#one of ocs but young and where he got his scars

[penvisions]

services requested {chapter two}

Pairing: Older! Joel Miller x F! Reader

Summary: With the flourish of a contract that contains a section titled 'Intimacy Clause' and a quirk of your lips, you turn Joel Miller's life upside down.

Word Count: 7.3k

Warnings: no outbreak au, modern au, age gap (joel is mid 50's, reader is late 20's / early 30's), reader is more of an oc written in the x reader style, reader is described to have a scar and tattoos, mommy vibes, reader see's joel and knows she wants to provide for him, joel is older and tired, his life beginning to slow as his body aches, power dynamics, sexual undertones, instant connection, mutual pining, flirting, casual touches, mutual attraction, angst, family drama, strained family dynamics, mention of pregnancy (not reader or joel), verbal threat, argumentative language, joel and tommy y'all good god, think that's it!

Fic Notes: please, if you have any qualms about the setting of this fic, do not reblog or comment with hate. my dms are open for discussion if you feel like you need to say anything. let's be respectful going into a new year, there are ample warnings and you are in charge of the content you consume

A/N: hi, i'm back with chapter two for y'all! ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

You can’t help but feel a bit shy around him, with a contract being looked over by one of your friends who works in the more…lucrative business of strip clubs and the party scene. She’s around the same age, working alongside the owner of one of the classier and legitimate night clubs, where she acts as a legal representative for the girls that work there as well as others who come through the doors looking for a little adult fun.

She had arrived just as Joel was leaving for the day, her eyes widening as she watched him toss a out a bag of garbage into the outside bin on his way out of the door and off the job for the day. He had nodded politely at her, though his lips didn’t lift quite as much at the corners as they did for you. Her squeal the second the front door was loud, and you immediately shushed her and clamped your hands over her mouth while peering through the blinds to see if he heard it. Thankfully he hadn’t turned at the rather alarming sound as he loaded up into his truck and took off down the street.

“That’s the Mr. Miller I keep hearing about?!”

That was days ago, and the renovation is in the last stages. New walls are up, drywall and mudding complete. All that was left was the kitchen downstairs and the tiling in the bathroom. Painting was tomorrow, once the colors were picked out too.

Today you were going to tag along with the older man to the supply store to look over tiles, none of the ones in the catalogue he had left on your desk in the study popped out at you. He’s been working hard, to get everything done on schedule. Your parent’s return is in two weeks and he’s determined to have it all polished and shining by the time you head out to get them from the airport.

Professionality and friendship seem to be a good mix for you. Calling him Mr. Miller when he reminds you to call him Joel, him lingering at the end of each day to make sure he gives you a run down of what got done and what will be on the agenda of tasks for the next one. He playfully calls you ma’am in return, though he uses your name sometimes too.

A running joke of sorts, between the two of you. But also, it’s not really a joke at all. But a way to draw an invisible line- no physical contact has happened since that day your composure cracked and fell into tiny pieces around you alongside your hot tears. But you swear you can feel his eyes trailing after you when you’re working around the house.

You’re both jokingly picking out the most garish colors and saying they would look perfect in the living room, the bathroom, the upstairs bedrooms. His own thick fingers brushing yours as you both huff laughter and reach for new swatches. The attendant behind you is smiling at the scene, younger than you and stuck at such a boring job of mixing colors for people that seem too focused to have fine like you two are. But the bubble of easy going fun is broken by a man donned in a grey sweat pants and a plain tee.

He calls your name, in question. As if he doesn’t quite want to bother you if you don’t hear him. But you do, and so does Joel. With laughter still on your tongue, you turn with a wide smile in the man’s direction.

“Micheal! Oh my gosh, it’s so good to see you.” You don’t move to shake his hand, something Joel’s stomach flips over noticing. You keep the tight curl of your fingers over the swatch of blinding yellow he had jokingly suggested for the kitchen that you had pried from his own grip. Your long nails, done up in a soft pink this time had scraped against his skin and nearly short circuited his thoughts. But they’re back now as he watches you interact with this random man.

“I just wanted to say hi and thank you again for the session. It was such a dream, honestly.” The man’s words are genuine, his expression one of open awe. It has Joel stiffening behind you, aware that this may be awkward for him.

“I’m so glad, it’s always a fun challenge when someone comes to me with an idea like that. But I’m glad we could execute it perfectly for you.” Behind you, you can feel Joel stiffen. His entire body goes rigid and you sneak a look at him over your shoulder, but he’s seemingly fascinated by the color samples in his hands…

The rest of the trip around the store is strained, Joel won’t look you in the eye and you feel like he’s avoiding brushing up against you. He assures you he can load everything up into the back of the truck so you’re stewing in the passenger seat waiting for him to finish. The ride back isn’t nearly as happy and easy-going as the ride there and you can’t get the words out to ask if everything is okay, your fight or flight triggered and flight is your go to nowadays. It didn’t used to be…

He gets to unloading as you hide yourself away in the office, sketching app open and stylus in your immobile hand as your back twinges painfully. The scar dug into the skin there feeling like it was just carved your mind replays the event on a loop. You can faintly hear the soft squelch of the paint rollers working, an easy day of work all in all.

But he doesn’t come to bid you a good afternoon, nor does he seem to stop for lunch.

Too caught up in your memories, you sit in the locked office until well after the sun goes down. Reaching out to your assistant to reschedule your consultations booked for that afternoon and evening with a quick text the second you got back from the store…

Two weeks fly by, your little spell invigorating you after wallowing.

It wasn’t productive and it hadn’t helped anything, but it was necessary. Processing and resting, giving your mind and body the chance to work through something is important. Realistically you know that, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Anxiety and trauma are always something you will have to struggle with, no matter how big of a name you make for yourself.

The walkthrough in the morning goes okay, almost back to the comfortable and borderline flirtatious camaraderie you and Joel had established early on. Everything was perfect, the colors, the tiling, the patterns, all of it amazing and beyond what you had expected. Even if you actively watched Joel create the cabinets with his hands, seen the sketches of what he envisioned for the space based on your words and description.

“I really appreciate all the work you put into the renovation, it came out so amazing.” You shuffle the papers in your hand, knocking them against the top of the desk to straighten them out before stapling the bunch of them together. Reaching for an envelope, you place the card you had taken out in his name- attached to your expenses account that you used for your own supplies. That was secured to the top of the stack with a binder clip. “And I was wondering if I could hire you.”

"What do you mean, you want to hire me? I'm already workin' a job for you." His confusion is clear, brows furrowed and lips slightly pursed. His hands are secure on the arms of the chair he occupies. He only needs one or two more days of cleaning and wiping everything down, ensuring no dust from the construction work lingers, no nails or screws are prominent, sand down a few edges here and there. And then of course he offered to help put away what appeared to be a whole new kitchen in the form of pots and pans, cutlery and serve wear, fancy glasses and a set of ceramic mugs that looked hand painted. Everything had come in boxes throughout his workdays, piling up in the garage that contained most of your stuff from when you moved back.  

"For your...services, Mr. Miller. To be called upon at any time." You try to keep your excitement from showing too much, not wanting to weird him out or make him feel any more awkward with what you are just about to do. You’ve never offered someone such a thing before….to be their sole provider and essentially a sugar momma. Though you did explicitly claim there was no pressure or obligation to be intimate in exchange for the funds you wanted to provide him. He’s just a handsome man whose lived a full, busy life and you wanted to offer him a much deserved break.

But as soothing as you keep your voice and even as you keep your tone, based on the way his face falls from a small grin to a frown and his demeanor shifts from friendly curiosity to irritated, you see that you’ve already failed.  

“Listen, I don’t know what kinda man you think I am but I don’t run in the same circles as you. And as flattered as I am that you think-“ He looks a little flustered, obviously upset enough for his face to contort into something you would call grumpy. Would normally tease him about if you walked into a room and saw him making the same expression as he looked down at something or over some blueprints.

“What kind of circles do you think I run in?” You cut him off, unwilling to let his mind run away and taint the professional friendship you two have been cultivating over the last month. The incident at the hardware store crops up in your mind and suddenly everything clicks into place. He most likely thinks you work in the same business as your friend.

“You uh- well, you dress kinda fancy all the time and you’re off during the daytime. Always got your hair and nails lookin’ nice….kinda figured you-“

“I’m not a stripper or dancer. Nor do I do porn or escort services.” Your brows furrow, it should be funny- the mistaken identity, but the truth is that it hurts a little.

You lean back, unable to quell the unease of even entertaining the idea of offering him a contract if he felt so strongly about what he thought you were asking of him- of his assumption of who you were.

There was nothing wrong with anyone who chose that lifestyle and employment, but you had made a name for yourself doing what you did best. The constant under the breath and snide comments about how you carry yourself is the only reason for your success still stings. The notion that you use your looks to get clients, that it’s the only reason they seek you out; it completely diminished the passion and love you pour into every single job you take on for a long while. And Joel is voicing it right alongside the countless others that have before him. “My services are in the art industry. I’m a tattoo artist.”

You know that your eyes are focused, not quite on him but on the curls that still frame his temples. Too long, as you very well know from one of your casual conversations. It’s…not a good feeling to hear the words so many have said before coming from him. He’s been a constant in your life since the beginning of the renovation and he’s seen parts of you that no one has in a long time. For him to openly share his thoughts causes a tightening in your chest. A twinge in your back along the sensitive skin of the scar that sits there as a constant reminder to be careful.

“Mr. Miller, I can assure you that I’m not trying to get you to do anything untoward, there might be a little paragraph in there but you dictate the parameters of the contract. Completely. Everything is up to you and you certainly don’t have to accept it or even entertain the thought if you’re uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry, I just…” Joel feels like a fool, a damned fool for letting his mind run away from him and his tongue for blurting out probably one of the most insensitive things he could’ve said in response to a new job offer from you. He can see the way you withdraw slightly, probably offended but trying to keep your composure. You’re too good for him and this just proves it even further.

“Assumed. Yes, I can see that now. How things look, maybe this was a bad idea.”

Fuck. No, no, no- he doesn’t think it’s a bad idea to offer him another job but…his mental calendar is full for the next six weeks. One job scheduled after this one, his expenses a little tied up after that with his birthday coming up soon- he had told Sarah he would come visit with Ellie, he hasn’t seen where she’s settled with her boyfriend. It…it’s a lot to handle on his own. Keeping track of one rotating crew with him and then two others working on other jobs around the county.

“No, I- sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’m old okay? I don’t know what I’m talking about but the only services I offer are contracting and repair work." He brings a hand up to run a thumb underneath his bottom lip, eyes taking in the flutter of your lashes as his apology soaks into your skin. The almost...yearning look about your soft features. Younger than he is, in full control of those should you choose to lay that look upon. He's sure the boys your age would fall over themselves to see it again, to see more. Hell, he's ready to fall over himself and he's surely twice your age. “I’m not sure how useful I’d be if-“

“I’m in the process of obtaining permits to build on an empty city block. Two buildings. Two shop fronts. I figured you would be able to help out, but I understand if it’s not something you’re interested in. Really.”

And now you’re backpedaling, he feels like such an asshole for what he said. You…you’re an artist. A tattoo artist and really, he doesn’t know how he hadn’t picked up on that. You’ve decorated your skin with beautiful pieces, the sketchbook and tablet you’re always scribbling away on. The mention of clients, long hours, charges, the constant ink stains he sees on your clothes when you get home from work…

He doesn’t want to turn you down, can’t really turn you down. You hadn’t batted an eye at the quote he had given you for the work on your parent’s house. Nor had you argued anytime something needed an extra cushion to get the better quality option of supplies. When he had offered a discount, you had waved him off but he planned to do it anyway. You were sweet, you were considerate and he knows he wouldn’t hear the end of it if his brother found out he had a soft spot for you. But honestly? With the way his brother had been pulling away, taking on less jobs- answering less calls and responding with messages at odd hours or even the summary and final check stapled to paperwork of the rare job he takes on is the only form of communication he’s been getting from the man. So, who cares what he thinks about a discount, when it was Joel’s company.

One he had been fully prepared to hand over to his brother once upon a time. To help straighten him out, give him a hand in a world that demanded so much from him as a soldier and then turned its back on him as an honorably discharged veteran.

You take it all in stride, keeping your composure as best as you can, shoving all the negative feelings down. He’s a good man, he just…he just assumed like he said. Blinking away the unease and slightly awkward tinge to the air you tell him that you understand what he’s saying. He would be perfect for the job you want to offer him, even still. Joel’s ears turn pink at the top, his throat bobbing as he sits there and takes in all the kind words you have for him- even after he basically called you an adult entertainer asking after him to partake in…. something he wasn’t even sure he had a clear idea of.

All so he could see that smile grace your lips and see a flash of teeth he can't help but stop picturing what they would look like holding tight over your own bottom lip, depraved sounds slipping between them as he pressed tight and heavy over you. As his hips slam into yours, his co-

Jesus, he needs a minute to get a handle on himself. Everything is all consuming with you, feelings bubble up, urges strike him strong enough to wear down any thought of resistance. You make him feel like he’s seen, like he’s important, like he matters. It’s no wonder his little crush on you has manifested.

