#oc - tom

[shamefulzombie]

Hey Zombie, have a doodle I made at work of L0gic and Tom

HSJHA AWW YEAH pick him up like a cat, he's been causing trouble 🗣️

[skittishandi]

meet my ocs

Here are all my beloved characters!

Elliot, Peter, Sierra and George exist in the same story and most of my Whumptober entries will be about them!

Asher, Lara, Tom and Isa are part of a different story, I might do short entry or two about these guys, I love them as much as the rest of the crew, but I still need to get their story and world right.

(Apologies in advance for the different style of piccrews, I've been creating and collecting them for a while now. I have so many it was hard to decide which one I should pick.)

Elliot Harper

25. Sales guy. Workaholic. Overworked/Underpaid. Swimmer/Runner/Gymrat. Loves a long shower.

Peter Bane

Rich, slimy, creepy, philanthropist. 41. He has one kid. Pretty sure he drinks children's blood to "stay young". Obsessive.

Sierra Henry

Hopeless. Pragmatic. She survives. 26. She's been under Peter's wing as long as she can remember.

George Davies.

21. Student in Education. Wants to be a elementary school teacher. Started Uni at 20 because he failed Med school.

—-—-—-—-—-—

Asher

Hybrid. 26. Eclectic. Used to be a pet and be owned. Activist.

Lara

Human. 22. Researcher. Currently writing her thesis on Feral Hybrids for her Masters.

Tom

24. Human, barely. Lara's boyfriend. A Marine. Likes to play Lara's bodyguard.

Isa

Hybrid. Owned. Reformed Feral. 19?

[oblong-egg]

20240726

[OC] New scar? Idk man, it looks kind of like a weird pimple, but that might just be a skill issue on my end.

[lazyvase]

I can’t stop thinking about what if the M Crew was in Spelunky 2

[mavxion]

love this guy

[nokaru]

Now you tell ME some fun/little known facts about whichever OCs you choose!!

haii bae sorry for the late reply I'm blind you know how it is. ANYWAY thank you for the ask mwha <3

Tom: big guy WILL force you to listen to his lullabies when at camp sorry you don't have a choice he's singing ho ho watanay or something and you will listen AND enjoy it. sweet dreams pookie *smooch* <- kisses every camp member on the forehead

Sister Fiona: may or may not have been a cannibal only ritually ofc

Emi: she's not really as mysterious and cool as she acts/pretends to be. She's actually quite cringefail and predictable once you understand her on a fundamental level. She's just emo, man. She will cry herself to sleep if you "outwit" her in any sense. (It's not easy to match her freak but when you do it stings)

Zarr: after his falling out with Mukaze/the betrayal (which I ✨won't✨ elaborate on) Zarr gaslightes himself into forgetting Mukaze almost completely. You know how people think about their nemesis? Yeah Zarr does not think of him at all. How did he lose his eye? Damn who knows he forgor. He's so good at playing mind games he got himself too.

[wormywormz]

hey bro.. you uh.. the wheel bro

[cloveswifey]

Clingy

Dad!Tom riddle X Fem!Reader

Fluff

"Mommy is mine!" Mattheo, your spirited three-year-old, shouted, pushing Tom's face away from you.

"Excuse me?" Tom feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest dramatically. "She is married to me, little buddy." He proudly displayed your ring on his finger, causing Mattheo to cry in despair. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at your husband's playful antics.

Mattheo had definitely entered that clingy phase. He only wanted you to feed him, hug him, play with him, and put him to sleep. He absolutely despised when Tom even gave you a little peck on the lips, and oh, was Tom having fun teasing your little one.

In the past few days, Mattheo's clinginess seemed to escalate. Not that he wasn't clingy before, but now it had become even more intense. As you tried to cook, his little hands would constantly explore your body, causing him to become upset when Tom was around. In an attempt to scare Tom away, Mattheo would even throw his food at him, which only made Tom laugh even harder.

You gave Tom a knowing look and remarked, "I wonder where he got his bad temper from."

Tom affectionately placed a hand on your growing stomach and whispered against your head, "Let's hope this little one isn't as jealous as his brother."

[slytherinslut0]

SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 8th. tom — somno / free use kink.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST. | 2024.

summary: tom riddle is a god at many things. you’ve never felt more alive than when you’ve reduced him to something lesser.

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, free use, sleeping kink, a lot of reverence for more biblical tom riddle that i genuinely need to choke me unconscious, PIV, fingering, multiorgasm, overstim, slight bondage, dubcon but not really i mean this fic speaks for itself. tom is kinda soft here???? what happened to me??

Tom Riddle, you'd determined, was obsessive before he was anything else. You saw it long before you knew him—intimately, at least—his compulsions, the meticulous way in which he carved out his time, handpicking what fit his ambitions best before pouring himself into them until he was empty.

