.

“Please,” a tear rolled down her face. “Please.”

His claret eyes gazed up at her euphoric expression. Those teary eyes glazed over with desire. It was enough to send a jolt to his core. Warmth spreading like fire throughout him. It was intoxicating. Releasing her, he raised himself up. Spit and her arousal ran down his chin as he leaned over her body. He pushed her legs until her knees were by her head. A sob caught in her throat and the quickly growing coil in her abdomen dissipated at the loss of contact. His breath ghosted over her lips.

“Speak up pretty girl.”

Her hands grasped his upper arms, and she clenched her jaw. A choked noise escaped the confines of her throat, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She needed him. He was a necessity, and he was denying her.

“Use your words.” His thumb brushed over her bottom lip. Pulling it down briefly before letting it bounce back. His hand trailed down her thigh towards her slick. Caressing her, toying with her.

[thesilliestrovingalive]

Updated: February 6, 2025

Reworked Character #19: Tyra Elson

POTENTIAL TRIGGER WARNING: Viewer discretion is advised due to references to death, sexual exploitation, SA, pedophilia, self-harm, and torture.

Real name: Tyra Rhoxane Elson

Nickname: Tyler

Occupation: Warrant Officer of Division 6, cadet for the P.F. Squad (formerly), and guerrilla for the Ptolemaic Army (formerly)

Retirement plans: To become a cosmetologist and open up a dog shelter

Special skills: Foraging for food and edible plants in the wilderness, expertise in all military weaponry and stalking, makeup artistry, survivalism, and breakdancing

Hobbies: Hairstyling, cloud watching, taking care of her dog, playing volleyball at the beach, and listening to music and sketching random doodles with Walter and Dilovar

Likes: Wearing her favourite knee-length pleated skirt of pastel pink, seafoam green, and golden yellow flannel fabric, adorable dogs, fighting against evil, her putty and plushie collection, and Walter

Dislikes: Cowardice, the Ptolemaic Army, feeling dirty and used, witnessing homes being destroyed, and having her Buck 110 Folding Hunter Knife and/or her two treasured plushies forcibly taken away

Favourite food: Chicken and waffles

Favourite drink: Zobo and mango boba tea

Sexuality: Demiromantic heterosexual

Gender: Transmaculine female

Age: 12 (in 2022), 18 (in 2028), 20 (in 2030), 22 (in 2032), 24 (in 2034), 31 (in 2041), 33 (in 2043), 34 (in 2044), and 37 (in 2047)

Blood type: O+

Weight: 104 lbs. (47 kg)

Design: She’s a 5’ 5” (165.1 cm) American ectomorph of Afro-Caribbean descent with a well-toned musculature, a spoon-shaped body, hips slightly wider than her full bust, broad shoulders, and curvy legs. She has semi-full lips, light caramel skin, cocoa eyes, acrofacial milky-white vitiligo, and the same hairstyle as Tyra Elson from Metal Slug Advance, but with light mahogany brown hair. She wears cut crease rose ebony eyeshadow, luxe-style Mountbatten pink eyeliner, and mulberry lip gloss. Her fingernails are painted in an alternating pattern of blue-violet and dark magenta.

Her right eye has a vaguely X-shaped scar and has been replaced with a glass one, which is a lighter shade of cocoa brown. Her left leg is a cybernetic prosthetic, identical to Gimlet's, but with a hidden blade, similar to Marco's, embedded in the centre of the sole. Unlike Gimlet, whose prosthetic takes up his entire leg, hers extends only up to her knee. She bears several scars, including: nineteen cigarette burns on the back of her neck; a slash mark extending from the center of the left side of her neck to her collarbone; a jagged scar running along the top of her right breast and ending at her epigastric region; a gnarled gash scar on the back of her right deltoid; cut marks on the back of her forearms; multiple whip marks covering her front torso; and fairly severe burns on the back of her lower half. Her central back tattoo depicts the decapitated head of a snarling, pallid Medusa with glowing red eyes, black sclera, boar-like tusks, and folded golden wings. Her hair is comprised of thirteen Caspian whipsnakes, and light purple blood pours from the neck, cascading down like a waterfall.

Her military gear consists of a metal dog tag necklace with her name, claret leather wristbands, a tropical indigo belt with an integrated loop to secure her sheathed hatchet, a holder for her tonfa, and a holster for her handgun. She sports a puce vest with four pockets, its original P.F. Squad logo on the back having been replaced by the Division 6 insignia. She wears a flaxen tank top underneath a short-sleeved Persian orange crop top. The crop top features an unfinished, crumbling terracotta pyramid topped with the forward-facing head of an azure-eyed male springbok. She wears dark green, greyish-brown, and charcoal camouflage army cargo pants, which are tucked into the same boots worn by Tyra Elson in Metal Slug Advance.

She has a claret waist pack secured to the back of her belt, which carries nail polish, lip gloss, eyeliner, an eyeshadow palette, three eye brushes, and her mother’s Buck 110 Folding Hunter Knife. The pockets of Tyra’s vest carry around a red jewel with a deep brilliance (a gift from Walter), a shimmering maroon stick of winter fruit punch lip chap, mango-scented perfume, a container of Fairy Sprinkles putty, and a circular amaranth pink pocket mirror. It also carries around a notepad and a black pen, which she uses to jot down key learnings, important details, and potential points to remember for later.

Over her crop top, she dons a Soldier Plate Carrier System (SPCS) with a MultiCam pattern, which carries around her walkie-talkie and ammo for other firearms. Her forearms are wrapped in worn gauze bandages, and she wears two dark grey bandoliers: one draped over her left shoulder holds nail bombs, while a second wraps around her waist above her belt, holding .357 Magnum ammunition for her Colt Python. She carries a tropical indigo load-bearing backpack that contains camping equipment, fire bombs, portable ammo boxes, a canteen full of water, a DOLL bodysuit, and a Super Grenade. Her backpack even carries a cellphone with a metallic purple case and four containers of putty: Super Lava, Aurora Sky, Coral Reef, and Gelt.