He shakes his head, aware of the watching gaze you don't let up from him as you sit serenely at your desk. The top of your shirt dipped low as you lean forward to rest your chin in the cup of your hands, taunting him. What little power he feels from his larger frame, his years over you, his skills he knows you don't share- they diminish as he glances down to the new skin before meeting your eyes again. You’re too enamoring, too ingrained into his mental space to feel like he’s got any sort of control- even if the working relationship is good, not awkward and even friendly like he wanted it to be.

Small conversations, coffee some mornings as you hang around and watch him place tiles into designs that you request, take out boxes with either your name or his scribbled on them and scattered around the coffee table in the living room. The guys never stay for lunch, opting to go out and get some fresh air.

You tilt your head just a bit, and like a match catching, friction igniting it- his stomach jolts as he pictures that same look aimed up at him as you sit on your knees in front of him. Good god, his mind needs a good rinse. Especially if he’s going to consider accepting the more than generous offer on guaranteed continued work.

"I have a company to run, can't exactly turn down an offer for a job."

"This would be more of an... open-ended contract. I would reach out for any repairs your capable hands are able to work on. From mechanics of vehicles, to construction work, to repairs on established properties. New properties that waiting on permits, like I mentioned. I’m also finalizing the sale on a personal property, so I would need help with getting that up to code as well.  I would pay you a going rate of..."

Joel's mind goes blank, the amount offered per week is astronomical. As much a single job he’s taking one at a time with how he’s got to schedule everything. The same amount he would earn from weeks, if not months of working day in and day out. The way you go on about how even if you didn't have any jobs for him during a week, he would still be compensated. His meals provided and a company card with his name plastered on it in silver on a slick black is flashed at him atop a neat stack of papers with bold print.

"For you to look over, Mr. Miller. There is no rush, nor does the offer expire. Please get back to me at your convenience."

"Uh, well-" He isn't sure what to think, how to feel at the moment. The offer too good to be true, the amount of money would allow him to only work for you. His own clients are willing to pay for his work but not to wait for the time frames he's been giving lately. It's only him in command of three crews, they can only work so fast, and he's seeing them get poached by other companies with better hours, more pay.

Joel's made a name for himself with 'Miller Contracting'. But as the years go on, his hopes to pass it on to his younger brother become a more silly notion than something that could happen. A person who has begun to see his life toward a different path, one of less hours and more focus on his wife and unborn baby.  He sighs, knowing that the thoughts would circle endlessly in his mind should he let them begin. The whole reason he has the job for you now is because his brother bailed…

"There is absolutely no pressure, just wanted to extend the offer. I have found that...other men have embellished their skill sets in order to receive the same offer. Jokingly claim they don’t care but then become petulant when it’s obvious it’s not going to happen. But you have the skills, you are competent."

"I'll-I'll get back to you, ma'am."

"The number at the top of the contract, it's an all hours one. Feel free to reach out with any questions or concerns, any stipulations or changes you'd like to make. I hope you have a very good rest of the day, Mr. Miller." You smile at him, eyes bright as you watch the way his throat bobbed with a harsh swallow.

Later that evening, two drinks deep and another poured into his cup, he settles into the worn leather of his couch with the contract in his hand. He's flipping through the many pages, preparing to read through it when a certain word catches his eye, making him choke on the drink swallow he had just taken.

Intimacy Clause

His skin is suddenly hot, fueled by the liquor he's already ingested, his thoughts turning to filth as a flash of pleasure flares brightly in his belly. Oh....he's certainly in over his head. He's heard of this- what was it called? Sugar daddy dynamic, but if he's the one getting the benefits and wages in exchange that would make him- no, he doesn't want to think about it that way. It's a job offer, a working contract.

He's got half a mind to deny the contract outright, but he can't help the way his eyes devour the words in front of him, from the first page to the last. It’s the perfect opportunity to keep you in his life, a way to keep you as close as his heart begs him too. Friendship something he wants, but the appearance of what it looks like on the outside bothering him still as he realizes how much older he is. Sure, he could run into you when around your parents and at neighborhood gatherings…but if he were to be your personal contractor. Your go-to man for construction and repair work, for…anything really- now that would really make him feel like he was worth the attention you seem to want to dot on him.

His phone is in his hand, thick fingers dialing the number you had provided, no regard for the late hour of the night. He's downing the last bit of his drink, grunting around the sting of it as he hears the ringing loud in his ear.

His heart is beating heavy, slowly, anticipation making him feel like there are far too many rings for there to be an answer on the other side of the line. He's about to cancel it when there's a click and your melodic voice greets him, pleasure flaring up in his belly again.

"Been thinking about me, Mr. Miller?" The coy tone causes a shiver to run down his spine.

Oh shit, he's definitely in over his head.

He looks good, but he doesn’t feel good. You can tell by the grimace marring his plush lips into a frown and the tension he holds in his entire body. Joel is casually walking across the street to where you’re sitting on the porch with a cup of steaming coffee. The house is being cleaned by the company you hired to detail everything. Not that it was particularly dirty, the crew had helped you to dust and wipe everything down as well as possible. It was more of an extra step for your parents to know that you want them to come back from a well-deserved vacation with no worries to even think of. Groceries are stocked in the fridge and pantry, bottles smoothies and juices at the ready for them to slip back into their lives.

It would be your last morning here, fresh from a late night at work and then doing inventory of all your supplies. A huge order loaded up on your phone that you needed to place once you settled into the home you had just finalized the sale on last week. It was finally ready for you to move in, though you suspected the work you wanted to enlist Joel’s help with would take some time.

But you both had it now, in spades. To be with each other, to work alongside each other.

He’s in a pullover sweatshirt that allows for the collar and hem of his shirt underneath to peak out. A little large on him, but not slouchy. He looks like he’s trying to not put too much pressure on his joints and you quickly set a reminder on your phone to schedule a massage for him sometime in the next week. A little gift to help ease some stress. You could use one too, you think as you see the barrage of missed calls from a blocked number. The area code for the city you had just moved from…

“Hey there, rough morning?” His voice is coarse, filling in the humid morning air with a little more warmth as he approaches and stands at the bottom of the porch steps. He’s got on a pair of glasses…and you’re thoughts are swirling in the gutter as you imagine him staring down through the lenses at you as you kneel before him…

Swallowing the sip you just took, you tilt your head toward the other side of the patio lounge you’re on, legs curled up beneath you. Large cardigan keeping you comfortable over a pair of jeans and a tank top. There’s ink stained on the front, the collar dipping low as you had moved around to finish a giant custom piece for most of the evening.

“It’s been alright, can’t really call it ‘morning’ if I haven’t been to sleep yet,” You feel a thrill down your spine as he sits, his thigh brushing up against your bare knee where a hole in the denim exposes it. You don’t move and he doesn’t shy away either. He’s got the thick stack of papers in his hand, but the envelope with the check for his renovation and the card with his name on it are gone.

“We can make this quick, then, if you want to get to bed.”

“No need, I’m moving today and then work later.” You offer him your mug and he gingerly takes it from you to slurp the sweetened and creamed coffee inside. His thick moustache catches a few droplets and as your eyes linger, his tongue sneaks out to capture them. “I’ll catch a nap in the afternoon, no need to worry, Mr. Miller.”

“Sweetheart, told you to call me Joel.” He hands you back the mug. His brown eyes catch yours and you feel your entire body go still, worry igniting you that he’s about to tell you he’s thought the contract over and wants nothing to do with it…

“Especially if I’m gonna hand this back over with my signature scrawled on it.”

“Really?” Your eyes widen as you turn to face him completely.

“You seem surprised.” He’s laughing as he flips to the last page to show you and it releases all the tension in your chest. He’s got such a good laugh, hearty and full. You want to do everything you can to hear it more, to give him a reason to laugh more. More time to focus on what he wants, not worried about keeping up with big projects that take so much time to complete. Not that he minds, like he’s assured you, he loves the work and wants to do it. But it’s getting to be a lot to handle, his brother is finding himself a different path- something he mentioned when you had asked after the other Miller brother and why he hadn’t been the one to take on your job.

“I was a little worried, it’s not exactly a normal thing to be offered. But like I said, everything is up to you, the jobs are the jobs, the work is still work, everything else is completely up to you.”

“Don’t think anything can be considered normal these days, but,” He’s reaching to place his palm on your knee in a comforting gesture. “I could honestly really use the break you’re lending me. Gives me the chance to be more present in the girls’ lives. I’ve got one last job I’ve already taken a deposit on, a small trip out to see Sarah and then I’m all yours. It’s a generous offer and I’d be a fool to turn it down.”

“What’s the last job?”

“An above ground pool and deck, shouldn’t take more than two weeks. Give me until next month, then we can get everything settled. If that’s okay?”

“I don’t mind how long it takes, I was going to pay you the first month upfront, even if you didn’t want to do this. As a bonus of sorts, for the amazing job you did here.” You wave your hand behind you toward the house. The cleaning crew is already busy, their chatter and light music filling the home with life.

“You really are somethin’, you know that?” He’s tipping his head down, looking at his scuffed and paint stained boots. Pink tinging his ears as he does so, the fingers over your knee digging in and then releasing in move you aren’t sure he’s aware of.

“You’re a good man, Joel Miller. And I want you to see that, you deserve the chance for a slower life, for a life you want. Now let’s go.” You gulp down the last of the coffee and set it down on the patio table to your right. The contract slides into the bag at your feet and you’re standing.

“Where we goin’?” He’s sill got those damn thick rimmed glasses on and he looks good enough to eat as he looks up at you from his spot still on the whicker couch. He hasn’t gotten up alongside you, unsure what’s going to happen now that the paperwork is officially signed and accepted- a date for the next month picked out for him to officially be on your payroll. As a sugar baby. Well, a contracted workman but the reality of the situation isn’t just that.

But you do, you’re going to take care of him. Exactly like you promised.

“To the salon. You said you’ve been putting off a trim.”

“We don’t have-“

“Joel. You said you don’t much like your hair as long as it is, it’s an easy fix.”

“I don’t…got a meeting with my brother this afternoon.” He shuffles on his feet, boots scuffing the new coat of sealant on the porch he put on with his own two hands. “Gonna tell him about the business.”

“It’s only ten, we’ll be done by then.” You go to grip his shoulder with a light hand. Your nails grazing his arm on the way up. The reassuring smile you give him melts him, you can see it. “I promise.”

A short drive later and a more than enthusiastic interaction in the industrial and modern looking salon, Joel sits with a grimace into a chair and lets the hairdresser fasten the cape securely over his throat. The place is so fancy, certainly not the master bathroom or the corner barbershop tucked into the end of a strip mall that he normally frequents. He’s tense and you feel bad so you hold up a finger to motion for the woman to pause for a moment. She smiles at you, noticing his unease as well.

“Hey,” You whisper as you come to stand behind him. He’s watching you with his dark eyes through the mirror, noticing the grays that make up most of his facial hair, steel tone that gives away how dark his hair had been once upon a time. His curls too, are the same dark gray intermixed with ash strands. Thick and erring on the side of ringlets if they should grow any longer. Your fingers gently scratch at the back of his head as you dig them into his hair, thumbs massaging up the back of his neck in a soothing gesture.

His hair is as soft as you imagined, like silk against your skin and you hum a little as you notice his eyes flutter at your ministrations. His shoulders drop and he let’s out a deep breath he must’ve been holding in.

“It’s just a trim, okay? Whatever you want, however you like it. You deserve it and you’ll feel so much better, I promise.”

And goddamn, if it’s not hard to keep promising things to one Joel Miller.

He’s so flighty, so nervous when he doesn’t know what to expect in a situation like this. Out of his depth and a little uncomfortable with the first outing as you go-to guy for all things. A paid companion of sorts. A strong contrast to the confidence he struts around with and moves through a space he’s working on, through the hardware store, as he drives his truck expertly throughout the suburban and city streets.

And when his eyes open back up, he’s returning your gentle smile with one of his own. Completely as ease. It makes your heart speed up and warmth pool in your middle.

Joel’s not nervous, but he’s not exactly thrilled to share the news of his company becoming an- contracted one he guesses would be the right term. One that has the sole purpose of fulfilling your every need, no matter now small or large a scale the project or task is. A way to provide for you and be a friend to you, to keep you close like he can’t seem to resist. He’s made peace with the decision, he’s comfortable in his decision. But his brother is…

“Why didn't you come to me, brother? I would've- I would've done anything to help, hell, I would've jumped back into working jobs everyday with you if that's what it took to save the company.” Tommy is certainly playing the part of the concerned younger sibling, professing empty words that Joel knows he wants to mean. But he doesn’t. He’s been struggling since coming back from his last tour and Joel’s done just about all he could to help in that department. Up to and including helping him with financial stuff and hiring a district attorney to help him when it had gone too far…

“Tommy, c'mon.” Joel tries to keep his tone in check, but Tommy is more than a little upset that he hadn’t known how stressed his brother was. How could Joel have told him? When could he have even told him, this is the first time to two of them have actually sat down and not just traded half conversations over the phone or even at the sad excuse of an office rented for the business. It was easier for them to work out of a trailer they would park at job sites, more secure for them to have eyes on the space that helped them to operate, well Joel to operate.