Tom never moved with half-measures, a man that brilliant does nothing halfhearted.

You didn't expect to become his fixation—didn't know what it meant to be seen by someone who never stopped searching—never stopped dissecting—until the moment when his eyes lingered just a second too long and his hands followed suit—the moment he taught you the meaning in the only way he knew how.

Benevolently.

Tom Riddles need is tempered but there's always something burning underneath, something that flickers to life when his breath catches against your neck—when his fingers trace delicate lines along your skin—something that feels a lot like a thank you. The magical world gave him power—dominion—but in you, he found control. The kind you give freely, without even knowing it, the kind that he takes with the same reverence in his hands he applies to everything he touches.

There’s always been a mutal give and take between you—one formed without words and you solemnize this unspoken vow because he leaves you no other choice.

And it's not by force, not by demand, but by the sheer intensity of his regard, that sacred hunger in the way he looks at you, like you were made for this. For him. To be unmade, piece by piece, worshipped in the ruins of what you once were and stitched back together by his grace alone. When he kneels at your feet after a day that's worn him thin, his eyes sharp with exhaustion— when he spreads you open as though you're a book of scripture, when his hands steady you and his mouth finds its way between your thighs—there's nothing left for you to do but hold onto him. Your fingers in his hair, letting him take—letting him consume you in ways only he can.

He is both salvation and sin. Saviour and ruin. You're not sure how it's possible but he ensures you believe it.

And it started with secret moments—stolen glances, brushes of fingers, impromptu study sessions. But it grew into something more, and then something more still, until one day he's slipping into your flat as though it's his own, finding you before you even realize he's there.

You'll be cooking dinner and without a word, he'll flick off the stove with a twitch of his fingers—a breath of magic—his appetite insatiable but not for any caloric substance. You pretend, for his sake, to be surprised by his power, the way he moves without moving, but he knows better now—knows that nothing he does surprises you anymore, not after the way he loosens the strings of your corset with just a blink, how his teeth scrape your ear in a smile as he works a spell between your thighs. Not after he waits until you're thoroughly ruined by his magic—malleable just the way he likes you before he's merciful, allowing you the honour of his touch—allowing himself the honour of breaking you further.

There's no shock left in it because you've already accepted that whatever you think he's capable of—there's more.

There will always be more with Tom—a knowledge that is a sweet, endless ache. He is reasoning made lucid. You could never define all that he is capable of.

And foolishly you thought after all these years you'd have come to understand him, but Tom Riddle is not easily deciphered—he's a mystery even to himself, a disposition of contradictions. He doesn't need to be understood; he only needs to feel as if he is, to which you do your best. But when you're finally asleep after a long day and feel the bed dipping behind you in the quiet hours—a large, rough hand grazing timidly up your thigh, comprehension of Tom Riddle becomes even more of a distant accomplishment.

There is no logic in him when it comes to you, just instinct. No explanations, just need.

Tom has always had his compulsions, but you are his favourite fixation, and so you give. There's hunger, and there's devotion. There's desire, and then there's worship. You let him choose which ones he wants from you.

On this night you stir, half-conscious yet not quite aware of what's happening as his fingers move slowly, finding the heat between your legs and spreading you gently. There's never any urgency in his movements, though the fervour is palpable—a kind of feverish desperation thrumming beneath the surface, a pulse you can feel in his flesh, in the way his breath catches as if this is the only way he knows how to breathe.

Perhaps the only certainty about Tom is that you know he wouldn't be here if it weren't a necessity.

And he does this often, though sometimes it's more—the plush of his lips, the slick slide of his tongue—but this time, he chooses to wake you to the steady push of his fingers inside you, two of them stretching you, deliberate in their rhythm, curling deep, coaxing you open. It's his mercy, his crafted version of tenderness—you know he could easily just cast a lubing charm and press right in—but he doesn’t. He paces, he savours.

It’s a patience he continually allows himself which you know he doesn't have to give.

And some nights, when you wake to his touch—he whispers for you to sleep, to let him have you quietly, other times he'll make it clear that's the last thing he wants.

Tonight—

You shift against him, instinct guiding your body, but he hushes you, gentle, soft—a tut of warning, a shushing breath against your ear. You don't know how long he's been inside you, how long his need has burned quietly beside you, but by the time you realize, it's the wet sounds, obscene, that draw you from the haze of sleep, drowning out the sharpness of his breath. You're half-gone, face pressed into the pillow, drooling— and your lips part on a moan that never fully forms.

When your hand reaches instinctively for his wrist, his growl curls low in your ear—

"Sleep," if the command was a weapon it'd be a feather—he casts a binding spell on your wrists, drawing them above your head. "I've got you."