It also carries two childhood plushies: Gloucester and Cecropia. Gloucester is a smiling cow plushie featuring orangish-brown blotches and a raspberry red bowtie with silver edging. The medium-sized plushie's once-white fur has faded to a worn ivory, and its left black button eye is missing, having been torn out. Cecropia is a 3 ft (91.44 cm) serpentine monster plushie adorned with Greta oto wings, shaggy mauve fur, magic mint tiger stripes along its back, and an adorable baby blue puss moth caterpillar-like face. Its features include two small, pointed silver horns, crimson fangs, and black-rimmed dandelion eyes. A visible dark blue stitch runs from the upper left side of its face to just below the right eye, suggesting that it may have been ripped or cut open at some point.

She wears a black scalloped lace choker featuring a Persian orange band lined with silver spikes. Tyra wears a personalised friendship bracelet featuring Dilovar's name in letter beads, accompanied by alternating rose gold, parrot green, and butterscotch beads.

Character summary: She comes across as reserved and apathetic to those who don't know her with a stoic facial expression and a tendency to speak bluntly to those she doesn't trust. It's her way of intimidating those she prefers to distance herself from, while also showcasing her strength and capability as a strong, independent woman. However, she’s a deeply compassionate, friendly, and supportive person with exceptional emotional intelligence skills. Tyra genuinely cares about those close to her, particularly her English bulldog, Angelica, and harbours a deep-seated fear of losing them suddenly. She'll fiercely defend Angelica against any insults, as she loves her dearly and treasures their time together. She believes Angelica is super friendly and harmless, despite being vaguely aware that she occasionally bites people's ankles or fingers without provocation.

She prefers to be called Tyler because it makes her feel more masculine and confident in herself. While she's okay with being called Tyra, she dislikes it when people use that name in a confrontational or angry tone. Tyra is fairly intelligent, thanks to her insatiable thirst for knowledge, her passion for self-directed learning, and her ability to draw valuable lessons from past mistakes. She’s naturally curious about the world around her and isn’t afraid to explore her surroundings, even if it means taking calculated risks. She has excellent parenting skills and is great with children, making sure they feel happy and safe. However, she struggles with self-doubt about her ability to be a good mother due to a past experience where she abandoned her children.

Despite her curiosity, she's very cautious and attentive, staying vigilant around new people and in unfamiliar territory. She has a bit of a dry sense of humour, often blending it with either macabre or lighthearted themes. She exudes humble confidence, but occasionally showcases her survival skills and bravery with a hint of arrogance. Tyra is known to playfully tease and engage in friendly competitions with rivals and friends to prove who has superior fighting and survival capabilities.

She has a short temper when faced with disrespect, careless behaviour, and a lack of accountability, which often causes her to react impulsively and say things she usually later regrets. However, there are also times when she chooses to ignore such behaviour and remain silent. She has a strong desire to fight against evil, showing no fear in standing up for what's right and confronting injustices. She’s disgusted by sexual violence, racism, sexism, perverted behaviours, the slaughter of innocent people, and the exploitation and manipulation of vulnerable individuals. Tyra  takes immense pride in her fearlessness and has a strong aversion to cowardice, seeing it as a failure to stand up for oneself and others. When she does feel afraid and retreats from a fight or situation due to feeling overwhelmed, she's consumed by shame and regret. In these moments, she doubts whether she's truly as brave as she and others perceive her to be.

She has a profound love for plushies, especially animal and monster designs, which offer her genuine comfort. Gloucester and Cecropia are her most cherished plushies, serving as a source of emotional support during her darkest moments and a reminder of home. Tyra has uncanny expertise with various weaponry, which she's reluctant to acknowledge, and a habit of stalking her prey like a cold-hearted assassin. She's a sassy, hard-working, nature-loving, and introverted leader who believes in environmental stewardship and exhibits a merciless and belligerent demeanour towards her adversaries. She's known to mark her face, neck, and arms with the blood of her defeated foes and to rip off the flesh of their abdomen before spitting it out, as a way to assert her dominance and feel empowered.

She lives with PTSD, mild generalised anxiety disorder, and major depressive disorder. Although she has binge-eating disorder, she has made significant progress in developing a healthier relationship with food. She has been working on eating until she feels satisfied, stopping when full, and not letting setbacks discourage her. However, she still struggles with feelings of guilt after overeating and tends to severely restrict her food intake per day. She struggles with suicidal ideation, severe trust issues, and overwhelming guilt related to her abandoning her children, killing her youngest child, and not supporting the local town children in their fight against the Ptolemaic Army. She hates being victim-blamed for situations that were beyond her control and couldn't have been predicted, and feeling like she can't defend herself. She also hates being objectified and treated as a sex object, which makes her feel dirty, used, and stripped of her humanity.

She's a good friend of Trevor and Nadia, secretly admiring the latter, and the three of them often go shopping, eat out, and spend time at the beach together after a long mission. She often smokes a joint with Trevor and Marco, engaging in random conversations that come to mind and intently listening to the two discuss computers and technological software. She often clashes with Tarma due to his relaxed demeanour and sarcastic comments, as she believes he's not suited for military service, feeling that he doesn't take anything seriously. She views Guilherme as a father figure, finding his presence comforting and serene. She cherishes every moment they spend together and hopes that he'll have the opportunity to live a happier life after leaving the Rebel Army. Despite being part of the Regular Army, where many hold disdain for the Rebel Army, Guilherme's kindness and distrust of his own army have shown her that not every Rebel soldier is irredeemable and fiercely loyal to Morden's cause.

She's a close friend of Dilovar and finds him to be hilarious and bewildering, but also uncomfortably weird at times. She admires his independence, courage, and outgoing nature, and appreciates the gentle and respectful way he treats her. She's surprised by his affectionate nature towards her, but welcomes it because she values feeling loved and cherished by those close to her. However, she finds his secretive nature, overly optimistic attitude, abnormal killer instincts, and uncanny ability to connect with the South Pacific natives to be suspicious, but she can't quite put her finger on why.

Initially, she saw Walter as an aggressive, arrogant jerk who liked to one-up people and stir up trouble. However, she did appreciate his kindness towards women and his willingness to stand up for what's right, never backing down in fear. Despite her reservations, she admits that competing with him to see who had superior fighting and survival skills during their cadet years was actually enjoyable. As they opened up and formed a platonic bond that blossomed into romance, she developed deep feelings for Walter, cherishing every moment with him, willing to support him unconditionally, and playfully reciprocating his flirtations.

She adores how affectionate he is with her and delights in being showered with praise, compliments about her appearance, hugs, and sloppy kisses, which she always reciprocates. However, she finds his overprotectiveness and occasional denseness to be frustrating at times. She sometimes gets into heated arguments with him over his thoughtless actions and angrily reprimands him. However, she always apologises afterwards, especially if she realises she has unintentionally hurt his feelings.