“Don't you do that, act like I don't care.” Wide brown eyes are turned toward him, the same ones that worked to get him to take the blame for too many eaten cookies before dinner, a broken lamp when they were too reckless running around the house, or when paired with a wobbling lip and tears that Joel would take make sure no one but him got into trouble. The big brother, always looking out for his younger one.

“I couldn't get you to even answer the damn phone, let alone work anymore 'n you wanted to.” A harsh scrub of his palm against his chin rustles the stubble there. Honest and reality checking words simmer in his belly, heating him up from the inside out and he realizes that there’s no stopping them from bubbling up.

He’s hurt, dammit. By the fact that after everything he’s done, his brother still decides to be selfish in a way he wished he could be proud of. Family is important, but the woman that Tommy is choosing over everything else…It just doesn’t sit well with him. “The business is good, just getting a little back logged and people aren’t willing to wait that long for certain work. It’s tough with just me and the crews, really expected to have a little more help.”

“That's not fair, I got...I got things I'm taking care of, Maria she-“

“This isn't about her, Tommy! This is about you doin' whatever the hell you wanna do, just like fucking always. your whole damn life, you've been like this.” He feels the words surge through him, spurred on by the sheer contrast of interacting with you and then his brother. One was family and yet…you treated him with more respect, you seemed to care enough to offer him a way to support himself better, to provide for him, to help him.

And the man across from him is doing nothing but making excuses as to why he hasn’t offered more.

“Joel, if I had known-“

“But you didn't! Didn’t even bother to ask how all the jobs you kept bailing on got done, how they got managed into my already full schedule. You know Ellie is thinkin’ of moving out because she thinks she’s too loud in a house that’s quiet when I’m not there and even more so when I am? She feels like a burden on me because I’m workin’ so damn hard and I pass out the second I get home.”

“Ellie’s an adult, but I’m sorry the work has you feeling like an absent father. Maybe you shouldn’t have-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Tommy. I love that girl with my whole fucking heart. I made the decision to transition to contracted work, to help out a friend with her business and personal projects. She’s supplin’ me with enough cash flow to make it worth my while and give me more down time.”

“Yeah and what, you think some pretty, successful woman is gonna be the key to keeping your company. You sold out, man, she's gonna be changing things, controlling things, you don't even know the half of it. You should've-“

“You weren't there!” Joel hollers, his patience gone and his head pounding. He realizes that the table next to them looked up from their menus at his outburst but he doesn’t care. “You weren't there, mentally, physically, you were gone off in your own little world, Tommy! She was....she saw me struggling and she treated me with kindness and respect- she was there to help! She was fucking there, Tommy!”

“You really think she gives a shit about you? Cause she don’t! She just sees an old man to buy out and take over a company because she’s bored, needs something to play with. The girls are going to flip when they find out how weak you were when a pretty little thing flashed a smile at you. All cause you think she cares about you, but she ain’t your family, Joel. Stop lookin’ for it in all the wrong places.”

“You ain’t been much of family lately, Tommy. But go ahead and judge me all you want, this is something I want to do.” He slips the envelope from his back pocket, the logo for his company branded in the top corner, your name beside his above the contact number. It was something you had mocked up for him to look over once the visit to the salon finished. He had liked it, maybe a little too much- to see your names beside each other.

Joel takes the check out from it, so the amount written out is visible. “This is for you and Maria, for my nephew, once he’s born. It’s the severance amount everyone is getting and then some. Cause I take care of my own.”

Joel is shoving up from his seat, jaw muscles twitching. Tommy’s eyes roll up from the check to his older brother looming over him. “You’re no better ‘n me, Tommy. You chased after Maria the second your case was settled.”

He’s not even in his truck for a second before he’s pulling out his new phone and hitting the call button.

All the tension leaves him from the heated interaction the second your voice filters through the line.

“Hey, hey! I’m a little tied up at the moment so you’re on speaker, I hope you don’t mind?” It’s then that he notices the background noise: soft music, the sound of something liquid being shaken up in plastic, and the tacky stretch of cling wrap being unraveled.

“Tha’s alright, sweetheart. Was thinkin’ of coming by, check out those permit applications for you and make sure they’re getting processed okay.”  

“Oh! That would be lovely. And you could check out the space I’m renting. So you know where to find me if I’m with a client. I’ll text you the address, yeah?”

“Want anything from the coffee shop?” Joel’s eyes glance across the street. His brother is gone from the table they had shared outside the café. The truck he had seen him pull up in gone as well. He should probably do the right thing and apologize to the server for taking up a table and then not ordering anything. Might as well get the coffee he had intended to as well.

“Mr. Miller, you are too sweet. I’ll text you my order. See ya in a bit!”

The line doesn’t hang up right away and he catches the soft words you speak next.

“He sounds handsome, was that your husband?”

“Oh! No, no, that was my friend. He’s my personal contractor and go to maintenance man.”

“I’m so sorry, I just assumed because I was looking back at your profile before the appointment and noticed the wedding photos on your feed.”

And then the line goes dead, the call ending as his thumb punches the red circle on the screen.

Joel’s heart thuds harshly against his ribs, his insides all twisted up. The way you sounded when you talked about him had been so warm.

My friend.

But then the person sitting in the studio with you had said the very last things he had ever anticipated.

Your husband. Wedding photos.

Were you married and neglected to tell him? Was this all some sort of game you were playing? Did you even have a need for him if you had a man who you called your own already? Where the hell did your husband fall in all of this? Was Tommy right and he was being played like a giant fool?

previous chapter || next chapter

taglist: @evolnoomym @here-briefly @msjarvis @sofiacaterina

@noisynightmarepoetry @sawymredfox @badwolfvexa @lotusbxtch

@copperhalfcent @anoverwhelmingdin @megjohnston23 @axshadows

@purple-fig @paleidiot @her-fandom-sanctum @auteurdelabre @paradisedixon

@communism-bitches @ghotifishreads @sugar-n-spice @millersblud @yopossum

@sp00kylibrary @morallyinept @desuidesu @mabelsbubble @diirtymartini

@thundermartini @mrsmando @jessthebaker @emeraldbloodcrown

@mara-tevith-solo @76bookworm76 @persephone-girl @jellybeanxc @clawdee

@wethairjoel @pedrospatch @jessthebaker @darkheartgatita

@getitoutofmymindwrites @burntheedges @punkshort @sarap-77

@chronically-ghosted @theoraekenslover @maladaptivedaydreaming

@ad23900 @bergamote-catsandbooks @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal

@clevergirl74

dividers and by the lovely @/cafekitsune and @/saradika-graphics

[torukmaktoskxawng]

Could you please do one where Ronal and Tonowari react to the reader or OC, which ever is more your thing, having lots of battle scars from the war in the first movie? 🧁❤️ I love your writing! It’s so awesome to read and I can’t wait for the next part of your Tonowari x Ronal x OC fanfic!

(Stunning, beautiful, elegant. Gifs by @stallislump )

Pairing: Ronal/Reader/Tonowari

Taglist: @mooniequeen

Warnings: non-gender specific reader, fluff, mentions of war, scars, heavily implied stuff (nsfw? idk, but I'd read this at work)

Na'vi Words: ikran - mountain banshee, olo'eyktan - male clan leader, tsahik - spiritual clan leader, kelku - house/home

A/N: This is short but sweet. I hope you like it! (Note: Stand alone! Not a part of the tsamsiyu ta'em series)

~~~~~~~~~

They had noticed your scars the first day they met you, a Na'vi flying in on an ikran alongside the gunship Jakesully had radioed in to help Young Kiri. They knew Sky People were coming, but they weren't expecting you.

The Metkayina have heard many stories about the clans that came together under Toruk Makto's leadership. Even from as far as the reef, the Na'vi heard about the war with the Sky People and the casualties left behind. Such war and casualties were shown on your skin, displayed like a story. Long, thin, cut-like marks ran up and down your legs and part of your torso, while small, circular scars riddled your right shoulder and chest. The skin that healed over your wounds was a pale blue compared to the rest of your skin and stripes. When Toruk Makto introduced you to the olo'eyktan and tsahik of the Metkayina, they couldn't take their eyes off of you.

Your style and the colors of your attire were not of Omatikaya. Tonowari and Ronal later learn that you were originally from the Tayrangi clan but stayed with the Omatikaya after the war. As they got to know you, they learned that your family members were great warriors but had tragically died in the battle of the Hallelujah Mountains. After their deaths, you saw no reason to return home with your clan and made a life for yourself in the forests with Toruk Makto's clan.

Considering you as an entrusted friend and ally, Jake had asked you to stay in Awa'atlu for a little while so he would feel more secure and able to protect his family. And while you stayed among the Metkayina, both Tonowari and Ronal grew closer to you and wished to learn more about you and your stories... specifically the story behind your scars.

Originally, you didn't feel inclined to share the story, simply stating that you earned your scars in the battle against the Sky People. However, as you grew closer to the Metkayina clan leaders, you began to let yourself be more open and vulnerable toward them, which is where you find yourself sitting with the pair, alone in their kelku. It was a late night and their children were out with the Sully children to show them the beauty of night fishing.

It was Tonowari who boldly reached his hand out and gently grazed a scar on your shoulder, his thumb tenderly pressing into the raised, circular mark. "Who did this to you?"

"The Sky People," you found yourself saying without hesitance, "I fell off my ikran and survived," you originally pointed to the long, thin scars you earned from falling and crashing, then you moved onto the rounded scars around your shoulder, "These scars are from their weapons made of metal. They call them guns and bullets. Any closer and they would have pierced my heart."

Neither of the clan leaders looked pleased by that statement, and Ronal took her husband's boldness a step further. The tsahik leaned down and placed a chaste kiss over a bullet-shaped scar that was located near your collar, her warm lips leaving behind a tingle underneath your skin when she pulled away.

The look she gave you sent your heart racing, her gaze heated and foggy as she stared at you through her lashes, "Thank the Great Mother that they didn't."

One thing led to another and you found yourself in the pair's undivided attention all throughout the night, together learning where each and every one of your scars were located on your body. While you weren't necessarily self-conscious about the scars (you were mostly proud and showed them off as proof that you survived and won a war), you had begun shying away from their touch whenever they got too close to any specific markings. But over time, throughout the night, you began to relax and feel safe, allowing the two Reef Na'vi to explore you in ways you've never felt before.

~~~~~~~~~

MASTERLIST

REQUESTS

[suika-suigetsu]

loved that mom hozuki post 🥺 do u think we’ll ever get dad hozuki fanart? or some headcanons

It took me a while to decide on his appearance. Originally, he was going to be more like the brothers, with white hair and purple eyes, keeping the clan members' appearance as it happens with the Uchihas, but my goddess friends convinced me that it would be much better if he didn't look so much like that. So I made a different version of Gengetsu (?) lol.

I still don't have a name for him, though... I accept suggestions that follow the -getsu rule, hehe.

Oh, that scar he has... I've been wanting to give him a scar and I thought it would be interesting if it was shaped like a fishhook. He got it after being betrayed by a comrade during the war.

About his personality...

It's not pleasant at all. He's not a good person...

He's a mix of Ao, Danzou and Tobirama, but worse.

He's rigid, cold and sees everyone, including his family, as possible enemies.

He has a kind of paranoia that at any moment he'll be betrayed and killed... Probably because of his war trauma.

He values, above all else, the village and the Hōzuki clan lineage.

He - obviously - did not marry Mizuhime for love, even though she loves him in some way (I think it's more because she is extremely loyal to the people around her, even if they don't deserve it).

He would kill his own family if the Mizukage ordered it.

He believes that children should learn the art of assassination as soon as they can walk and talk.

If there's one thing he considers as important as ninja skills, it's formality. His sons should be taught to speak formally and behave like perfect soldiers as soon as they are born.

He believes that men are superior to women in every way (he would never accept a woman as Mizukage, he would k*ll himself before obeying Mei).

He was happy to have two sons, but hated that neither of them were born like him. One of the things that makes him even more strict with them.

Suigetsu didn't know much about his father before his death, since he was very young, but Mangetsu, unfortunately, suffered a lot at his father's hands, being forced to do rigorous training and received daily contempt from his father...

If it weren't for their mother's good influence, the boys would probably grow up to be like their father. But Mizuhime took advantage of the time alone with them to teach them about love and friendship. She said that they don't need to have a goal in life... They just need to be happy where they are, and surrounded by people they trust.

That's it for now, I hope to develop these OCs further in the future.

Thank you for your ask! 💜

[almostwisegalaxy]

Under a grey sky

Bonus part

Older men oc x fem!reader

Reader has a shy character in this story and is in his twenties

Music to listen to for the atmosphere: DtMF_bad Bunny

Debí tirar más fotos de cuando de tuve. Debi darte más besos y abrazos. Las veces que pude...