You swallow another moan, throat dry, choking on air as you fight to rip free from whatever remnants of slumber you're clinging to. His fingers are slow, pumping in and out of you, dragging you deeper into his need—and you're shaking in a way that is as involuntary as it is habitual. You know from experience just how much he loves this— the way he reduces you to fragments, the way he breaks you apart until there's nothing left but the shattered pieces of your pleasure—the mess he can make of you in minutes, even absentmindedly.

He slips an arm under your head, pulling you closer, impossibly close. The room is dark, and though you can't see him, you imagine his face—the hunger in his eyes as his skin sticks to yours, the hard evidence of his need against your ass.

"T-Tom—" your voice stumbles, a choked whisper of his name. His hand curls over your mouth, silencing you.

"Quiet," he mutters. "It's just a dream."

His breath ghosts over your neck, and your back arches in response. Wherever he was earlier, he came back starving, and this is part of it—sometimes he wants you silent, sometimes he wants you loud. Tonight, he wants you like this.

"Stay still," he murmurs again, and you shudder, your climax pulled from the edges of sleep by the slow drag of his fingers inside you. "Just a dream..."

A dream, he says—somewhere inside you, buried under a fog of grog you know it isn't, and he knows you know, he's not trying to trick you but it's all part of the game—coaxing—the way he devours you a little more each time, not just physically but mentally too.

With your lips muffled by his hand and his fingers buried deep, you do what you always do—you let him.

"T-Tom—" you whimper through the cracks in his digits. Your body is soft, boneless, melting into his touch, aching for more. "Please—"

As much as he wants you quiet he wants his name broken in your mouth all the same. He rewards you with a bitten-off moan, a crack in his control, a slight hitch in his breath—you clench around his fingers and his palm tightens over your mouth just a little too hard before he realizes and eases up.

You did say Tom's need was tempered—but sometimes, there are exceptions.

"I said quiet." His hips rut against your ass, fingers slow dragging at your walls, scissoring in your slick. "Let me give you this."

You push back into him, desperate, needy. "But—"

"Take it." His fingers on your mouth slide past your lips and over your tongue, reaching toward the back of your throat. Tears spring to your eyes as you gag, the sound smothered by the moan you make as a spell, swirling and tightening, pulses against your clit. "With the way I'm going to fuck you, you need this...you'll thank me later for it..."

Tom doesn't waste words. His tone may be soft but it's also sharp, which tells you everything you need to know—that he's had a wretched day and you're the only thing that can make it better. That he's going to fuck out his frustrations on you.

You moan around his fingers at the thought.

"You'll want to be nice and stretched for me, won't you?" A statement, not a question. "You don't want it to hurt. You know I don't want to hurt you."

Though he'll deny it, he's not as emotionless or as lacking in empathy as he'd like to believe. It's one of the many things you've come to know about him—or should you say, one of the many things you've struggled to understand about him—but the way he says it, like he's reminding himself not to be cruel—it's all very Tom Riddle.

"I don't want to hurt you.." he repeats in a murmur, as if he's trying to convince himself. You can't speak, though you're not sure you could find the words even if you could; the only indication you give him that you understand—that you hear him—is the quiet whimper that slips past his fingers. "Just need you."

The spell on your clit is as overwhelming as the drag of his fingers against your walls and it's only moments until you're cumming hard around him and he's groaning hard in return—you know his eyes are closed and you know he's inhaling every single sound you make as though he could house them in his lungs. The darkness clings to you like a second skin but Tom clings to you worse—not relenting even as you're twitching and whimpering with aftershocks.

"There we go." You're squirming and Tom fucking loves it. "Good girl."

Overstimulation is charging in—you have no where to run from it. You bite down on his digits in your mouth and he punishes you by intensifying the spell on your clit. "T-Tom—Tom—"

All he offers is a shush. His fingers curl deep.

"I need...I need you...need this.." he's mumbling, mantra-like, almost like a prayer and perhaps that's the closest he's come to one. You can count on one hand the amount of times you've heard him say it but you know there's no one else he'd be saying it to—no one else he'd want to. "You know, I thought of this all day...having you, like this..."

You sob around his fingers in your mouth as he rips another climax from you—you think you're seeing stars and you know if you are, they were hung there by him.

"Couldn't focus.." his teeth find your jaw, just under your ear, biting just a little harder than he usually does. "No matter what I did, I just kept thinking of this...of you...of you like this for me.."

Tom Riddle is a greedy man—in all ways—but he's not only greedy in the way he takes from you, he's greedy in the way he gives to you too, and though he would never admit it—he'd rather die first—this moment feels as close to worship as he'll ever come.

As you said, there's reverence in everything he fucking touches—you know you're lucky you get to experience it.