She rejects the idea of absolute truths in ethics and moral norms, believing that values differ from person to person. This subjective nature of morality often leads to internal and external conflicts such as existential crises and heated debates. Nevertheless, she thinks people have the capacity to make rational moral decisions, which should be respected to promote human freedom, unless they cause harm. She believes that war is a means for nations to shape a desirable future, but this comes at the cost of enslaving people to support war efforts and disregarding the well-being and basic needs of civilians and soldiers. In addition, she doesn't believe in a cyclical life, thinking that it's only a linear progression from birth to death. She believes the deities are too cruel to allow reincarnation for all, and only grant it to those they consider to be their favourites.

Backstory: Tyra Rhoxane Elson was born on November 11, 2010 in Alaska, United States. She lived in a rural village nestled in a remote north-east mountain recess with her parents, three older sisters (Nichelle, Shanae, and Kaliyah), two older brothers (Jalen and Kyrie), and grandfather. The village was surrounded by ample farmland for crops and livestock, a dense boreal forest, and a freshwater stream. The community was tight-knit, emphasising mutual support, conflict resolution, collaborative parenting, and environmental sustainability. Her family owned a field of summer squash and artichokes, a chicken coop, and a barn filled with cattle and pigs.

Her father, an Afro-Caribbean pirate turned farmer, abandoned his seafaring life to devote himself to his family and the land. Her mother, a white American huntress, helped build homes for the village. Her maternal grandfather, a retired livestock veterinarian, was a respected elder in the community. Tyra and her siblings helped on the farm and received their education from the village elders. Her father would share with Tyra and her siblings tales of his adventures at sea, recounting challenges like food scarcity and his personal struggles with an addiction to psychoactive substances.

She would often let Jalen adorn her hair with flowers he found in the dense forest. During the summer, she would sometimes have picnics with friends and family after a long day of work. She had many friends in the village and would often play games, make flower crowns, and explore the dense forest together. Despite her love for exploration, she was often afraid to venture into the dense forest, fearing she would get lost and separated from her family. However, her friends would playfully tease her for being a coward and encourage her to be brave. Their support and well-meaning teasing helped alleviate her fears, but occasional anxiety about getting lost still lingered.

On her 6th birthday, Kyrie gifted her Gloucester, a present that reflected her love of cows. By the time she was 9, Shanae gifted her Cecropia, and her parents allowed her to experiment with makeup after she expressed interest in it. When she turned 13, her mother gave Tyra a Buck 110 Folding Hunter Knife that had belonged to her great-great-grandfather, a renowned hunter and mountaineer in Alaska.

A month before her 13th birthday, disaster struck her village. A splinter cell of Ptolemaic guerrillas and special forces operatives, led by an unknown commander and a contingent of masked cultists, launched a surprise ambush on her village. Driven by desperation, they sought any available supplies and sacrifices for Ptolemaios' cult, hoping the Avatar of Evil would kindly overlook their shortcomings stemming from the Arms Deal Barrage. The guerrillas and special forces operatives slaughtered everyone, destroyed homes, and pillaged various supplies, including medicine, food, blankets, and toiletries. Her parents and grandfather did their best to ensure that Tyra and her siblings could escape safely, but it was too late. Ptolemaic soldiers ransacked and incinerated their house, mercilessly killing half of her family.

Tyra, Jalen, Nichelle, Kaliyah, and their friends were the only children in the village who survived the attack, escaping into the dense forest. They vowed to avenge their families and village, which had been destroyed by the Ptolemaic Army. Led by Nichelle, the group of children launched a bold attack on the Ptolemaics. However, they were vastly outnumbered and outmatched, and were ultimately captured and executed by the special forces operatives for their defiance. Their bodies were then desecrated by masked cultists, who harvested their organs for a ritual dedicated to the Avatar of Evil. Tyra was the only child to survive, having initially hesitated to join the fight. She stayed behind, clinging to Gloucester and Cecropia, and gripping her mother's Buck 110 Folding Hunter Knife tightly. After half an hour, her concern grew, and she decided to investigate the village, wondering what was taking the other children so long.

This proved to be her biggest mistake, as a group of ruthless guerrilla fighters caught her near the execution site of the children. They taunted and mocked her, cruelly rejoicing in her loss. They heartlessly told her that her family and friends had been disobedient and were chosen to be sacrificed to the Avatar of Evil. They called her a coward for not fighting back and made lewd remarks about her body, while inappropriately touching her. They even went so far as to confiscate her knife and two plushies, ripping out Gloucester's left eye and slashing Cecropia's face right in front of her. Instead of killing her, they decided to keep her alive for the purposes of breeding more soldiers and satisfying their own twisted desires. They tied her up with rope, threw her in the back of their armored jeep, and drove back to a Ptolemaic Army base in the forested mountainside, set many miles away from her village. Due to this incident, Tyra felt immense shame over what she perceived as cowardice and swore to never fear for her own life again.

For the next 3 years and 10 months, the Ptolemaics forced her to bear children and raise them, threatening brutal torture if she mistreated them. During this time, she gave birth to eight children: five boys and three girls. Her children included a set of twins (one boy and one girl) and a set of fraternal triplets. They exercised strict control over her actions, watching her closely to prevent escape, sudden attacks or defiance of orders. Whenever she stepped out of line, she was subjected to brutal whippings, knife cuts, degrading verbal abuse, and inhumane acts such as being urinated on and used as a human ashtray. As a result of the mistreatment and strict control she endured, she developed generalised anxiety disorder and suffered from traumatic flashbacks and depressive episodes. To cope, she would attempt to suppress her emotions through self-harm or immerse herself in parenting and binge-eating habits. Her hatred for the Ptolemaic Army intensified into a strong desire to combat evil and seek vengeance against those who had wronged her.

Near the end of her second year at the forested mountainside Ptolemaic Army base, the unknown commander decided to train her as a guerrilla fighter, seeing her as a potential asset in bolstering Colonel Hilde Garn’s infantry and achieving Ptolemaios' goals. They put her through rigorous training in guerrilla warfare, teaching her how to handle various weaponry, ranging from blades to heavy-duty guns. After completing her training, she was not permitted to undergo the same initiation ritual as Eri because she was still regarded as a sex slave. However, she was allowed to fight alongside the guerrilla fighters when necessary, although she was prohibited from doing so during the four months preceding her due date and for the first year after giving birth. She participated in raids on several villages and towns across Alaska, seizing supplies and helping to capture and violently execute fleeing villagers and townsfolk of all ages. The guerrilla fighters and special forces operatives kidnapped many surviving teenage girls, forcing them into the same position as Tyra.