Translation : I should have taken more photos of when I had it. I should have given you more kisses and hugs. The times I could. (⁠ᗒ⁠ᗩ⁠ᗕ⁠)

Sensitive souls please refrain. Sensitive subject. Death, cancer. I'm not making fun of anything. I'm just writing a story. As they say on Wattpad : I am responsible for what I write, you are responsible for what you read

..................................................................................

It was an evening like any other. The sky was overcast, threatening to rain. Y/n, apprentice baker, was finishing her day. She had spent hours crafting chocolate éclairs and apple tarts, her mind lost in the dream of owning her own bakery. But that night, her thoughts wandered. Too absorbed in calculating her savings, she hadn’t noticed the man crossing at a poorly lit street corner.

The screech of brakes. A thud.

Horrified, Y/n hurriedly got out of her small car. The man on the ground was still breathing, but a thin cut marked his forehead. She immediately called for help, her voice trembling with panic.

Armand opened his eyes in the hospital, disoriented. A dull ache pulsed through his head, and bandages covered his face. Yet what caught his attention was the young woman sitting by his bedside. Y/n was curled up in a chair, nervously twisting a tissue in her hands.

“You’re awake… I’m so sorry,” she murmured, her pleading eyes fixed on him.

Armand, a 39-year-old interior architect, looked at her curiously. Despite the pain, a faint smile appeared on his lips.

“Don’t worry… It’s nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious? I ran you over…”

“And yet, you’re here watching over me,” he replied lightly, trying to reassure her.

Y/n flushed deeply, but he continued, his gaze gentle:

“Go home. I’m fine, I promise.”

She hesitated but eventually obeyed. Yet the image of his comforting smile remained etched in her mind.

A few weeks later, as Y/n was decorating pastries in the bakery where she worked, the doorbell chimed. She glanced up briefly to greet the customer, but her gaze quickly returned to the tart she was preparing.

“Hello,” said a familiar voice.

She abruptly looked up. Standing before her was Armand, well-dressed, his bright smile hiding the slight scar on his forehead. She didn’t recognize him immediately.

“Do you have croissants?” he asked with a disarming ease.

“Yes, of course. Just a moment,” she replied, turning toward the display.

As she placed the croissants in a paper bag, he observed her with a hidden tenderness. She seemed more at ease here, in a world that felt made for her.

“You have a real talent,” he said suddenly.

Y/n blinked, surprised by the remark.

“Thank you… But how can you tell?”

“It’s obvious,” he said warmly. “I can see it in your movements.”

She blushed again, uncomfortable with such a sincere compliment.

Armand became a regular customer. Every morning, he stopped by for a coffee or pastry, finding excuses to exchange a few words with Y/n. He was interested in her work, her dreams.

“So, you want to open your own bakery?” he asked one day, taking a bite of a financier she had made.

She nodded timidly.

“Yes… But it’s still a long way off. I need to save, learn, and find the right place.”

“You’ll make it,” he said with conviction.

His encouragements touched her, but she never dared to ask him personal questions. She was too shy to dig deeper. Meanwhile, Armand found himself increasingly fascinated by her. Her passion, her reserve, and even her clumsiness made him smile.

One evening, as he worked on an architectural project in his office, Armand found his thoughts drifting. He realized he looked forward to seeing her every morning. But he couldn’t ignore the age gap between them.

“She’s in her twenties,” he murmured to himself. “She has so much to live, so much to discover.”

Yet he couldn’t deny the emotions growing within him. Every smile, every exchanged word gave him a thrill he hadn’t felt in years.

One day, as he waited in line at the bakery, he placed a book on the counter. It was a French pastry manual, thick and adorned with vibrant photos.

“For you,” he said with a smile.

Y/n stared at him, puzzled.

“Why…?”

“Because I believe in your dreams,” he said simply.

She clutched the book to her chest, moved by his gesture.

“Thank you… It’s… it’s a lot.”

For the first time, she looked up at him and held his gaze a little longer. An invisible butterfly stirred in Armand’s stomach.

Their relationship evolved slowly, like dough rising under a damp cloth. Y/n found herself waiting for his visits, listening for the bell to chime. Armand, for his part, took his time, respecting her pace, admiring every facet of her personality.

One day, as they shared a brioche fresh from the oven, he softly murmured:

“Y/n… You’re like this brioche.”

She looked at him, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re soft. And… you bring a warmth that isn’t always noticed at first, but it lingers long after.”

She blushed, lowering her eyes, but this time, she didn’t look away completely.

It was the beginning of a fragile yet sincere love, built on glances, gestures, and shared dreams. A love that, like a good pastry, required patience and care.

---

Weeks Passed, but Armand’s Ambition Remained Intact

Weeks went by, but Armand’s ambition remained unshaken. He was a determined man, always immersed in his work, pushing his limits day after day. His architectural projects consumed more of his life than he cared to admit, and every minute of inaction felt like wasted time. Yet deep inside, something grew stronger every time he crossed paths with Y/n: love.

But he was caught in a spiral. He saw their age difference as an undeniable obstacle he couldn’t ignore. He didn’t want Y/n to get lost in a relationship that, in his mind, had no future. She was young, full of dreams, and he… he was already in a different phase of life. He had made choices, sacrificed moments of leisure to achieve his goals.

One evening, after an especially long day, Armand went to the bakery as usual, hoping for a light conversation, a little comfort in Y/n’s small gestures. But something wasn’t right. The stress of his job, his grueling hours, the constant pressure, and lack of sleep weighed heavily on him. He entered the bakery, heading toward the counter, his tired gaze fixed on her.

“Hello,” she said softly, a shy smile on her lips as always. She didn’t know he’d had an especially difficult day.

“I need a coffee, strong,” he murmured, his tone sharper than he intended.

She looked at him for a moment, surprised by the coldness in his voice. But she didn’t respond, simply preparing his order with calm concentration. When she handed him the cup, their hands brushed briefly, and he felt a dull tension rise within him. She was so gentle, so calm. She seemed worlds away from his own turmoil.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t want to talk about his job, his frustrations. But instead of responding, his words came out more abruptly than he intended.

“Why do you always worry about everyone? Don’t you have anything better to do? It’s not your job to take everything on yourself.”

She flinched, her eyes widening at his harsh tone. He immediately realized his mistake, but he couldn’t seem to regain control of the situation. He had acted impulsively, without thinking. The fatigue and stress had overridden his usual gentleness.

Y/n remained silent, her gaze lowering. She didn’t know what to say, but the hurt was clear on her face. Normally so understanding, so kind, she now felt deeply wounded.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured after a long pause. “I… I just wanted to offer you a little… comfort.”

He looked at her, ashamed of his words. He shouldn’t have spoken to her like that, but his nerves were frayed. Watching her retreat in silence made his heart ache.

The next morning, Armand arrived at the bakery earlier than usual, his mind tormented by the events of the previous evening. He had spent the night reflecting on his behavior, knowing he owed her an apology. But seeing her behind the counter, arranging the morning pastries, he realized he couldn’t bear to hurt her any further.

He waited for her to look up at him. When she finally did, he approached cautiously, a bit hesitant.

“Y/n… I’m sorry about yesterday. I was… I was overwhelmed, and I shouldn’t have acted that way.”

She didn’t respond immediately, and he saw doubt flicker in her eyes. He knew his words had deeply hurt her, and the thought gnawed at him.

“It wasn’t about you,” he added, his tone calmer, almost gentle. “It’s just… it’s hard for me to balance everything I need to do.”

She looked at him for a moment, then lowered her gaze, as if his apology wasn’t enough to erase the sting of his behavior. But instead of retreating into her usual silence, she offered a small gesture of understanding.

“I understand,” she said softly, but with a gentleness that instantly eased his heart. “It’s just… sometimes, we forget to rest. And that hurts you too, doesn’t it?”

Armand stood in silence for a moment, surprised by her insight. He hadn’t thought about it that way. He had been so absorbed in his work that he hadn’t realized how much the tension was hurting him from the inside.

“Yes,” he said after a pause, his voice rougher than he intended. “Sometimes, I’m so focused on what I want to accomplish that I forget to stop, to breathe.”

She nodded slightly, a timid smile brushing her lips. She understood what it meant to be swept up in dreams and ambitions, forgetting to care for oneself.

That evening, Armand went home replaying their conversation in his mind. He knew he was still far from understanding everything that was happening between him and Y/n. But one thing was clear: he loved her, and he didn’t want her to suffer because of his own shortcomings.

He also knew he had to change. Not for her. But for himself. And perhaps, in that process, they could learn to understand and love each other in a healthier, gentler way. Because Y/n deserved to be cherished, with no room for anger or exhaustion.

And for the first time in a long while, he wondered if finding balance between his dreams and his feelings was the true key to his happiness.

---

Armand’s project had consumed every fiber of his being. For months, he had poured his heart and soul into it, investing his time, ideas, and ambitions. He had imagined, designed, and created with the hope that his work would finally be recognized. He knew the moment was approaching—the moment his project would be unveiled to the public, the moment his name would finally be associated with success. And that moment came.

But it wasn’t what he had envisioned.

The day the project was praised, with critics unanimously lauding its quality, Armand felt a strange coldness seep into him. It wasn’t pride. Nor elation. It was emptiness. A void. His superior, someone who hadn’t contributed a single idea, had taken all the glory. His name shone in the headlines, while Armand’s was nowhere to be found.

He was devastated. And yet, he felt nothing. No anger. No frustration. Only an endless fatigue, a deep exhaustion.

He wanted to scream, to overturn everything around him, but his muscles were paralyzed. He couldn’t even move. He couldn’t scream. His mind was blank, as if everything he had lived, everything he had accomplished, had been swallowed by an ocean of silence. His hands trembled slightly, but he couldn’t even lift them. It all seemed so futile, so insignificant.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the sense of loss. Of betrayal. Of frustration. He hated himself for not being able to feel the injustice more intensely, for not being able to scream, to fight. Why couldn’t he react the way he wanted? Why did he feel like an empty man, a broken man without the strength to get back up?

That evening, he returned home, devoid of any enthusiasm. He collapsed on his couch, staring at the ceiling with vacant eyes. The air in the room felt heavy, almost oppressive. It was as if he were breathing in a space too small, drowning in a whirlwind of thoughts he couldn’t even organize.

It was far too late when he finally stepped outside. He didn’t even know why he left or what he was hoping for. Maybe it was the anxiety driving him out, or perhaps the need to be alone with his thoughts in the silence of the night.

The park was deserted, lit only by a few solitary streetlights. He sat on a bench under one of them and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the cool night breeze brush against his face. The sounds of the city felt distant, muffled by the stillness of the place. He felt so far from everything, so disconnected from reality.

That’s when he saw her. Y/n. She was walking alone in the park, probably after her workday. When she noticed him, she stopped for a moment, seemingly surprised to see him there at such a late hour. He slowly lifted his head to look at her, expressionless. He didn’t have the strength to smile. Nor the strength to pretend.

Y/n approached cautiously, her gaze uncertain but gentle. She seemed hesitant, unsure if she should disturb him. But she didn’t need words to know she should sit beside him. She said nothing, offering only her quiet presence.

The silence that settled between them wasn’t heavy but rather… soothing. She didn’t need to ask questions. Somehow, she knew he needed this moment of calm.

And that’s when Armand felt the first tears well up. He tried to hold them back, to stop them from falling, but it was no use. They began to stream down his face, slowly, gently, like a river cascading down a mountain, carrying away all the pain, all the frustration he had suppressed for so long.

The tears wouldn’t stop, one after another, breaking the silence of the night. He let himself go, giving in to the flood of emotions he had ignored for far too long. His body trembled as he leaned toward Y/n, unable to control the shaking.

Without a word, she wrapped her arms around him. He let himself lean into her, his face buried in her shoulder, the tears flowing endlessly. There was no shame in the gesture. No pride. Just the need to feel safe, to let go.

Y/n, silent, held him gently. She didn’t say anything, but she was there for him. That was all that mattered. She could feel the pain in his movements, in his cries, and she knew he wasn’t asking for anything other than understanding, support without judgment.

In her arms, Armand allowed himself to completely let go, his heart heavy but unburdened from the weight that had suffocated him for so long. He had finally stopped holding back his emotions, stopped repressing his pain. Y/n offered him the freedom to cry without judgment, without pressure.

Eventually, the tears subsided, though the emptiness lingered. Yet something had shifted. That emptiness, though still present, felt less insurmountable. He knew he wouldn’t face it alone. Y/n had accepted him without demanding answers, without imposing expectations. She had simply offered her heart, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like he belonged.

---

The silence stretched between them, but this time, it was soothing. Y/n didn’t move; she stayed there, her arms around him, like an anchor in a calm sea. She understood that sometimes, words weren’t necessary. She felt the tension in his muscles gradually ease, and she knew that, little by little, he was regaining control over his emotions.

Armand eventually pulled away slightly, his breathing still uneven. His eyes were red, but they no longer held that empty expression. In Y/n’s embrace, he had found something precious—a peace he hadn’t sought but that had found him. Slowly, he lifted his head to look at her.