"You have this effect." He swallows hard, you feel it against your shoulder. "You have this effect on me...I—I can't stop wanting you-“

—and he's just a man, after all. No matter how well versed in dark spells and manipulation, no matter how cold and calculating he's able to be, beneath it all he's so very mortal. He tells you he was never made for love but when he buries his face in your neck and talks this talk it sure feels like maybe he was.

And all it does is make you want him that much more—knowing that you do this to him—you make him weak. You make him want and need and yearn.

"I don't even know what you've done to me," his voice is destroyed—his thoughts cut off by the evidence of your desperation for him, the lewd sounds coming from your pussy as you suck on the fingers in your mouth. "Fuck, you're so wet."

You groan, helpless and needy as a whore. Tom digs his teeth into your shoulder. It's all too much. There are many ways to come apart and this is Tom's only true undoing—in the aftermath of the destruction he causes, and you are—his collateral.

"Fuck—oh, fuck—" you're garbling, the words don't sound like words. "T-Tom—"

You're not sure how long you've been awake or how many times you've cum—how much oxygen you've inhaled since this all started but the one certainty is that you know Tom has very little patience left—if any.

"Fuck." He shifts, grinding against you. "Can you take me? Can you take me right now?"

All you can do is nod—your eagerness evident in the pace of it—drool dribbling down your chin and instantly the spell fades from your clit, his fingers pull out of your cunt and he's lifting your thigh up toward your head, fingers still hooked in your mouth. There's a moment of movement—trousers and boxers pulled down and then he's there—thick and heavy and warm between your thighs. You tense.

You'll never get used to the size of him. His ego made flesh. Though perhaps the greatest pleasure is in knowing he'll never get used to you, either.

"Gonna—gonna fuck you." He mutters against your neck as he glides along your slit—you're soaked, slick coating your thighs and the sheets and him but it never matters much because it always stings when he takes you. Especially like this. "It won't be soft."

You moan and he finally pulls his fingers free from your mouth, dragging them down to your throat, nails against your skin that feel more like claws because for all the human Tom Riddle is he's just as much animal.

He's never known soft—only with you—but you wouldn't have him if not for all his jagged lines and sharp edges. You let him take.

"Please, Tom-" words fail you, they always do when he's like this. "Please, gods—fuck me-"

Tom growls and it vibrates up your spine. You rarely curse when you can help it—so when you do, when you can't do anything to stop the pathetic vulgarities—he likes it too goddamn much and you know he's going to give you what you want because you give him what he needs.

A mutual give and take, as all the best things are.

"No god could compare to me." He doesn't say it with arrogance, just with certainty, like a letter he's written a thousand times. Then, he's flipping you onto your stomach, wrists still bound above your head as he lines up and presses inside you—all at once, deep and full and breathtaking. "Oh, yes—"

You cry out but it's muffled by the pillow, your cunt trying hard to adjust to the stretch—Tom is never cruel, but he is brutal, and perhaps the two get confused. There is a difference, though you know he would prefer to remain ambivalent on his own harshness, it’s the only way he's managed to survive this long—but here, with you, he thinks he can allow for a bit of mercy.

And he gives it, in his own way, only because you gave it first. It's as close as he'll come to offering himself without asking anything in return. To you, it's still a pretty close second.

"I'm going to make you feel this," he murmurs, lips against your shoulder, teeth against skin and if you had any tears left, this would be when they fell. "You'll think of this all day tomorrow. You'll think of me all day tomorrow."

He pauses inside you—he's taking it slow and the implications of that fact are far out of reach right now.

"I'll think of you anyway, Tom," you grit through your teeth, voice cracking on his name as he pulls out—only halfway—ensuring you feel that emptiness before he presses back in. "I'm—ohh—a-always thinking of you."

He makes a sound, a broken sort of sound, the same one you've heard him make only a handful of times—a raw, vulnerable, almost pathetic sound and all it does is make you want him that much more. He's still moving too slow, too methodically, drawing pleasure out from deep under your skin.

You clench around him because you know he doesn't want you to—he warns you against it with a cervix-piercing thrust.

"You're always thinking of me." His hand snakes around your throat, his lips to your ear—"and are you proud of that?"

You know that's a loaded question, the answer to which he doesn't truly care to know. But it's one you'll answer truthfully, regardless—because you know it'll affect him either way.

You nod, just once—and the grip on your neck tightens, cutting off an almost sob. His hips piston faster now, as though you've chipped off another piece of his control.