A month after giving birth to her youngest child, the Regular Army launched a counteroffensive against the Ptolemaic Army's control over Alaska. During a raid on a base miles away from Tyra's wartorn village, a group of peacekeeping troops found her being brutally assaulted by the unknown commander. This violent attack occurred after she had strangled her infant child and attempted to escape with the personal items that had been confiscated from her. They neutralised the commander and took Tyra into their care after learning she had nowhere else to turn because the Ptolemaic Army had taken everything from her. However, Tyra kept secret the fact that she had other children, ashamed to acknowledge the children of her rapists as her own. Ultimately, the Regular Army succeeded in forcing the Ptolemaic Army to retreat from Alaska and saved all of the kidnapped teenage girls, bringing Tyra immense joy and relief.

She would be placed in the Regular Army's orphan program, which provided comprehensive support, including therapy, food, safe shelter in Ajirabia, and formal education. The program encouraged Tyra to explore new interests and passions, such as hairstyling and breakdancing. She was also given the freedom to discover the outside world through field trips with her peers in the orphan program. Feeling incredibly lonely, she decided to adopt a dog and chose a brown English bulldog, captivated by the puppy's red eyes. She named the dog Angelica, after a friend who tragically fell victim to the Ptolemaic Army. Since then, Tyra has treasured Angelica's companionship and discovered a newfound love for dogs. After discovering her forced involvement in the Ptolemaic Army raids of Alaska and her expertise in various weaponry through her therapy reports, the program offered Tyra a chance to join the Peregrine Falcons Squad. Seeing this as an opportunity to fulfill her dream of fighting against evil, she accepted the offer and joined the P.F. Squad at the age of 19.

After achieving the highest grade on the written tests given to new cadets, she enthusiastically participated in all the rigorous training courses available. She was placed in the "misfit batch" due to her weapon expertise, and she struggled to trust her fellow cadets, often treating them with aloof disdain. Dilovar was the first person she befriended, drawn to his genuine tenderness, quirky sense of humour, respect for her personal boundaries, and unwavering support for her hobbies and interests. She struggled to trust Walter at first, viewing him as an arrogant and aggressive guy with an overwhelming need to one-up everyone else. However, she was willing to engage in their rivalry, seeing it as an opportunity to prove her bravery and showcase her skills as a capable fighter. She eventually grew to like and trust Walter as a comrade and friend, especially when she realised he wasn't a terrible person and he genuinely admired her fearlessness, aspiring to match it.

Alongside Dilovar and Walter, she trained in melee combat under Ralf's instruction. She was both amazed and slightly intimidated by Dilovar's feral persona and Walter's imperfect clone abilities. Despite this, she thoroughly enjoyed the training course, which significantly enhanced her fighting capabilities, particularly in close-quarters combat. She even praised Ralf as a skilled teacher, wishing he had been her original drill instructor because she didn't trust the ones she initially had.

She didn’t hesitate to participate in the final training program, eager to put the foraging and survival skills she learned from her village elders to use. She was eager to utilise her five senses at her keen disposal while prudently passing on. Upon arriving on the South Pacific archipelago with her fellow cadets, she found it odd that no intel had been provided about the island's flora, fauna, and geography. However, her excitement to start the last step towards graduation overshadowed her concerns, and she teamed up with Walter and his friends. Once they found a nearby freshwater stream, she taught them how to construct makeshift shelters and build a campfire, skills she had picked up during her days as a guerrilla.

During a solo hunting expedition, she spotted campfire smoke from a distance and suspected it might be other P.F. Squad cadets. However, upon investigating the campsite, she quickly realised it belonged to cadets from the Rebel Army, a group she had learned about prior to her final training. Desperate to escape, she managed to kill a few of them but was swiftly shot down, dragged back to their camp, and tied to a tree. Tyra soon discovered that the Rebel Army cadets' experience and equipment far surpassed hers and her fellow cadets. The Rebel Army cadets psychologically tortured her throughout the afternoon and early evening, hoping to break her spirit and extract information about her fellow cadets' locations. However, she remained stoic, refusing to show weakness, and began to mercilessly insult them out of spite. Just as the Rebel Army cadets attempted to escalate their abuse, Walter arrived just in time to free her and aid her in defeating the Rebel Army cadets.

Realising that she and Walter were unable to fight the Rebel Army alone due to their limited equipment and weaponry, Tyra agreed to search for a radio tower while he held off the enemy. During her journey, she fought off Rebel Infantrymen and freed a small group of cadets, who aided in finding the radio tower, and Intelligence Agency hostages, who provided her with rations and weapons. While relieving herself, a group of fanatic land troops ambushed and sexually assaulted her. Luckily, Guilherme intervened, scaring them away by sniping a few down and warning them that he would report this incident to their superiors. The encounter triggered memories of her past trauma at the hands of the Ptolemaic Army, leaving her on the verge of a mental breakdown. However, Guilherme's comfort and support helped her cope, and his compassion and kindness gave her the strength to persevere. After talking with him for 30 minutes, Tyra began to regard him as a father figure before they departed to resume their duties.

With the help of a few cadets, she located Rumi, who had gathered crucial intel on Rebel Army positions but got lost in the jungle. After being briefed on the situation, Rumi led her to the radio tower, and they contacted the Joint Military Operations Headquarters for backup. They received word that Division 6 would arrive at the beach as soon as possible. She, Rumi, and the rescued cadets met up with Division 6 at the beach. Together, they devised a plan to approach the Rebel Army, utilizing Rumi's intel and rumors of unethical experiments on the island, which a few cadets had overheard from Rebel soldiers. The team then searched for Walter and found him hiding in a cave hideout, eating a couple of bananas he foraged during his time in the jungle. They discovered that he rescued a couple of hostages and repurposed the corpses of Rebel soldiers as potential decoys.