“Thank you…” he murmured, his voice broken but full of gratitude.

Y/n smiled softly, her eyes gentle and reassuring. She didn’t need a response, but her gaze spoke volumes. She wasn’t judging him. She wasn’t trying to fix him. She was simply there, by his side, and that was enough.

“I’m here, Armand,” she said simply, her voice soft but filled with tenderness. Nothing more needed to be said.

A faint smile crossed Armand’s lips, but it wasn’t forced. It was genuine—a gratitude he never thought he could feel so purely.

He stood up slowly, taking a deep breath. The night was calm around them, but something within him had shifted. A weight he hadn’t even realized he was carrying had lifted, and he felt lighter, even if only for the moment.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” he offered, his tone now calmer.

She shook her head gently, a small hint of mischief in her eyes.

“No, I’m fine. But thank you. It’s… nice to be here, with you.”

He nodded, accepting her answer, though he felt a new warmth stir within him. It wasn’t just gratitude. He felt a connection, something deep silently weaving between them, without the need for words to express it. He knew that what he had just shared with her, this moment of vulnerability, could never be forgotten.

They remained there for a little while longer, enjoying the tranquility of the night. At some point, though, the silence became lighter, almost playful.

Armand turned to Y/n, his eyes now holding a spark of admiration he had felt for her since their first meeting. He looked at her, and this time, he didn’t see her as timid, fragile, or different from him. No. He saw her simply as Y/n—the person who, with a simple gesture of understanding, had brought him a kind of calm, a kind of peace he hadn’t known for a long time.

“You know, you’re really incredible,” he said softly, his voice both sincere and filled with tenderness.

Y/n blushed slightly, but her gaze didn’t waver from his. She was used to hiding her emotions, retreating into shyness. But that night, something about him encouraged her to be more open.

“Thank you,” she replied with a small smile. “But… I think we help each other.”

He smiled at her response. He didn’t need more words. He understood. They understood each other.

The days that followed felt different. Armand woke up in the morning with a slightly lighter burden on his shoulders. He continued to work, but he found himself appreciating the small things around him—things he had neglected for far too long. He spent more time reflecting on his life choices, his priorities, and what he truly wanted to achieve. But more than that, he started considering how he let his ambitions consume him.

And Y/n. He thought of her often. He hadn’t immediately seen her as someone who could help him through his moments of weakness, but he was beginning to realize that she might be the one who had shown him the path to a balance he had never sought before but was now striving to find.

For her part, Y/n seemed calmer too. She hadn’t tried to force her way into his world or immediately uncover the reasons behind his pain. She had simply listened, offering her support without expectations. She had always been a determined, dream-filled woman, but she understood that life had its own rhythm and that sometimes, stepping back was all it took to see things differently.

It wasn’t a fiery, explosive relationship, nor an all-consuming love story. It was gentler, calmer, like a quiet river. A love that grew in small gestures, in shared silences, in quiet laughter, and late-night conversations. They were learning about each other slowly but surely.

Armand knew he still had battles to fight. He also knew his responsibilities would pull him back into the whirlwind of work. But what he knew even more was that Y/n, with her quiet light and her gentle strength, would always be there, by his side. And perhaps, this budding relationship—fragile and uncertain as it might be—would become the key to a balance he had long sought without realizing it.

---

The little bakery, bathed in soft, warm light, was soothingly quiet. The last customers had long since left, and only Y/n remained behind the counter, meticulously tidying up the utensils, her precise movements reflecting her love for her craft. Armand stood in front of her, his hands buried in his pockets, looking unusually nervous.

He had rehearsed this confession in his head dozens of times. He had written a letter, carefully folded in the inside pocket of his jacket, just in case he forgot everything he wanted to say. But now, standing there in front of her, his thoughts seemed to unravel with each heartbeat.

Y/n finally looked up at him, intrigued by his uncharacteristic silence.

“Armand? Is something wrong?” she asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.

He pulled out the letter, hesitating.

“I… I have something to tell you,” he said, his voice rough, almost inaudible.

He placed the letter on the counter, but as he was about to hand it to her, his hand accidentally knocked over a cup of coffee left nearby. The brown liquid spread across the paper in an instant, soaking the carefully written words until the ink became a blur of illegible smudges.

Y/n, initially surprised, watched the scene before bursting into laughter.

“Oh no… You really planned everything, didn’t you?” she said, her playful smile lighting up her face.

Armand, initially panicked, began to laugh nervously too.

“Yes… Well, not exactly this,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, slightly embarrassed.

Y/n’s laughter faded gently, but the smile remained. She looked at him, curious, waiting for him to continue.

He took a deep breath. So much for the letter. There was no escape now.

“Y/n… I’ll be honest—I’m terrible at expressing how I feel, especially about something this important. But I’m going to try.”

She stood still, her hands folded on the counter, her eyes fixed on him.

“For a while now, I… I’ve been struggling with how I feel about you. Not because I doubt what it is, but because I doubt… myself.”

She furrowed her brows slightly but said nothing, giving him the time he needed to find his words.

“You’re young, Y/n, full of dreams, talent, and life. You have your whole future ahead of you. And me… I’m…”

He paused, searching for the right word, but none came.

“I’m already in a world where I’m fighting just to stay standing. Where I work too much, where I’m always tired. And sometimes, I wonder if I’m just… an obstacle for you.”

Y/n opened her mouth, ready to protest, but he raised a hand to stop her gently.

“Wait, let me finish, please.”

She nodded, though her gaze softened.

“For the longest time, I told myself you’d be better off with someone else. Someone who could give you everything you deserve. Someone who could make you happy in ways I can’t. But every time I tried to let go of that idea… I couldn’t. Because the truth is, I want to be that person for you. Even if I’m imperfect. Even if I’m not the obvious choice.”

He finally lifted his gaze to meet hers, his dark eyes filled with a vulnerability he had never shown anyone before.

“I love you, Y/n. Not in some grand, dramatic way, but in a simple, honest way. I love you because you’re you—with your shy smiles, your passion for what you do, your way of always seeing the best in others… And I know I’m clumsy, that maybe I don’t deserve this, but I want to try. If you’ll let me.”

The silence that followed felt like an eternity. Y/n, her cheeks slightly flushed, seemed to be searching for the right words, her fingers playing with the edge of her apron. Then, slowly, she smiled.

“You know, Armand,” she murmured, “you’re putting way too much pressure on yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised.

“What I love about you isn’t some perfection you think you have to reach. What I love is you. Your clumsiness, your seriousness, the way you look at me like I’m the most precious thing in the world. I’ve never wanted someone perfect. I just want you.”

This time, it was his turn to be speechless. She leaned slightly over the counter, reducing the distance between them.

“I love you too, Armand,” she added, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “Even if you’re incredibly clumsy sometimes.”

He burst out laughing, relieved, and this time, the laughter was pure, sincere, full of a joy he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“So… you’ll have me, despite everything?” he asked, a hesitant smile on his lips.

She nodded, her smile widening.

“Yes. But only if you promise never to write letters next to a cup of coffee again.”

They laughed together once more, and in that shared moment of joy, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them. It wasn’t a perfect confession, nor a scene straight out of a romantic movie. It was clumsy, sincere, full of laughter and shyness. But it was them. Just them.

---

The months had flown by, and their relationship had blossomed in a quiet, unexpected way. Armand and Y/n had found their rhythm, balancing Armand’s busy workdays with the long hours Y/n spent in her bakery perfecting her recipes. Their love was sincere, built on small daily gestures and shared silences that spoke volumes.

They had celebrated Y/n’s victory in the pastry competition together. That day, she had climbed the stage, trembling but radiant, to receive her trophy. Armand had watched her with unwavering pride, as if she had just reached for the stars. They spent the evening laughing and celebrating in a way that felt simple and true to them.

But a few weeks after that moment of glory, their happiness was brutally interrupted.

Y/n had begun feeling pain in her lower abdomen and a fatigue she could no longer ignore. At first, she thought it was due to stress or overwork and delayed seeking medical advice. But one day, Armand insisted she see a doctor.

The diagnosis hit like a thunderbolt: terminal cancer, already too advanced to treat.

When Y/n walked out of the consultation room, her legs trembled. Armand, who had been waiting in the hallway, stood up immediately upon seeing her expression.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. Then, with trembling hands, she reached out and grabbed his.

“I… I only have a few months left,” she finally murmured, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Armand felt his heart shatter, as though the ground had been pulled out from under him. But he didn’t let the panic take over. Instead, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tightly as if that simple gesture could shield her from everything.

The shock of the diagnosis changed them. Y/n, initially terrified, found the strength to smile again thanks to Armand. He, though devastated inside, became her pillar of support. Together, they made a decision: they would not let this illness steal the time they had left.

They began crossing dreams off Y/n’s list. A weekend in a small cabin by the lake, where they fished together and stargazed. A day spent at a bustling market, tasting dishes they’d never dared to try before. And, of course, hours spent in the bakery’s kitchen, experimenting with new recipes Y/n had dreamed up.

One evening, as they kneaded brioche dough together, Y/n suddenly stopped, her hands covered in flour.

“You know, Armand…” she began hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“I think… even if I’d known all of this beforehand… I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He looked at her, surprised.

“Nothing?”

She nodded, a sad but sincere smile on her lips.

“Because meeting you, loving you… it was worth it.”

Armand felt his throat tighten. He stepped closer and gently wiped a smear of flour from her forehead.

“I’m the lucky one,” he murmured.

A few months after the diagnosis, Y/n was weaker, but she refused to let it defeat her. It was the day of the event they had planned to share her final pastry creations with her loved ones and loyal customers.

The little bakery was filled with laughter and joy. Armand watched her from a distance, marveling at the way she lit up the room despite her visible exhaustion. At one point, she caught his gaze and walked over to him.

“You know, I saved the best for you,” she said, handing him a small box adorned with a ribbon.

He opened it to find a delicate dessert, carefully crafted.

“I named it ‘Renaissance,’ because… even when something ends, there’s always a part of life that remains.”

He looked at her, moved, and whispered:

“Y/n, you are my renaissance.”

That night, under a starry sky, they sat on the bench in the park where it had all begun. Y/n, nestled against him, felt a tear roll down her cheek.

“Armand… you’ve given me so much more than I could have imagined,” she murmured.

He shook his head.

“You’re the one who’s taught me everything. To love, to live…”

She looked up at him, her tired eyes filled with love.

“Then promise me something,” she whispered.

“Anything.”

“When I’m gone, live for both of us. Live so fully that people will say Y/n taught you how to smile.”

Armand felt the tears well up but nodded, unable to speak. He etched that moment into his heart, as an eternal promise.

Y/n couldn’t change her fate, but she had turned their love into a light that would never fade.

---

The months had passed, and Y/n’s condition had worsened. Yet, she tried to maintain her smile, like a shield against the pain—for Armand, and for herself.

That morning, Armand arrived at Y/n’s place with a box filled with croissants he had carefully chosen from a bakery she particularly loved. But when he knocked on the door and she didn’t answer, a wave of worry washed over him.

“Y/n? It’s me, Armand.”

The silence was oppressive. After a few moments of waiting, he pulled out the spare key she had entrusted to him. When he opened the door, the familiar scent of lavender and flour greeted him, but the atmosphere felt strangely still. He hurried upstairs, his heart pounding.

“Y/n?”

In the bedroom, Y/n was still lying in bed. She slowly opened her eyes at the sound of his voice, but something in her gaze had changed. She seemed… distant. Armand approached her, and that’s when he noticed the strands of hair scattered across the pillow. Her once vibrant hair was almost all gone.

She reached a hand to her head, then lowered her eyes to the strands. A faint “Ah…” escaped her lips, barely audible, as if she no longer had the strength to react.

Armand felt a dull pain crush his heart. That indifference, that emptiness in her voice—it was worse than any tears she could have shed.

“Y/n…” he whispered, kneeling beside her.

But she didn’t respond. Slowly, mechanically, she got up to get ready.

He stayed there, motionless, his eyes fixed on the empty pillow, his trembling fingers clutching the wrinkled sheet. She was moving forward, but he felt her slipping away, like a wisp of wind he couldn’t hold onto.

A few months later, despite Y/n’s obvious weakness, Armand organized a small evening just for the two of them. He wanted to give her a moment of lightness, a little escape.

They laughed. They talked about memories, unfinished dreams, and even joked about how Armand could never bake a cake without burning it.

Y/n, tired but glowing, rested her head on his shoulder.

“You know… I think I’ve never been happier than I’ve been with you,” she murmured.

Armand gently stroked what was left of her hair and kissed her forehead.

“You are my life, Y/n.”

She looked up at him, a peaceful smile on her lips.

“Then keep living, even after me.”

That was their last conversation.

That night, Y/n fell asleep in his arms. Armand, however, couldn’t bring himself to sleep. He preferred to watch her, to engrave every detail into his memory: the softness of her features, the rhythm of her breath in the silence, the fragile warmth of her hand in his.