"Proud enough, then," he growls, his pace unforgiving, and that's enough to tear another broken sound from you—from the both of you. His fingers twist painfully around your throat, digging into your skin like a man possessed, and you know that means he's done holding back. His mouth is next to your ear, you can feel his smirk. "M'sorry—I'm—sorry—"

He says he's sorry but you know he's not. Not with the way he's groaning into your ear, not with the way he's driving his cock fast and deep. He is a manmade monster and a self-made god trapped inside a mortal man who needs so much to feel human. He knows to be nothing but intense. It's a wonder how the three can exist in him all at once.

"T-tom-" your voice fractures around his name, the only word you know now. "F-fuck—s'deep—ohh-"

His teeth sink into your neck as he cranks your head back with a pull of your hair, bared teeth on preyish flesh and you hardly have time to worry how deep he might devour because you feel his magic on your clit and you see those stars again—distant yet creeping closer, drawn down to your orbit by his power alone.

"M'sorry—" he mutters again, as though he was saying it to your cervix. "Fuck—"

You scream out again as the spell on your clit swirls faster—the sensation unfathomable each and every time—he's fucking you so hard you're burning underneath him and though the pleasure is as white hot as the flames that now cover every inch of you, you don't fear burning as much as you fear it's passing.

He's a fire in your veins, in your blood, and if he stops now you'll die of the cold.

"So good for me," he says, as soft as he can muster for being so lustdrunk— "so—perfect. You're perfect."

Perfect. You whinge and squeeze your eyes shut—choking on your breath. The words are more painful than his thrusts because time and time again you’ve failed to decipher their meaning—you know he doesn't believe in perfection, the concept too weak and foolish for his sake—but he's said it before, always in times like this—you are perfect.

You're perfect under his hands. You're perfect when you shatter apart for him, in the darkness, under the light of those stars he dragged down for you. 

"Ohh—fuck—Tom—" another climax wracks you, splitting you at the seams. "I'm—I'm—"

It feels like an earthquake and you're the epicenter, all the power and destruction Tom thrusts into you radiating from within you outward. His hand moves from your throat to your jaw, tilting your face back so he can kiss you, messily, open-mouthed and with teeth. But it's still a kiss. Something he rarely does.

"Yeah, yeah. Good—" he grunts into your mouth. "Mmfff—fuck—tight—“

A second later, he's cumming, a broken string of profanity tumbling from his chest into your mouth, release spilling deep inside you, warm and thick and he holds you tighter for it as you whimper and throb around him. Tom has always had his reservations. Always had his long list of fixations—and like you said, he pours himself empty into the ones he's chosen. It's in moments like these where you feel it more than ever—as his hips slow and his cock stops twitching inside you—the way that he's made you part of that list.

And when he's done moving through you—when he's done taking what he needs—he pulls away, yet he's still there. Freeing your wrists and rubbing them gently, curling you against him as you both descend.

"Thank you." He murmurs, face in your hair.

You tell him he doesn't need to thank you but you know it makes no difference. After all, he's still a man. A man with something to prove, even under a sky full of stars he dragged down for you.

Tom is a god at many things. You've never felt more alive than when you've reduced him to something lesser.

[peachessndreamss]

A Dark & Stormy Night

Summery : A storm rages over Winterfell and the Stark children look for comfort with their parents.

Characters : Cregan Stark x f!wife reader (no use of y/n)

Warnings : None

Word count : 1K

A/N : Short and disgustingly sweet. All my Cregan pieces can be enjoyed alone but are all interconnected and feature the same Lady Stark their children.

peachessndreamss Masterlist l peachessndreamss ask box

Night was falling early on the North, and before the final rays of watery daylight had leached from the sky Cregan Stark had looked out from the highest chamber of the Library Tower and seen the tops of the ancient Wolfswood trees disappearing into the great grey swell of clouds that rolled over the land and lay over it like a blanket. 

When the night had fully fallen and an eerie stillness settled over the land. It was the hour of ghosts and Cregan was finally ready to sleep. He closed the heavy tome he’d been reading from and placed it back on it’s shelf, the beeswax candle he’d been using to read by was now spluttering and spitting as it came to the end of its life, he took the candlestick in his hand as he moved from the library, through the halls of the silent castle, to the bedroom he shared with his wife. 

Lady Stark was already asleep, only the top of her head visible from where she’d buried herself so deeply under the furs on their bed. Cregan set the dying candle on the table next to his side of the bed and quickly stripped off his outer clothes and slipped beneath the furs in just his undershirt. He sighed contentedly, finding the bed warm from his wife’s sleeping body and the air heavy with her scent, he pinched out the candle, plunging the room into complete darkness and closed his eyes. 

Cregan felt like he'd been asleep for  seconds when he woke suddenly. On first waking he had no idea what had roused him but after a few seconds of confusion the sky outside the window was split by a bright fork of lightning, followed by a deep rumble of thunder. Cregan groaned softly and rolled onto his side, slipping one arm over his wife’s waist, and splaying his hand across her warm stomach. 