After the battle against The Keesi III, Logan ambushed Tyra's comrades and kidnapped her, bringing her to a vast dungeon used by the Rebel Army and the P’isqu Runakuna (“bird people” in Quechua). Tyra was merely a pawn to buy time for the activation and preparation of the Cabracan. She suffered brutal treatment, including being stabbed in her right eye. Logan attempted to further demoralise her through physical assault and interrogation, seeking information about Regular Army cadet training and other sensitive details she might be aware of. However, she remained defiant, refusing to speak and dismissing his questions with crude insults and sarcasm. Fortunately, after Logan departed to rejoin the battle, Rumi and Allen Jr. discovered Tyra's location and rescued her from captivity.

After destroying the Cabracan, the base initiated its self-destruct sequence. Although everyone managed to escape, Tyra became trapped under debris, which crushed her left leg and severely burned her lower half. Fortunately, Walter, Dilovar, Allen Jr., and Nayutaro came to her aid, and Rumi provided medical attention. Following the Survival Island Occupation, Tyra graduated with top honours alongside Walter and Dilovar. After undergoing a left leg amputation and receiving a cybernetic prosthetic from Tarma, she joined Division 6, having accepted Hyakutaro's invitation, and rose to the rank of Warrant Officer. At the Joint Military Operations Headquarters' medical facility, she met Nadia, and was impressed by her ability to treat cadets who were transformed into mantis and simian monsters. This sparked her admiration for Nadia's bubbly personality and willingness to tackle complex, science-related problems.

[dent-de-leon]

heart hurts again thinking about how young Lucien was--he's on his own by twelve. He joins the Claret Orders as a teenager. He was only twenty-three when he performed the Somnovem's ritual, so young still when he died. And just...it still really hits me that Lucien was always an outsider, always running out of luck; abandoned or abused by his family, barely having enough coin to get by, often going cold or hungry. And all his life, he was taken advantage of by mages over and over. Molly ultimately believes him to be just a puppet of powers he could never understand.

It's all just so very different compared to Ludinus, who spent centuries on this grand premeditated plan, who rose to this position of so much power and wealth and influence. There's a brief scene in the novel where Ludinus sees Lucien in the Soltrcye Academy, carrying some recovered relics--and Tavelle describes the look in his eyes as, "the light of curiosity, no different from the shine in a greedy tyrant's eyes."

Lucien catching a glimpse of Ludinus in the halls of his prestigious academy. Lucien being so taken by the grandeur and magic of it all and trying so badly to imagine himself ever being a part of it--knowing it would never happen. "Lucien tried to imagine himself there as a lad, all wild purple hair and spiraled horns, kneeling on the study chair, huddled over the map, skinny elbows digging into unknown, unseen territories. The image never fully formed in his mind, vanishing in a blink. His chest throbbed from where he had cut himself for the blood his spells required." Knowing he would never belong. That magic only ever meant pain for him.

Thinking of Ludinus, who fed off of the life-force of others to sustain himself for a millennia. And Lucien--so much of his trauma wrapped up in the fact that he died so young, his soul "shattered" by another wizard of the Cerberus Assembly. All the people Ludinus sacrificed over and over. The other wizards from Aeor who bound Lucien to their will and made him their vessel, enslaved him in both life and death. The bloody legacy of Aeoran archmages that still continues to this day--

[beaft]

october 13th

happy friday the thirteenth, everyone! and to celebrate, here's that poem you probably read at school that one time! today's spooky poem is "the highwayman", a delightfully melodramatic ballad by alfred noyes. there's an analysis of it here and a sung version by loreena mckennit here. and once you've listened to that you can watch this, if you're so inclined.

THE HIGHWAYMAN

Part I

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees.  The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas.  the road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,    And the highwayman came riding— Riding—riding— The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He’d a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin, A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin. They fitted with never a wrinkle. His boots were up to the thigh.    And he rode with a jewelled twinkle, His pistol butts a-twinkle, His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard. He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred. He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there    But the landlord’s black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord’s daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked Where Tim the ostler listened. His face was white and peaked.    His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,    But he loved the landlord’s daughter, The landlord’s red-lipped daughter. Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say—

“One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I’m after a prize to-night, But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light; Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,    Then look for me by moonlight, Watch for me by moonlight, I’ll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way.”

He rose upright in the stirrups. He scarce could reach her hand, But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast; And he kissed its waves in the moonlight, (O, sweet black waves in the moonlight!) Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

Part II He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon; And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon, When the road was a gipsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor, A red-coat troop came marching Marching—marching— King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door. They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead, But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed; Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side! There was death at every window; And hell at one dark window; For Bess could see, through the casement, the road that he would ride. They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest; They bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast! "Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say Look for me by moonlight; Watch for me by moonlight; I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way! She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good! She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood! They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years, Till, now, on the stroke of midnight, Cold, on the stroke of midnight, The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it; she strove no more for the rest! Up, she stood up to attention, with the barrel beneath her breast, She would not risk their hearing; she would not strive again; For the road lay bare in the moonlight; Blank and bare in the moonlight; And the blood of her veins in the moonlight throbbed to her love's refrain. Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear; Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear? Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill, The highwayman came riding, Riding, riding! The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up strait and still! Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night! Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light! Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath, Then her finger moved in the moonlight, Her musket shattered the moonlight, Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him - with her death. He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood! Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear How Bess, the landlord's daughter, The landlord's black-eyed daughter, Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there. Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky, With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high! Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat, When they shot him down on the highway, Down like a dog on the highway, And he lay in his blood on the highway, with a bunch of lace at his throat.

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees, When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor, A highwayman comes riding Riding—riding— A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door. Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard, And he taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred; He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there But the landlord's black-eyed daughter, Bess, the landlord's daughter, Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

—Alfred Noyes

[raccoonfallsharder]

✩࿐࿔ take a frickin' shower. [new 11/7]

fluff | gn reader | no use of y/n | drabble | word count: 1,359. read more on ao3 | ✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist | main masterlist

sometimes a shower takes too much energy, but the captain is here to coerce you. sure, there are other ways to keep yourself clean in a pinch, but everyone knows you just feel better after a shower. and right now many of us could do with feeling a little better.

so sorry this has been so long in coming, nonnie-love. i hope you find it useful and comforting. honestly, you're not alone. showers take a lot of spoons sometimes but they are almost always worth it. imo, it is as hard to get out of a shower as it is to get in. (go take one anyway. right now, if you can.)