In the early morning, sunlight timidly peeked through the curtains. Armand opened his eyes and immediately felt something was wrong. Y/n was still—too still.

“Y/n?” he called softly, his voice filled with a hope he knew was futile.

He touched her cheek—it was cold.

“No… no,” he murmured, tears welling in his eyes.

He held her in his arms, gently rocking her, as if saying a final goodbye. Her face was peaceful, as though she had simply fallen asleep after a beautiful evening. But for Armand, the world collapsed in that moment.

The days that followed were dark, but Armand found strength in the memories they had shared. Y/n had taught him how to love, how to live fully, and he knew she wouldn’t have wanted him to drown in despair.

He kept the notebook where she had written her recipes and thoughts, and he worked to keep the promise he had made to her: to live for the both of them.

A year later, Armand opened a small bakery, which he named Y/n’s Light. Each creation carried a piece of her, a tribute to her talent and her brilliance.

And every morning, when he saw the smiles of customers enjoying what she had inspired, he felt her presence beside him. Y/n may not have had all the time she deserved, but her love—her light—was eternal.

---

Days passed, yet Armand continued to visit the cemetery regularly. Under the weeping willow, Y/n rested in the peaceful spot he had chosen carefully for her. He often spoke to the grave as if she were still there, sharing his achievements, doubts, and even the mundane stories of his day.

He decorated the gravestone with care. At Christmas, he brought small garlands and winter flowers. At Easter, he left colorful eggs and sweets he had prepared while thinking of her. The engraved photo on the stone smiled back at him, soft and almost alive.

But one day, something changed.

As part of his new project—renovating an orphanage—Armand immersed himself in his work. He wanted to create a warm, welcoming space where children could feel all the love they deserved.

One afternoon, while discussing the plans with a nun, he passed by the nursery. His gaze was drawn to a group of infants sleeping peacefully, their soft breaths filling the room with a calming rhythm.

That’s when he noticed a little girl, apart from the others. She cooed softly, observing the world with curious but timid eyes. Her cries were gentle, almost hesitant, as if unsure whether she should ask for attention.

Armand froze, his heart clenching. She reminded him of Y/n. Not physically, but in the fragile sweetness she radiated.

In the days that followed, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. The idea of adopting her became an undeniable calling, almost as if Y/n had sent him a sign.

A few weeks later, after completing all the necessary procedures, he finally welcomed the little girl into his home. He named her Y/n, in honor of the woman who had changed his life.

Four months passed. Little Y/n clung to Armand as if afraid he might disappear. Her smile, her clumsy laughter, her first attempts to stand on her tiny legs—everything about her rekindled a light he thought he had lost.

One morning, Armand made a decision. He wanted to introduce little Y/n to her “mother.”

He prepared a simple picnic, packing bottles for the baby and snacks for himself.

When he arrived at the grave, he paused for a moment, his eyes on Y/n’s engraved photo.

“Hello, Y/n,” he murmured.

Little Y/n, nestled against him, babbled softly, her big curious eyes following the willow leaves dancing in the wind. Armand knelt before the grave, spread out the blanket he had brought, and gently placed the baby on it.

“I brought someone to meet you today,” he said, a fragile smile on his lips.

He sat facing the gravestone and placed little Y/n on his lap.

“This is Y/n. She has your name. I couldn’t think of a more perfect name for her…”

He ran a tender hand through the baby’s short, soft hair as she played with a fallen willow leaf.

“She’s incredible, you know. Every day, she reminds me that life can still be beautiful, even after everything.”

He spoke for hours, sharing stories, thoughts, and promises he wanted to keep.

“I’m doing my best to be a good father. It’s not always easy… sometimes I wonder if I’m enough. But she trusts me, Y/n, just like you trusted me.”

The little girl let out a joyful cry as she spotted a butterfly fluttering nearby. Armand laughed—a sound he hadn’t heard from himself in a long time.

“You see? Even a butterfly fascinates her. She has your way of finding beauty everywhere.”

He leaned forward slightly, bringing little Y/n closer to the gravestone as if to introduce her properly to her mother.

“ Say hi to Mama” he whispered tenderly.

The baby didn’t understand what was happening, but when she saw the photo on the grave, she cheerfully held out a flower she had picked earlier and babbled joyfully. The gesture brought a smile to Armand’s face.

“See, Y/n? This little one already loves you.”

As the sun began to set, Armand rose slowly, holding little Y/n close to him.

"In another life, I hope it's you and me... I beg God that it's still you and me. I hope we will be happy together, Maybe we can love each other and... grow old together?" The little y/n in his arms suddenly lets out a chirp, as if to make her presence felt. Armand laughs despite his tears that threaten to flow. "Yes, and that the three of us can form a beautiful and happy family" he said, playing with his daughter's little hand. "Until then, I'll take care of her for both of us. Promise, my love."

“Thank you,” he murmured, looking at the gravestone one last time. “Thank you for everything you’ve given me.”

He placed one final flower on the grave before walking away.

On the way home, little Y/n fell asleep in his arms. Armand, however, walked with a lighter step. That day, under the weeping willow, he felt something shift. It wasn’t a goodbye, but a new chapter—a bridge between the love he had lost and the love he had found.

And he knew he would return to that willow, again and again, to share the joys and sorrows of the life he was building for the two of them.

..................................................................................

Next part

Tags list : @elizalabs3 @slvt4her

[solei-eclipse]

[ dry coughing ] hey

I'd like to introduce the ocs/concepts I previously mentioned! they were thought up mostly for fun (and HEAVILY inspired by a few things, try and take a guess) so I'm not sure if I'll spend as much time on them. who knows, maybe they'll grow on me.

they're super funny to me. i think i made them just to have a laugh. sorry. you'll see why soon!

anyway, this is Jiu and Kioku! They have a long history together (well, at least one of them thinks so).

Jiu ( jee - yu )

A very dutiful and serious person

Has a formal way of speech (he almost never speaks casually)

Carries himself with a regal air, behaves like a young noble

Incredibly melancholic

His eyes have a strange quality to them, almost as if he's looking far off into the distance or straight through certain people (even if they're standing right in front of him)

Often takes a leadership role, adept at managing and organization (class president/class rep type)

Very cold and distant despite taking on multiple responsibilities

Neutral in stance, polite but in the detached way

Willing to help his classmates with whatever is needed, but won't do more than what's absolutely necessary

Holds his duty and responsibility in high regard, always in service to someone or something

Used to have a gentle, caring, and protective nature, but was forced to snuff it out due to his cruel home environment and those who took advantage of his kindness

Under the ownership of a rich and illustrious segyein, the hostess of an establishment where human pets were put to work

Due to his exceptional mental abilities and sense of duty, he was promoted to a high position at a very young age. He handles accounting and is the hostess' right hand man

Because of his duty and devotion to service, he is made to carry out illegal and immoral acts in secret

Whenever he returns from the Anakt Garden, Jiu is immediately put to work

He is pale to the point of his veins showing and has a dull, steely gaze

Jiu sleeps face-down. There's no reason for it, he just does

Yes, it's suffocating. Someone has to turn him over in his sleep just to make sure he can breathe right. There was once someone who used to do it for him, but now nobody does

Kioku ( kee - oh - ku )

Prefers everyone to call her Kio !

She arrives to the Garden quite late due to certain health complications (according to her guardian)

Has a very open face and unguarded eyes, which may lower the guard of other people

It's genuinely a strange quality. Those who hold secrets or ill intent may feel uncomfortable looking into her eyes for long periods of time.

Kio herself almost never lies. She will tell the truth even if it brings about consequence

Very athletic! Excels in sports and ranks high during Field Days

Kind in a way that's incredibly stubborn. Wills herself to forgive those who have wronged her and regards them with gratitude despite everything

Very persistent, has a great amount of inner strength

As a child, Kio was weak, cowardly, and codependent. She entered an establishment at a young age in exchange for her safety, but since she refused to adjust herself to the environment (perform actions she deemed cruel) she was often picked on and treated unfairly

Since she was weak, she clung onto the first person who gave her the slightest bit of help and blindly trusted them

Currently so different from her child self. Those who knew her back then find the change incredibly jarring (almost like she's become a completely different person)

There is something off about her. She can't seem to recall anything about her past and feels like something has been taken from her in a way

The fact that she can't recall her childhood pushes her to live in the present, she'd prefer not to look back

She is still unaware of how she got the scar on her cheek

Together :

Jiu seems to regard Kio differently, almost cautiously

As Kio arrived to the Garden late, the responsibility of looking after her fell into Jiu's hands

He was in charge of getting her acquainted with routines, past lessons, etc.

Though Jiu is normally as imperturbable as a rock, there is a unique air of awkwardness to him whenever he interacts with Kio

He refuses to look her in the eyes

Kio, for her part, tries very hard to catch up and makes sure she isn't a burden to him

His odd treatment of her makes her conscious that he dislikes her, which pushes her to work harder

Jiu is the only person who refuses to address Kio by her nickame. He only calls her Kioku, or if he can help it, doesn't refer to her by name at all

Particularly observant individuals may notice how Jiu begins to lose composure. It's incredibly subtle, so it's not obvious to others

Kio has a strange feeling about him that she just can't put her finger on.... at times it makes her uneasy

Random tidbits:

Jiu ( ジウ ) : samurai, warrior, knight. or "to serve someone of high rank or status with respect and loyalty."

( emphasis on themes of service and devotion )

Kioku ( キオク ) : literally translates to memory.

( to remember, remembrance, recollection )

Jiu's sharp strands of hair that fade to white are meant to vaguely mimic a dragon's features (two sharp fangs on his forehead, two long whiskers on the sides of his head)

Kioku vaguely resembles a bird feather.

Her eyes are wide, round, and far apart. They not only emphasize her openness, but are also reminiscent of fish eyes (associated with empty-headedness, a certain lack of something + the concept of goldfishes with bad memory)

Kio's main emotion is curiosity

Jiu's main emotion is guilt

[cameoliob]

y-you have a waterbending jedi OC??? pls more info pls

But of course 😌😌

This is Aryx:

and he is THE gifted kid crashout

Some facts about bro:

He's an OC that I have had FOREVER (since I was 13!!) but I Star Wars-ified him like a year and a half ago, and he was very much inspired by-- buckle up for this-- Bolin (LOK), Deadpool, and Chandler Bing

When I first made him he was actually a wizards apprentice in a fantasy world that i made tf up

He's a natural blonde but keeps dying his hair black because most of his wanted posters are of him with blonde hair

Sleeps like a rock. Once he's out he is OOUUUUTTT

So close to losing it

Tea person

He was born in 30 BBY (two years younger than Cal Kestis!) and inducted to the jedi order when he was only five years old.

That's the short version, but if you want some more backstory infooo (you want to look under the cut sooooo bad (jedi mind tricking you) (it's working))

Now I want you to imagine a child so naturally in-tune with the force who is constantly wanting to explore his connection with it in order to understand all of its complexities.

Now I want you to imagine that same child except he has the most insane case of ADHD you have ever seen in your entire life.

Now, Aryx exelled in his classes much faster than a great many of his peers, his abilities with the force progressing quicker than anyone could have expected, but his affinity for doing whatever he wanted whenever he wanted needed to be kept in check for him to be able to grow into a respectful jedi knight; after much debate, he became a padawan at the ripe age of 10.

It was a controversial choice to say the least, seeing that the jedi were in the throughs of the clone wars, and the boy was so young, but his skills had surpassed those of his peers, and the council decided it best for him to undergo one-on-one instruction with a master in order to best hone his skills and behavior.

Turns out that this was a fantastic decision. His master provided him a level of structure that the youngling classes couldn't, and he had the opprotunity to get all of his little-kid energy out of the battle feild (shout out child soldiers). His padawanship lasted for just over a year until uhhhh

When Order 66 came though, Aryx and his master were stationed on a forested planet in the mid rim on a patrol with a squad of clones. He'd ran up the path, searching for local critters when he recived the comm from his master begging him to run. He did not listen, and ran back to her, having no idea the gravity of what had happened. By the time he got there the clones had already won out, and Aryx's master was gone.

That's when he decided that yeah, running actually sounds like a fantastic idea

So he fled into the dense forest, the squad of clones not far behind. Somewhere along the way, a metal loop on his lightsaber snagged on a tree branch, tethering Aryx in place so suddenly that his face got slammed into a rock on the ground (that's how he has his scars!!). He fumbled with the thing for a painfully long moment before he realized that the branch was coated in thick, spikey bark that tore up his palms. The squad was getting closer, he didnt have time to deal with this; he unhooked his saber from his belt and left it there, opting to bolt further into the woods.

Eventually he came to a river. The water was exeedingly violent where they crashed against the rocks, and the cliff on the opposite side too far and too high to leap to. Aryx was trapped.

As the clones encroached on his position he realized that leaving his saber behind was a TERRIBLE idea, but it was too late to dwell on that. He had three options; 1, jump into this agressive ass river and just see where it would take him, 2, run back towards his saber and hope that he wouldn't run into the clones on the way, or 3, stand his ground and fight using the force

The time it took for him to make that desision had run out; he sensed the clones before he saw them.