A second, louder rumble of thunder rolled through the sky and rattled the glass in the Winterfell windows. Cregan sighed quietly, closing his eyes again, ready to sink back into sleep. There were more flashes of lightning that he could see through his closed eyes, and deep rolls of thunder that made the earth shudder. Lady Stark slept on, completely untroubled by the storm that raged outside her window, Cregan was envious of her deep sleep and he pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder. 

He was almost asleep again when there was a new sound which had him fully awake in less time than it took to blink. The creek of the bedroom door had the Lord of Winterfell sitting bolt upright and reaching for the dagger he kept beside the bed. 

Cregan was just about to demand who was entering their chambers when a flash of lightning illuminated the room and he saw the two frightened faces of his children huddled in the door, clinging to each other. The fear that had gripped his heart vanished and instead of reaching for a weapon he held his arms out to the children. 

“Come here, it’s all right,” he whispered, his eyes adjusting to the dark just enough to see the two small children shuffling toward him. 

His daughter, Aly, led the way, her hand holding tightly to her younger brother who followed behind, his thumb in his mouth and his eyes still full of sleep. 

“We’re scared,” Aly said. 

Cregan rather thought she was the one who was scared and had dragged her younger brother along for moral support. 

“Come up here then,” Cregan soothed as they reached the foot of the bed. 

Aly helped her younger brother, who was still new to walking and unsteady on his feet onto the bed before climbing up after him. Their son made a direct line to Lady Stark, who had finally woken up and rolled onto her back to see what was going on.

“What’s the matter darling?” she asked softly as she reached out to the boy, pulling him toward her. 

“Scared of the storm,” Aly answered as she wriggled up the bed toward the space in between her parents. 

“Would you like to sleep with us then?” Lady Stark asked as the boy settled his head against her chest and closed his eyes. He made a few small noises as he snuggled his face into the crook of her neck and grabbed at a handful of her hair. 

Lady Stark glanced at Cregan who was holding the furs back as their daughter crawled in between them and rested her head down on the pillows. 

“Will you tell us a story papa?” she asked as Cregan relaxed back on his pillow, tucking the furs around his little girl. 

“No my love,” he said softly, “it’s very late so you should just close your eyes,”. 

“What about the storm?” she asked with a pout. 

Lady Stark had relaxed back against her own pillows, the weight and warmth of the child against her chest making her sleepy again. 

“You'll be safe with us,” Lady Stark said softly, kissing the boy's forehead. 

Another fork of lightning split the sky followed by a great roar of thunder, a look of fear crossed Aly’s face and  she cringed away from the window and against her father. He wrapped one arm around her slight frame and pulled the child close. Letting his chin rest on the top of her head. 

“Papa, I'm scared,” she whispered, her voice only loud enough for him to hear. 

Cregan smiled to himself, he dreaded the day when he'd wouldn't be able to protect his children from the things that frightened them, but a storm he could keep them safe from and he gave Aly a gentle, reassuring squeeze. 

“I've got you,” he breathed, “I'll keep you safe,”. 

He wrapped his hand around her tiny fist and brought it to his lips, kissing her tiny fingers as her eyes closed and she started to breathe deeply. 

Cregan glanced over at his wife who was already sleeping with their son curled against her chest. There was another bright flash of lightning but the thunder sounded distant, muted and unlikely to wake the sleeping children. 

When he awoke again the wintry sun was streaming through the windows, the sky clear and bright with no sign of the previous night's storm. He brushed at his face, pushing his daughters hair from under his nose and tucking it back behind her ear as she slept on. He turned his head and caught his wife's eye from the other side of the bed. She gave him a sleepy smile.

“Did you sleep well my love?” She asked softly, stroking their sons back as he slept on. 

“Never better,” Cregan replied with a smile.

PS: Well done on finishing this truly dreadful and worthless piece of fanfic Ten kisses for you.

[oblong-egg]

do more of your oc's have voice claim references or descriptions of what their voices would sound like

I haven’t actually put together a collection of voice claims, but I have figured out a few. I’ve tried finding voices that seem realistic rather than super cartoony, so I think most of them would just sound pretty ordinary. (I say as I proceed to pick voices mostly from cartoons 😅)

For Spot, I imagine he has a kind of small and unassuming voice, sorta uncertain and wobbly on occasion. I was considering Elijah Wood, specifically in the role of Wirt from Over the Garden Wall for him as a kind of starting point.

Angel has a very energetic voice, but not like the stereotypical squeaky anime girl kind of energetic. I’m still looking for a specific example for her, but I’m open to more possibilities.

Fang I think has a more youthful sounding voice than he looks. At least definitely more youthful at the start of WKoL. Most of the time, he speaks very flatly, but also has the ability to project his voice when he needs to. I don’t have a specific claim for him yet.