You stare up at the ceiling of your Knowhere apartment. Something like sunlight filters in, pearly and gossamer across the bone-plaster. It’s lovely outside, you know — not too warm, and not too cold. The skull has been parked the perfect distance from a protostar wreathed in emerald and claret diamond-dust — a favorite peace-time location for your fellow Knowhere locals, who’ve taken to calling the star Gamora. It casts a mint-and-rose glow across the fabricated atmospheric shield, creating the illusion of a cotton-candy sky from the ocular and occipital observation decks. The colors blend with the manufactured wake-shift lights inside the skull, and it all creates a pretty, springlike effect that you haven’t seen anywhere else. And still, it’s hard to make yourself do anything. Right now is an excellent example. You haven’t been able to shower in days — barely scraping up the energy to splash water on your face in the morning. You’d barely managed to take your clothes down to the laundromat a few hours earlier, and now getting up to go retrieve them seems impossible. You lift your head — only to thump it back down into the downy pillow. Then you do it again. And again. Except on the final soft thump, there’s a new sound: a thud. It takes you a puzzled second to place it: the toe of a rubber-soled shoe, bouncing off the door. Welp. Only one asshole who knocks with his foot.

read more on ao3 ✩࿐࿔ for nonnie ♡

need more reminders from rocket?

the world is hard, and sometimes it's difficult to complete daily tasks & take care of yourself (aka rocket bullies you for your own damn good).

feel free to ✩ request reminders ✩ via reblogs, asks, and tumblr or ao3 comments if they would be helpful for you. it may take me a hot minute to get to them depending on life n stuff, but i will do my best. if you’d like to join my fanfiction taglist, please comment or send me a message or ask! ♡

this is about as wholesome as it gets (for me) i think. can be read platonically or romantically. mcu-based anthology, meant to take place post-volume-3, but headcanon however you want ♡

✩࿐࿔ take what you need masterlist

eat somethin. (wc: 576)

go to frickin bed already. (wc: 737)

get outta bed & get your shit done.(wc: 925)

take a damn bath. (wc: 1,375)

leave your frickin skin alone. (wc: 1,579)

take a fuckin study break.(wc: 1,020)

drink some goddamn water. (wc: 1,209)

stop destroying your frickin clothes. (wc: 1,609)

just buy the damn thing already. (wc: 1,271)

it's frickin laundry day. (wc: 1,923)

get some sunshine, sunshine. (wc: 1,614)

did you take your damn meds today? (wc: 1,288)

schedule your fuckin' appointments.(wc: 1,222)

do your goddamn dishes. (wc: 994)

brush your frickin' teeth. (wc: 1,774)

nobody fuckin hates you (wc: 1,231)

stop biting your goddamn nails (wc: 2,920)

take a frickin' shower (wc: 1,359 ) for nonnie ♡

if you find any of these at all helpful, they're meant for you.

banners & dividers by @/saradika-graphics and @/thecutestgrotto taglist ✩ @suicidalshitstick ✩ @glow-autumz ✩ @evolvingchaoswitch ✩ @wren-phoenix ✩ @pretty-chips

total word-count: 24,667.

[see-arcane]

(The poem is "Title divine - is mine!" by Emily Dickinson.)

Meet Claret. They are definitely inspired design-wise by this and this. I'm always a sucker for a pomegranate palette and plenty of gauzy glitter.

But they rose in my head as a figure deeply unhappy at being bejeweled and displayed as they are.

There's a hazy vision in my head of them formerly living in content masculinity or androgyny. I can't pin them as strictly female or male, I only know that they have a wife they love and that they were working in dangerously close proximity to a tyrant with particularly ugly opinions and mandates regarding women. They take pains to present exclusively as a young man in that company.

One day, after ages of enduring him, Claret's secret of being biologically female is outed. The tyrant is both very weird and very pleased about this. He has gone so very long without a wife, because what woman could aspire to his level? The solution is so clear now: There is no better woman for the job than a 'man,' ha ha.

Claret refuses. Tyrant refuses said refusal in violent fashion, taking aim at Claret's wife--an illegality in itself, naturally, such a union being a deprivation of potential husbands--and through this and sundry other guarantees of reprisal, Claret finds themselves here. Stripped of their life and slipped into the finely-tailored noose of this new existence.

A note jabbed at me as I pictured them; that the one request they made regarding this debut ensemble was that they 'be covered from the neck down.' Above we see the tyrant's idea of compromise.

I don't know where Claret's story goes or how it ends. I feel the edges of something hopeful with the wife's coming to their rescue or Claret themselves managing a vicious escape. But in the idea-nightmare they sprang from all I really saw was murk in their future. I want it to end happily for them, but the shape of it isn't sketched out.

In the meantime, I felt so sour about not knowing how to save them that I made this too in apology:

Nothing fancy. Just them in their stays, happy.

[violettduchess]

for the angst ask (thanks for opening them btw) vlad and illness? he waited so long for his mc (gn) just to watch them slowly dying in front of him, their last moments and what that entails? I want to be crushed haha

A/N: Hello anon! I took a little bit of artistic liberty here because I had an idea so its not illness, but rather an accident. The rest of the request is still honored.

CW: death, loss

Vlad x gn reader

Word Count: 1783

A Pureblood vampire has nothing but time. It becomes their only constant, the one fixed thing they can depend on as the world around them evolves and changes. The flow of time brings mighty mountains to their knees and changes the course of rivers. It has seen man crawl, then walk and now, in the late 19th century, begin to run as technology makes leaps and bounds within shorter and shorter time spans. And one sure thing about time: it never stops.

How does one bear the weight of years and decades and centuries? Vlad has found a way. Something that fascinates him. 

People. 

He has loved them with a ferocity sharp and deadly. That their lives are so fleeting, rising like sparks from a fire only to blink out of existence and return to darkness within mere decades, is what makes them precious. Worth fighting for. And he has never loved a human, or any other being, as much as he loves you.

You were the one he waited for. The one who imprinted yourself upon him like a brand, your essence burned into his soul with a heat that never subsided as he waited all those long years for you. And when the time came, when you understood who he was and what you meant to him, when you returned those extraordinary feelings of love and desire, he understood the words Shakespeare had penned when writing his greatest love story: 

“My bounty is as boundless as the sea 

My love as deep. 

The more I give to thee,

The more I have, 

for both are infinite.” 

You gave his world a beauty far beyond that field of roses he holds so dear. Vlad’s heart holds entire universes of love only for you. 