Aryx decided, in a moment of complete panic (as an adult he claims that he was perfectly calm and that this was a desigsion made in a moment of level-headed, unfiltered genius, but he is lying) he had the thought that, if the force effects things... and water is a thing... then maybe he could use the force to redirect the water on the other side of the river-bank to create a space large enough for him to jump to, and from there he could use manipulate the water into a sheild to protect him from blasterfire while he scaled the cliff.

So that is exactly what he did.

He managed to find his way to a neighboring system where he just kind of hung out for a few years until he realized-- at the crisp age of 16-- that literally nothing (except for the law but like who gaf about that) was stopping him from wreaking mild havoc on imperials just cause he wants to, ANNNNDDDD water would be the perfect weapon; it's unnoticable, it's effective and it's not like bending water is a normal Jedi thing to do, these imps would have not a SINGLE idea about what hit em

So being a pain in the ass is his unnofficial hobby for like 6 years until he gets forcefully induced into a found family with these losers ↓

(From left to right: Dyron Ki'oa (Aryx's lil rival turned lil bf), Naveen Ki'oa (Dyrons little brother), Enajj Tane, Amida Lin, Sola Genoa (Phee Genoa's little sister tehehehe))

(Theres a whole plot with the found family thing but we do NAWT have time to get into that rn)

Anyways that's the end of the yap sesh have these Aryx drawings as a treat

[prythianpages]

Give 'Em Hell | Part Two

beron's daughter OC x eventually Azriel | Beron Vanserra is a man with many sinful secrets but there is one that desires to punish him. His daughter. His true firstborn and heir to the Autumn Court.

Masterlist

Chapter Summary: Some of the country folk of Autumn are protesting Beron's rule and there is talk of rebellion. The Phoenix. And Beron begins to wonder if the enemy is among his inner circle.

Warnings: bullying, violence, harsh insults thrown oc's way/ brief mentions of sexual assault (groping)

A/N: I'm so sorry this took me forever to update. This has been in my drafts since November omg. I got this idea/motivation to write this at a time where I was at the peak of my female rage lol and now things in my life are better. However, I did always want to write a character who is "evil." Using quotation marks because that's still up to be decided on. For this OC, I'm drawing huge inspiration from Game of Thrones, especially with Daenary's character. Also, I know that birth order does not dictate who inherits the title High Lord but in this fic and probs in canon too, Beron hates the idea of Autumn having a High Lady.

Sometimes memories are the worst form of torture. 

Deaths, heartbreaks and traumatic events may pass but the memory lives on, lingering like a haunting and tormenting spirit. The Pryalis family has been threatened to become a distant memory, torturing the remaining patriarch of what was once.

Once a strong and powerful big household, the Pryalis family was now reduced to just one. Edmund Pryalis. Or so he thought.

Among the wreckage of his beloved son’s home, remained a young female. She had been found, a couple of feet away from the house at the edge of the surrounding forest, with signs of struggle etched onto her pale body, bruised and scarred. She had been trembling and terrified when Edmund had approached her, demanding to know who she was and what had happened. He had not been prepared for the words that had broken off from her quivering lips.

She was his son’s bastard daughter. His bastard granddaughter.

Edmund had not questioned it. His son was known for being disloyal to his wife. It was inevitable to not sire a bastard child and if his son’s scandalous endeavors were not enough to convince him, the female strongly resembled his late wife and daughter with her sun-kissed auburn hair, high cheekbones and striking eyes. However, the color of her eyes were not the infamous emerald green the Pryalis family was known for but a chestnut brown instead.

If it weren’t for the deaths of his son and family, his heirs, he would’ve done Prythian a favor and rid it of one more bastard. But he didn’t. He refused to allow the Pryalis name to fade into memory and so now there were two.

“May their ashes rise and flames persist in eternity.”

The air carried the scent of damp earth as the leaves rustled with the wind, whispering their final farewells to the departed souls resting beneath. Edmund pulled his gaze from the tombstone below and to the young weeping female. He gestured for her to follow him and they silently made their way to the entrance of the cemetery, where a carriage awaited them.

As Edmund placed a foot on the carriage step, a sudden realization compelled him to pause. There was one more question he had yet to ask of his bastard granddaughter. “What is your name?”

“Emilia.” The female had replied.

And if Edmund had bothered to turn around, he would’ve caught the flames flickering in her eyes.

**

“Two will soon become three until there are finally eight but one will not be true to you and only one shall come to be.”

Beron found himself surrounded by the weight of the soothsayer’s prophecies, uttered nearly three centuries past, as he surveyed the grandeur of his Autumn Court's council chamber. There was more truth to the soothsayer’s words than he’d like to admit. To his left, his four eldest sons occupied their appointed seats, a testament to the continuation of his lineage. On his right, the key figures of his advisory council – chief advisor, spymaster, master of coin, and army commander – assumed their positions

His two younger sons were away, honing their skills in the art of war, preparing for a future fraught with uncertainties. And Lucien…

Well, Lucien was doing everything a High Lord’s son probably shouldn’t and Beron couldn’t bring himself to care for it at this moment. There were other pressing matters to attend to.

"Mistwood grows restless," Fenrik, the spymaster, began cautiously. "Whispers of an uprising persist, and while rumors can be as fleeting as the wind, this tale echoes persistently…”

Beron's piercing gaze bore into Fenrik, a silent command for the truth to be unveiled. 

“I am uncertain whether it is a person or a group but there's mention of a Phoenix. A harbinger of a brighter tomorrow. Faced with the specter of an impending famine, some villagers may be swayed to rebellion against our presence."

A tense silence falls upon the room as Fenrik’s words hang in the air like a foreboding mist. That is, until Eris, the heir to the Autumn Court, decides to break it.

“Perhaps, we should provide them with enough sustenance to quell their thirst to riot,” Eris suggests, his voice resonating with wisdom beyond his years. Beron should be proud but instead, his eyes narrow as he assesses the situation.

“Gain their trust so they remain loyal to you, High Lord,” Edmund, Beron’s chief advisor, agrees as he waves his hand, beckoning his cupbearer forward.

Eris’s eyes widen ever so slightly, lifting his gaze toward Edmund. It’s the first time the two have ever been in agreement. He then turns his head toward Edmund’s cupbearer, a spark of curiosity flashing in his amber eyes. 

As the cupbearer delicately pours a substance, presumably more potent than wine given its acrid scent, Eris can’t help but wonder why Edmund subjects his own granddaughter to a servant role when she is beyond the age of marriage. Granted, Emilia is a bastard. But still his blood nonetheless. His only blood.

Edmund brings his cup to his lips and takes a swig. He sputters almost immediately, throwing his chalice to the floor and drawing everyone’s attention to him. The dark crimson liquid splatters onto the floor, staining the soft fabric of his granddaughter's dress. Emilia shrinks back, fear flashing across her features as Edmund shifts toward her with a scowl.

“This is not what I asked of you!” He seethes with furrowed eyebrows. “I asked for the russet elixir, not this.”

 “I’m sorry, grandfather. I thought this was the russet elixir.”

Emilia drops her gaze, a frown tainting her soft features, as she presents the bottle of liquor to him. It is clearly labeled as crimson nectar. “You imbecile. Go back to your station,” Edmund orders hastily, no longer desiring a drink.

“Illiterate bastard,” Hunter mutters under his breath with a chuckle, elbowing Eris.

Eris does not humor his brother. Though his fingers tense around his own chalice, he maintains a stoic silence, his gaze following Emilia. She retreats to her designated place in the council chamber, head bowed low. Her silhouette merges seamlessly with the servants clustered around the table of refreshments.

“Let them starve.”

Eris’s gaze shifts back toward his father and he swears his heart skips a beat.

“But my High Lord–”

“I refuse to feed the mouths of potential traitors,” Beron interrupts his spymaster sharply yet his gaze is focused upon Eris, brown eyes shimmering with disappointment. “The seed for rebellion has already been planted. It does not matter if I send them sustenance or not, they may still revolt. I’ll turn the town of Mistwood into a lesson.”

Beron then rises to his feet, signaling that he will hear no more from his council for today. “Anyone who lends credence to this alleged Phoenix shall be branded as traitors and punished. No exceptions.”

Beron strides out of the room, the council trailing in his wake. Eris, however, lingers, reluctant to vacate his seat. He prods the inside of his cheek with his tongue, stomach filling with dread from the look Beron had given him before leaving. He sits there for what feels like an eternity but given the fact that some of his brothers remain, harassing Edmund’s poor granddaughter, it couldn’t have been for too long.

When Eris rises from his seat, he catches a glimpse of Oliver, his younger brother, trailing a hand a little too low down Emilia’s body. From where Eris stands, he could see Emilia’s every muscle tense under the unwanted touch and harsh words whispered into her ear. Yet, Emilia remains quiet, her gaze fixed forward, even as Oliver finally frees her of his torment. 

Silver lines her dull brown eyes and Eris can’t help but pity the female. He knows the look on her face all too well. It's a reflection of the emotions he often carries within himself. Hatred. Fear. Anger. 

The room is quiet, save for the measured cadence of Eris’s footsteps. They come to a stop right before Emilia, causing her brown eyes to widen in surprise. Still, she remains steadfast in avoiding eye contact with Eris.

“Lord Eris,” she addresses him, her voice a masterclass in practiced restraint, as though she has honed it over centuries of servitude.

“We should arrange for someone to teach you how to read.”

Emilia blinks, caught off guard and for a fleeting moment, vulnerability flickers in her dark eyes. It’s not the first time Eris has been kind yet she still can’t comprehend why he continues to express concern for her. She hesitates before regaining her composure and slowly lowers her gaze.

“Grandfather says reading will only taint the female’s mind and that I do not need to know how to read in order to fulfill my duty.”

“And what duty is that exactly?”

“I’m the last Pyralis female. I’m sure you can take a guess, my lord.”

Eris exhales heavily, as if he too was wearied by the harshness of her world. “Suit yourself then.”

For centuries, the Pyralis family stood as a formidable force, characterized by its size and strength. Even amidst the transformative shift in magical favor that propelled the Vanserra family to High Lordship, the Pyralis clan endured without faltering. True to their name, they rose from the ashes, mirroring the resilience of the Phoenix they were named after. They maintained their high status in politics, taking on the role as the Vanserra’s chief advisors. Speculation lingered that the only force capable of bringing down the Pyralis family was the family itself.

The Pyralis family's decline began long before Eris’s birth. Still, he couldn't help but reflect on the strange sight of witnessing such a once-mighty and expansive lineage reduced to a mere two living members.

 It made him worry if the same grim fate would befall upon his own family.

**

“Mother’s tits, what happened to you?”

“Your brothers,” is all Emilia says followed by a huff, the small gust of frustration sending the dark red fringe framing her face tumbling forward like a curtain of shadows. Weariness etches across her features, shoulders slumping, allowing a glimpse beyond the facade she meticulously maintains.

Lucien furrows his brow in concern and gently reaches out to tuck the loose strand behind her ear. “You look like you’re in need of a pick me up,” he remarks, his russet eyes lighting up at the idea. “A little trip to Thornwood might lift your spirits.”

Emilia pauses, narrowing her eyes slightly. “I’m sure it’ll lift other things too.”

Lucien laughs, his lips twitching upwards into a grin.  Though Thornwood sounds like a good idea, given the hard day she had, she recognizes why Lucien is more than eager to go. She knows him too well. As they step out of the forest house, he hooks his arm through hers and winnows them both to Thornwood before she could even question if it was safe to do so, given the current volatile state of the neighboring town, Mistwood.

Thornwood is a breath of fresh air.

Both Lucien and Emilia feel a sense of comfort as they fall into step beside each other. Lush orchards and vineyards surround the small town nestled in the countryside of Autumn, their branches heavy with golden and crimson fruits. They walk along the cobblestone pathways, leading to a central square where various vendors are selling goods. Residents, adorned in cozy layers to protect from the autumn winds, go about their daily routines with a sense of unhurried contentment.

An elderly female rests against the weathered water well, rattling a worn cup that holds a few gold marks toward any passersby. As Emilia walks by, the female’s eyes follow her and with a sudden urgency, she rattles her cup harsher.  

“Something wicked this way comes,” she mutters, the words slipping from her cracked lips like an ominous whisper carried by the wind. “Something wicked this way comes…”

With a glare directed at the older female, Lucien steps around Emilia, shielding her from the female’s sharp gaze.

“Em!”

Emilia's head whips around, her guarded expression softening as her gaze fixes on a blonde figure drawing nearer with each passing second. Before she knows it, strong arms envelop her. Emilia finds herself wrapped in a comforting hug and returns the gesture.

"Hey, Jes," Emilia greets, the corners of her lips hinting at a rare smile.

"You haven’t come to visit in awhile. I was getting worried," Jesminda remarks, pulling away from the hug with a concern-laden expression.

Lucien, feeling neglected, huffs in mock offense. "What am I? Chopped liver?"