Seth has a much deeper and more powerful voice than you’d expect. I want people to be surprised when they hear him speak for the first time, but not make it too mismatched that it’s disorienting every time he speaks. Again, I don’t have a specific voice claim for him yet.

Emmi has a very soothing voice. Since she’s a dragon, I imagine her voice is a little deeper, but still feminine. She grew up in the UK, so she has an accent. So I think Estelle as Garnet from Steven Universe fits perfectly.

Soul is another dragon, so again, he has a pretty deep voice, in high contrast to how goofy he is. I imagine breathing all that smoke has also affected his vocal cords, making him sound gravelly. But it also has the capacity to be incredibly warm. And uh… Corpse Husband

Sky is just your average really buff guy. He’s a dork and doesn’t usually take himself seriously, so he’s another character with an energetic voice. He’s also a leader and has that commanding tone when he needs to. This one is kind of a placeholder or a jumping point, but I could see it actually working… I was considering John Cena lol.

Tom’s voice has been super elusive to me. I’ve been playing around with some voices, but I’m not sure yet. He’s older than he looks, so his voice might reflect his age a little more. I also don’t hear it being deeper than average. I’ll definitely have to do more searching.

And Oreo is just a lil guy. He doesn’t have a voice.

I think that covers most of them… I’ve been meaning to put together an actual compilation of voice claims, I just haven’t gotten around to it sobs. I’ll do it eventually.

[lazyvase]

Pierce Sue: A True Edgelord

Backstory

(Note: I'm going to assume you read the Mary backstory.)

Pierce was overlooked as a child. He was the youngest. He was never going to matter unless something happened to his older sister, Mary. He was always in her shadow. It didn't help that he looked just like her. The worst part was that he really had no one else his age to hang out with. It was either be completely alone, or put up with Mary and her constant boasting and bragging. Pierce often chose to be by her side, at least then he may have a chance of gaining some importance in the company.

When The Sue Trading Company fell, Pierce was almost happy. Now his sister finally knew what it was like to have nothing. However, this meant he had nothing to fall back on. He now truly had nothing.

He decided to join Mary on her revenge quest. Soon, they were attending Stuart Gibbs Academy. Pierce took to Stuart Gibbs better than his sister. He proved to have quite the skill in sword fighting and using other sharp weaponry. He showed a particular talent in throwing knives. His accuracy far exceeded that of a gun. He couldn’t help but smile when his sister seethed with jealousy.

Pierce also made a friend that wasn’t Mary. He met his best friend, Missy Salvo, through their History of Espionage class.

When Mary formed the Mary Crew, he really only joined because Missy was in it. Tom was an idiot. Caleb was a coward. Ann was not someone you could approach. Mary was Mary. He especially wasn’t happy that she was the leader of the team. He made sure to let her know constantly.

Overall, Stuart Gibbs was a very transitional time for Pierce. He really came into his own. It started with his physical appearance. In order to stop being mistaken for his sister (an occurrence that made him grind his teeth), he cut his hair shorter. Then he dyed it blond instead of its natural dark blue. For a disguise mission, he got the fake name Pierce, which he soon began using as his actual name. After a talk with the Vice President of the academy (who was thankfully not a G-clone), Pierce came to a realization: He was a guy.

Unfortunately, his new life didn't change much. Instead of being known as "Mary's sister" he was now known as "Mary's brother". Pierce would go onto attempt sabotaging his sister in the Ben Ripley Challenge by framing her for cheating. It didn't work.

The rest of his time at Stuart Gibbs would be hanging out with the Mary Crew and getting into whatever antics was going on.

Currently, he's still stuck with his sister. Together they're trying to confront Gabriel and find out what happened to their mother.

[mavxion]

another school project!

painted a stepping stone and made a few edits digitally

not exactly sure how to feel abt it but it was fun

[nokaru]

🪨 🔥 🍦 🥊 for any AnS OC you choose! 😁

hello hello thank you for the ask NOW i can unleash my oc hell upon yall AHA - im insane about my underground ans ocs so i picked lot of different ones LETS GOO

🪨 ROCK - do they make friends easily? (if not) why?

picking Zarr and Tom for this one cause despite being father son duo they are as different as can be

Tom is well loved and can be friends with about ANYONE...is he sincere about it? who knows. He's big people person and understanding others is one of his biggest strengths. Overall just a pleasure to be around. He is quick to disarm and tear down anyone's walls.

Zarr on the other hand can stand the presence of very few people, guy has had the same 5 friends since his teens (the ones who haven't died yet at least). Being big scary grumpy old man doesn't help with making friends either. It's okay though he doesn't need anyone new.

🔥 FIRE - what angers them easily? how do they handle their anger?