Which is why, when you told him you did not want to be turned, despite the consequence of death, he never once questioned it. He had simply raised your hands to his lips, his claret eyes closing as he pressed a kiss into your skin, accepting your decision. 

And decided then and there he would dedicate every moment you had together to bringing you joy. He would show you the world and in return, give the world the gift of your smile.

Which is why you were in London, exploring the world’s largest city and breathtaking capital of the British Empire. You were staying at Claridge’s, one of the grandest hotels London had to offer, and swept up in the whirlwind of pleasures Vlad had arranged: an outfit tailored just for you at London’s most exclusive boutique, high tea at one of the oldest tea houses in the city, a boat ride on the Thames. As you disembarked, hand in hand, a young boy was waiting with a message for Vlad. A mystery item he had commissioned was finished and would he care to come pick it up or have it delivered to the hotel? His rose-colored eyes had gleamed, his excitement dancing within their depths and along the curve of his lips. He would come right away. When you had asked what this mysterious item was, he had simply smiled softly. You would see soon, beloved. Go, the carriage that would take you back to the hotel was waiting just across the street. He would meet you in the hotel’s salon for supper.

You parted, his smile still warming your heart against the misty London air and you took the time to watch his tall figure grow smaller and smaller as he walked with the young boy down the street, eventually disappearing from view as they rounded a corner. Your heart could not be any fuller, your soul could not be more content. Vlad was the key that unlocked the truth about love: it mattered, more than anything. He mattered more than anything. Loving him had transformed your world into something so perfect it could be called heaven. You were so lost in your starry-eyed thoughts, your mind floating in the clouds on a breeze of affection and anticipation, you did not pay attention as you stepped onto the street.

You did not see the carriage with its spooked horse barreling towards you.

You did not hear the shout of warning.

You stepped out into the street.

And your world went black.

It’s tucked safely into the inside pocket of his jacket, carefully wrapped in the softest black velvet. One look at the pin, a detailed red rose made from the purest rubies with its emerald leaves and curving stem, made by one of the finest jewelers in Europe, and he knew it was worth every cent. It was a work of art and he was proud of the design he had created. He wanted something unique, something custom-made that no one else the world over could have, a symbol of his feelings for you and a sign to all who saw it that you, like the rose, are a rarity worth remembering, a beautiful spirit worth marveling at.

He turns the corner onto the street where you had gone ashore after your boat tour, his mind running through the way he imagines you will smile when he presents his gift, a smile that rivals the sun in all its brightness. All thought however screeches to a halt as he notices the crowd gathered, blocking most of the way. There are police wagons and officers doing their best to keep people away from something on the road. Vlad passes an elderly man sitting on the filthy flat pavement meant for pedestrians, his dirt-streaked face blanched with shock, hands shaking as he tries to drink from a flask. He hears the mumbled words, repeated over and over to no one in particular:

“The horse stepped on a nail. I couldn’t control it. I couldn’t stop it. It stepped on a nail. I couldn’t stop it. They came out of nowhere. I couldn’t stop it-”

Uneasiness begins to slowly creep down Vlad’s spine like a spider descending on its silken thread. He was planning to walk around the crowd, his long legs swiftly taking him away from the buzzing and gawking of the crowd so he could get to you, his light, his love, and make sure you were ok. He will never be able to answer why he didn’t stick with this. Why instead of walking around the crowd, his feet begin taking him through it. 

Each step feels like the earth is trying to stop him, gravity is desperately pulling at his legs, trying to slow him. His feet feel like they are made of granite, dragging along as he shoulders his way through the dense, foul-smelling mass. Each beat of his heart becomes louder, the crowd’s murmuring becomes distorted. Fate has wrapped his heartstrings around her cruel fingers and pulls, forcing him to shamble his way toward a truth that will sunder his very soul.

He breaks through the throng. 

And sees you lying there, your soft hair touching the filth of the street, your head pillowed by hard, uneven cobblestones. 

Someone has thrown what looks like a shabby picnic blanket over your body, but Vlad can smell the blood through the fibers, through the grime of a London street. Your eyes are open, blinking rapidly, your lips trembling as you mouth one word. He recognizes the shape of his name.

“I’m here, beloved.” How he manages to speak through a throat full of thorns is a miracle, another question with no answer. He sinks to his knees beside you, feeling the dampness soak through his trousers, the hard stone biting at him. “I’m here.” You turn your head and the effort that costs you is evident in the flickering light of your beautiful eyes. He reaches out with a shaking hand, the movement slow as if underwater, and manages to brush your hair off of your forehead with infinite tenderness. His fingers are stained red with the blood trickling down your temple. He repeats the motion anyway.

Your breathing is labored and erratic but you refuse to look away, holding his gaze for as long as you can.

“I’m…..sorry.” Your voice wheezes, rough with strain.

His heart shatters into a thousand pieces. Tiny shards that embed themselves into his own lungs, that twist his stomach into a Gordian knot, that pierce his very soul and cling, barb-like and heavy.

“No, my love. My dearest one. No.” He smiles. It is a reflex, a gesture of comfort. His lips shift without him even conscious of it. Words continue to find a way through his blocked throat. Because he knows you need them. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” His hand, still trembling lightly, slides down, cupping your face, the one he has loved for ages, the one white as bone and red with blood. “I love you.”

A shudder wracks your body and your eyes close. For a moment you don’t breathe and panic seizes him, gripping his mind with hands of steel. No, no. Just another moment. No.

And then you manage another breath. Your eyes open again, seeking his. Your lips part and he leans down to catch your labored, whispered words.

“I’m….scared.”

The truth of it bears down on him. He has seen death so often that it had become as innocuous as the changing of the seasons. Spring follows winter, autumn follows summer. People are born, live out the time they are given, and then die. 

And yet your words have turned the world upside down. Death is no longer an abstract, cyclical idea. It is real. It is on that grimy cobblestone street, leaning over you, reaching down, seconds away from taking you away from him forever. Stealing every place you never went. Every kiss you haven’t shared. Every declaration of love yet to be spoken.

Vlad presses his lips to your cold forehead, his hand still cupping your face.

“I’m here, beloved. I promise, it will be okay. I’m with you.”

Your eyes are on him, but they are no longer focused. The flame of life inside of them is sputtering as the curtains slowly close on your mortality. Your breathing becomes rapid, uneven, louder. The sound forever burns itself into his memory. 

You draw one breath.

His soul quakes. Don’t go, beloved.

And then another.

Beloved……I’m scared.

And then you are still, sightless eyes gazing into nothingness.

……..beloved?......

And his world goes black.

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @redheadkittys @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @kissmetwicekissmedeadly @bubblexly

[aaronburrdaily]

November 18, 1809

Glückstadt, November 18, 1809. Forever in some trouble about the day of the month, but am never more than one or two days out. Our amiable friend le Commandant Donsur took us this morning to see le haut Chancellier de Holstein,¹ le Baron de quelque chose² which shall be found out and told anon. It seems he had already announced us, for his Excellency knew all about us. Received us very courteously and understanding that we are to leave town to-morrow, asked us to dine to-day en famille; agreed. Went at 1/2 p. 2. Y: Madame ———; M———, the third Judge, and ———, a literary man of modest, intelligent appearance whose name I regret to have lost. The Chancellier appears about 47; small, maigre,³ but sprightly, courteous, and sensible; something like Madison⁴ in appearance. A la Soedoise, we all stood and said our grace; and after dinner all rose at once, and after returning thanks, bowed, &c, adjourned to the drawing-room. The dinner was of several courses. Each dish served in succession, first being carved by Madame, and then handed round by the servant. At each two plates a bottle of wine (claret), tumblers and glasses; each drank as he pleased. Some choice wines were sent round, a glass to each. Madame has four lovely children, the three youngest particularly; the two eldest, girls. Home at 7. Snow and hail. The house at which I lodge is the rendezvous of the Club. The noblesse⁵ of the town meet every Saturday evening for conversation, cards, and supper. (The ladies' club assemble at the same house every Tuesday evening.) I went in a few minutes, but I declined to join at cards, as well from an aversion to lose as because I must pack up, and so adieu, Madame, till that labour be gone through. Minuit.⁶ Done, even the picture; all, all packed, ready for starting at sunrise. I bid you bon soir a dozen times before I shut you up in that dark case. I can never do it without regret. It seems as if I were burying you alive.

1 The High Chancellor of Holstein 2 The Baron of something. 3 Thin, spare. 4 James Madison, at this time President of the United States. 5 The nobility. 6 Midnight.

[marcmarcmomarc]

RWBY Volume 10 Prediction

Ruby’s Solidarity/The Remnant Alliance

Founded by Qrow Branwen and Robyn Hill

Main members: Team RWBY, Team JNPR plus Oscar Pine/Professor Ozpin and Emerald Sustrai, Team STRQ plus Zwei, the Ace-Ops, the Happy Huntresses, Winter Schnee, Team SSSNN, Team CFVY, Team ABRN, Iris Marilla, Whitley Schnee, Willow Schnee, Klein Sieben, Maria Calavera, Dr. Pietro Polendina, Ghira Belladonna, Kali Belladonna, Ilia Amitola, Bartholomew Oobleck, Peter Port, Glynda Goodwitch, Professor Theodore, and Xanthe Rumpole

In honor of Penny Polendina, Pyrrha Nikos, Hazel Rainart, Clover Ebi, Vine Zeki, Summer Rose, and Vernal

Additional members: Rowena Sunnybrook, Thumbelina Peach, Ann Greene, Harold Mulberry, Olive Gashley, Rae Noire, Ariadne Guimet, Elektra Fury, the Arc family, Caroline Cordovin and the Atlas Military, Team FNKI, Team CRDL, Shopkeep, Ciel Soleil, Olive Harper, Team BRIR, Shay D. Mann and the Branwen Tribe, Henry Marigold, Saber Rodentia, the White Fang, Fiona’s uncle, Oscar’s aunt, the red haired woman at Pyrrha’s memorial, Hei “Junior” Xiong and his henchmen, Lil’ Miss Malachite and her bodyguards, Miltia and Melanie Malachite, Carmella Lindt, Starr Sanzang, Finn Asturias, Lily and her younger sister, Bertilak Celadon, Edward Caspian, August Caspian, Slate, Green, Team NDGO, Dudley, the shovel mom, the female fox Faunus the shovel mom was hugging in the crater in 8x11, both women’s respective sons, the disgruntled grandmother, their fellow Faunus refugees from the Mantle crater, Crimson, the captain and crew of the ship Blake and Sun rode to Menagerie on, the Higanbana waitress, Lisa Lavender, Mikado Lem, Russet Ka, Cerise Claire, Zure and Cye Ayu, Mossius and Claret Berbere, the merchant from RWBY: Arrowfell, Cyril lan, Team SAFR, Councilwoman Camilla, Drunk Mann, Drinking Buddy, Roch Szalt, Kandi Floss, the blacksmith who gave Jaune his new shield, and the mayor who congratulated Team RNJR

[weena-mercator]

Photo references for flowers in TSP The First Summer

If you want to see all the flowers I mentioned in The Swan Prince's newest chapter, The First Summer, here you go! I'm putting them in order of appearance.

I hope I did a decent job describing them, but even then it's hard to truly convey the imagery and I didn't want to go into too great of detail

Birth and remembrance flowers mentioned:

In remembrance of King Phoebus Wright - willow leaf sunflowers

In remembrance of Queen Anneliese Edgeworth - white Chrysanthemums

pretty sure this picture is of the kind considered Intermediate Incurve Chrysanthemums

Mia's birth - yellow honeysuckle

Phoenix's birth - calliopsis (specifically Coreopsis tinctoria)

Maya's birth - yellow roses

Miles' birth - claret and cream two-toned Chrysanthemums

these mums, to the best of my knowledge, are Regular Incurve Chrysanthemums

Franziska's birth - purple Aster

this is actually a picture I took a few months ago, we have a native flower garden on the campus where I work, and this was just a small section of them! I believe these are specifically New York Aster, but I'm avoiding mentioning anything related to the USA in my story, since like The Swan Princess movie, I'm imagining it taking place handwavey somewhere in Europe, sometime in the past

The flowers Phoenix picks for everyone:

for his mother - pink-purple coneflower (Echinacea purpurea)

for Gregory - white coneflower (Echinacea purpurea)

despite the name, this specific flower does come in more colors than just purple

for Mia - purple Clematis

for Larry - orange "Thumbelina" Zinnia

for Franziska - pale pink saucer Magnolia

for Miles - tri-color morning glory