Nokaru's time to shine! Lot of stuff angers her tbh she's got lot of pent up anger within her cause of her past, she resolves most conflicts with violence sooo yeah...She used to be the kicking and screaming type ohh so many broken mirrors and smashed glasses. She's working on controlling herself a lot, so far so good. She cools off by screaming in the forest.

The main cause of her anger is mostly misconduct (both of her and others) and her own actions when she reflects on them. Also overly hot tea or coffee.

🍦 ICE CREAM - what is their favorite treat?

Haru: give this man a whole pastry shop pls he deserves it. Haru has biiig sweet tooth so anything sweet is right up his alley - tho pudding and cakes are his fav. oh also lollipops (doesn't matter he's 19) hes just a lil guy

🥊 BOXING GLOVE - what is their go-to fighting style (hand-to-hand, short range, long range, etc)?

Most of my underground OCs prefer using hand-to-hand, daggers, throwing knives, swords ect. only OC who uses really long range fighting style is lil Mika, who uses a bow and arrows. She is fighing for her life fr shes trying her best OKAY

she should stick to being a medic tho

[wormywormz]

joseph goes to the pub

[undisclosedproxy]

Possessive, obsessive, aggressive T.R T.N M.R

Summary: A movie night where secrets get revealed with Y/N and the boys.

Popcorn flying through the air, laughter filling the homely manor and the television playing a long forgotten movie. This is how good life ha been living with the boys. Y/N was currently sitting on the warm carpeted floor in between Theodores legs, Tom was sitting to the right of them, comfortable on his own seperate arm chair and Mattheo to the left of them, taking up most of the couch sitting in the most annoying way so that he was touching both Theodore and Y/N.

”You should have heard her screaming Y/N” Mattheo laughed loudly basically wheezing at this point, ready to pee himself from laughter.

”Okay it’s not that funny. All we did was hook up and then she woke me up screaming, she was supposed to leave already.” Theodore said shooting a fake glare in Mattheos direction with his icy blue eyes. He continued to sloppily try to braid Y/Ns piece of long brown silky hair.

”You’re right. It wasn’t funny it was obnoxious. Actually it was downright absurd, only the lowest of the low human beings with that level of IQ-“ Tom started going on a very angry rant, most of the time everyone doesn’t know what he’s talking about when he has these moments of his temper betraying him.

”Come on tom, calm down a little bit?” Y/N asked with furrowed brows and a slight pout. She didn’t mind when Mattheo and Theodore start their friendly banter but sometimes Tom just doesn’t get the hint, or pick up on social settings vibes.

Tom huffed and looked away, he didn’t want to admit it but he cares about what she thinks. They all know it too.

”You pricks are both so fucking in love with Y/N, at this point it’s disgusting.” Mattheo chuckled loudly as he continued to throw popcorn at Tom. Mattheo draped a foot over Y/Ns head. She shot him a glare and smacked his foot with her free hand, the other trying to help Theodore braid her hair.

”Do not start.” Tom warned him with a harsh look as Tom continued to put the popcorn Mattheo keeps throwing at him in a trash bag.

”Oh, do not act like you weren’t going absolute crazy when she brought a guy home.” Theodore yelled extremely loudly for no reason which was so random. Y/N looked up at Mattheo with a confused look, then back up at Theodore who was fiddling with her hair trying to detangle the matt he had made.

”No i didn’t!” Mattheo screamed back obviously lying. He was trying to cover for himself in front of Y/N.

”You dickheads did too!” Mattheo yelled pointing at Tom and Theo. As he jumped up, the popcorn falling onto the floor, the popcorn kennels already in the expensive carpet. Tom groaned loudly obviously already knowing he is going to be the one cleaning that up.

“Well. We did not hex him.” Theodore said sassily as he crossed his arms with a huff, giving up on trying to untangle the braid.

”Yes.” Tom said dryly agreeing with Theodore.

”IT WAS LITERALLY YOU WHO HEXED HIM!” Mattheo screamed at Tom, Mattheo was met with Tom staring at him blankly.

”oh.” Tom said nonchalantly,

Everyone stared at him with a concerned look on their faces.

”Is this why no boys ever come back over after the first date?” Y/N asked with a dumb founded look on her face.

”Yes.” The boys all answered in the same nonchalant tone and all at the same time.

”You guys sound like a cult, i’m leaving.” Y/N said as she gets up off the carpeted floor from in between Theodores legs. She walks up the stairs while flipping them off as they stared at her blankly.

”Her ass is so fat.” Mattheo said while so obviously staring. He was met with eye rolling from Theodore, but obviously he was staring too because he had to re arrange his pants, and Tom just looking at him with a disgusted look as he grabbed a pillow and put it over his crotch as he huffed once again.