Jesminda giggles, but she redirects her attention to Lucien, throwing her arms around him. He responds with equal enthusiasm, pulling her close and twirling her around, evoking a delighted squeal that he silences with an affectionate kiss.

“Gross,” Emilia comments, a slight grimace crossing her features.

Jesminda, despite Lucien's protest, untangles herself from his embrace. "Never been in love before?"

Emilia's gaze shifts to where Lucien and Jesminda now hold hands. "No, and I don’t plan on it." She pauses, her eyes lingering on the intertwined couple before she adds, "It’s not worth the price.”

“You say that now–”

"Yeah, yeah," Emilia cuts off Lucien before he delves into the cliché notion of finding the right person to fall in love with. Blah, blah, blah. She slips her hand into her pockets, withdrawing a handful of goldmarks and tossing them toward Lucien, who effortlessly catches them. "Go fetch us some apple cider, please?"

Once Lucien is out of earshot, Emilia turns to Jesminda with a cautious look. "This is a dangerous game you're playing."

"I'm not scared," Jesminda replies, her eyes scanning the town square before she leans in closer to her friend. "Just like I'm not scared to stand with Saoirse."

Something flickers in Emilia's eyes, and with a soft smile, Jesminda adds, "I love him."

“He’s the High Lord’s son,” Emilia whispers a bit too harshly for even her own liking yet Jesminda remains unfazed by the reminder.

“One of many,” Jesminda simply points out. “I’m sure he could spare one.”

Emilia sighs. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I won’t,” Jesminda promises and then winks at Emilia. “I’m good at sneaking around.”

Emilia watches Jesminda's determined expression, a mixture of worry and reluctant acceptance in her own gaze. It’s not that Emilia doubts Jesminda. Lucien and Jesminda have kept their relationship secret for many years. Albeit, they often used Emilia as the perfect excuse to venture off together such as Lucien planned to do so tonight. 

But, for Emilia, it's the haunting memory of past losses that casts a shadow over her protective instincts. She can't help but feel an innate need to protect her cherished friend, especially given the fact that she was the one who introduced Lucien to her. If something happened to Jesminda, it would be her fault.

Before Emilia discovered the truth of her heritage and was taken in by her father, it was Jesminda's family who she lived with. They plucked her from the harsh streets and took her in as if she was one of their own. A stark contrast to the way her blood family welcomed her. She wasn’t allowed to visit them after she moved into her father’s estate but now that she lived in the Forest house with her grandfather, it was easier to sneak off to visit them.

Lucien reappears, bearing three mugs of hot apple cider that smell like heaven. Emilia happily takes hers, savoring the steaming warmth that envelops her as she takes a measured sip.

“I’m going to find Brienne,” Emilia says and then she flashes the two a pointed look, dark eyes lingering on Lucien for a moment longer. “We can’t stay out too late tonight unless we want to raise concern.”

**

Beron's eyes were deep pools of darkness, simmering with a livid intensity that mirrored the turmoil within the realm. His hands were clasped behind his back. He stood by the window, an emblem of brooding power, his gaze following the departure of his best men on horseback toward Mistwood.

"There's a mole in this court," Beron declares, his voice cutting through the silence, and he turns abruptly to face Edmund. “And I won’t rest until I have their head on a spike.”

Edmund leans forward, concern etching lines onto his wearied features. "Do you have any suspects?"

"I have a few," Beron responds, his gaze piercing into the very soul of his chief advisor.

Edmund's eyes widen in disbelief and he shifts forward in his seat. "Are you accusing me, my High Lord?"

"Given your family history, I'd be a fool not to suspect you. The phoenix is your family's sigil."

"I have no desire for a coup d'état," Edmund retorts, a humorless laugh escaping him as he averts his gaze. His laugh morphs into a cough, eyebrows furrowing in pain as he brings a handkerchief to his mouth. Slowly, he lifts his eyes to meet Beron's. "What must I do to prove my loyalty to you?"

Before Beron could answer, the door to Edmund’s room opens. Emilia slips in and at the sight of the High Lord, a visible shiver runs through her, causing her to instinctively shrink back. With a harsh swallow, she bows her head in respect and then turns to address the older male.

“You called for me, grandfather?”

“You were out late last night,” Edmund glares at the younger female. “Again.”

“Let’s finish our conversation later this afternoon in my study.” Beron says and without acknowledging Emilia’s presence, he gracefully exits the room.

“I’m sorry, I was–”

“You went to go visit them, didn’t you?” Edmund interrupts sharply and when Emilia lowers her head, he rises from his seat. “I am your family. Your only family.”

“You are forbidden to go to Thornwood from now on.”

“But grandfather–”

“Have you not heard?” Edmund raises his voice. “The High Lord has sent his best guards to Mistwood to obliterate the growing threats and Thornwood is sure to follow.” His voice falters as he falls into another fit of coughing. 

“You will stay here, where you are safe,” he manages to wheeze as he slumps back into his seat.

“Are you alright?” Emilia gasps out in horror.

She rushes to her grandfather, falling to her knees beside him. He brings his handkerchief once more to cover his cough. “I’m fine,” he huffs out breathlessly.

When his hand drops to his side and head falls back in exhaustion, Emilia notices the dark red stain on the light fabric. The sight pleases her more than it should and with his eyes closed, Emilia allows her mask to fall.

A faint smirk taints her lips and once again, there's that flicker of fiery malevolence in her eyes. Edmund Pyralis is not fine.

He's dying...and the Vanserras are next.

**

A couple of weeks later...

Mistwood is now nothing but ash.

Though the townspeople fought with heart and might, they were no match for the High Lord’s soldiers who had trained for centuries. Beron gave strict orders for no survivors to be left behind as he’s done so many times before. It’s not the first time there’s been uprisings and rebellions and it certainly won’t be the last. Those disloyal to him may win battles here and there but Beron will always win the war.

His soldiers did not return this time. Instead, Beron ordered them to disperse into neighboring towns along the countryside and act as peacekeepers. However, they ushered in anything but tranquility to the towns they’ve forcefully settled into. 

All was well. There was no longer talk about protests or potential uprisings. No more whispers about the Phoenix. What a foolish hope that had been.

Beron sighs as he enters his bath chambers. The anticipation of relief courses through him as he closes his eyes, immersing himself in the cocoon of steaming warmth that envelops the air. His tired muscles, worn from the weight of responsibility, already yearn for the comforting touch of the hot water against his skin.

Upon opening his eyes, however, the tranquility he sought is shattered. Tension grips his muscles even tighter as his gaze falls upon an unsettling sight. There, floating ominously in the bathwater, is a single red chrysanthemum. The vibrant hue seems to mock him, triggering a surge of pain that stabs sharply through his chest. He doesn’t dare think of her name, forcing images of her back into the corner of his mind he had shoved her into.

He plucks the flower out and flames lick at his fingertips. They burn through the flower with ease, reducing it to a small pile of ashes onto the floor. He uses his magic to dispose of it. He shakes off the unsettling feeling threatening to seep in and settles into the bath instead. He’d deal with the servants who prepared his bath first thing tomorrow. 

**

The following morning, just as he’s about to call for his servants, he’s met with an even more appalling sight.

His eyes widen as he steps out onto his balcony. There’s a sea of red chrysanthemums blanketing the palace grounds, their vibrant petals ablaze in the early light. A small piece of paper floats above him, calling his name in a sinister whisper. He reluctantly takes it, unfolding it.

Burn us and we shall simply rise again from the ashes.

-The Phoenix

It's instinctive. The way he sets the paper ablaze in his grasp. As the last ember of paper dissipates, the sea of red flowers catches fire as if on cue. Beron watches in astonishment as the flowers transform into ashes, only to burst into flames once more. The flames intensify, swirling together in mesmerizing patterns, shaping an unmistakable silhouette. A phoenix.

 A shiver races down his spine. 

There’s only one person he knew who loved red chrysanthemums. Desperate for an answer, he reaches out to the threads of fate that he had severed. They hang loosely but they’re still there. Only this time, he feels nothing. Absolutely nothing.

A profound emptiness washes over him, rendering him numb. She’s dead. He should not be surprised. Afterall, he had ordered it.

It’s as if the Cauldron, offended by his defiance of its predestined connection, has forsaken him upon opening his side of the bond. The bond he denied and closed off for centuries. His body weakens, forcing him to fall onto his knees.

Silver lines his brown eyes. His eyes that were once dull are now lively with pure grief and heartache. His hands grasp at his chest as if they could close the gaping hole she left behind. It’s useless. 

The memories of her, his mate, begin to rise just as the ashes of the red chrysanthemums did. He can see her smiling at him in a way he does not deserve. He can hear her calling his name in a hushed whisper that burns into his skin. More and more memories of her infiltrate his mind, tormenting him in the worst ways imaginable.

“Beron.”

“Beron,” the voice repeats again and it takes him a while to register that the voice is not his mate’s but his wife’s.  “What is going on?”

Beron is surprised at the concern laced into her tone. He grasps onto this feeling, pulling himself out of the depth of the own hell he created. The bond in his chest slowly closes once more.  His breath begins to steady and though shaky, he rises to his feet again.

“I need to find her,” is all he says as he walks past his wife.

Lady Aurelia blinks, eyebrows knitting together. “Find who?”

Beron does not answer her. He strides further into their room and toward the area where he keeps his sword. He secures it to his waistband, determined to never go out without it from now on.

Not when his daughter, thought to be lost to the shadows, was alive. Not when she is the one who stands at the helm of the rebellions that echo through the Autumn Court. And for the first time in centuries, a spark of fear ignites within him.

How is he supposed to fight an enemy that prospers when burned to the ground?

a/n: I feel like I suck at writing about politics/conflict that isn't romance related so I hope this came out okay and not confusing. More will info will be given in the next parts.

It feels like I've read ACOTAR ages ago so I've forgotten some details and am going off of what I find on reddit/ACOTAR wiki so if I happen to make a mistake in terms of canon things, let me know. Also, I was too lazy to find new names for some of Eris's brothers so I'm reusing the ones I used in my Like An Angel series. I honestly can't wait until Az shows up but it will be 2-3 parts until then. For now, you get a lot of foreshadowing (:

tagging: @mybestfriendmademe @waytoomanyteenagefeels @janebirkln, @acourtofbatboydreams

(it's been awhile since I updated so I tagged some of y'all, just in case y'all were interested in reading more. Please let me know if you'd like to remain on the tag list, no worries if not (: Or if you'd like to be added)

[mistfallengw2]

Adamas Crystalsoul - Aurelia's son, engineer Deryn "Skylight" - Adamas's mate, guardian Ellara Echodancer - Aurelia's current mate, mesmer Daunte Burstspell - Aurelia's other best friend, elementalist

My charr OCs (the in-game ones) for the easy oc-tober challenge (13 out of 31)! Adamas was super easy, but a whole lot of time went into more or less finalizing the other designs :'3

Some trivia for them as well! - Adamas doesn't look much like his mother at a first glance, other than having the same kind of tufts around the eyes and chin. - Adamas has a scar on his left thigh, where metal pieces pierced his skin following an explosion on the day Kralkatorrik awoke. While ending up under the debris had inadvertently saved his life, some small bits of metal remained in his leg, and he had issues walking for over a year. The problem was quickly resolved thanks to asuran tech shortly after he got to Lion's Arch and was brought to Quazz's hospital, who eventually adopted him. - Deryn was born with a strong attunement to fire magic. While not uncommon for Olmakhan to have magic seep out of their body, she is the only one in her village with that specific kind of magic, and her flow can manifest as flames. - Deryn stopped caring much for her mane following the death of her uncle and aunt to the Inquest, too focused on keeping track of the asura movements around the island in order to prevent more losses. Eventually her younger cousin Irit convinced her to let her salvage the mess on her head, decorating her surviving locks with beads, rings and little trophies. It all lasted until partway through IBS, when destroyers burned much of it off. - Ellara's headpiece contains the crystal that was originally part of an enchanted trinket made by her late mate, Circe. The crystal is inert since her death, but it's all Ellara has allowed herself to keep as a memory of her. - Ellara met Adamas not long after he was adopted by Tocchix's family, as her warband went to Quazz's hospital following a mission. She felt sympathy for the young charr, and she made sure to visit him as much as possible, acting far too motherly for it not to become a joke between them. The fact she did fall for his mother later on was quite the ironic coincidence. - Daunte's left arm is mostly furless and badly scarred from the burns he received after being thrown in a campfire, when he was a yearling cub and attacked a Centurion to defend his dam from unjust punishment. When his sire finally intervened and the Centurion realized what happened, Daunte was praised for his misguided courage, but he grew disillusioned in the Flame Legion. Not long after, he and his dam were given the chance to escape to the Blood Legion territory. - Daunte wears a brass band on his right horn's tip to keep a crack from expanding, and a silver earring on his upper left ear that matches the one his mate Verge wears on the opposite ear.

[yuahoeaiknow]

Fortis Fortuna Adiuvat

Wattpad || AO3

MDI c:

Pairing: Geta x OC x Caracalla

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────────── Chapter 1 - Perhaps

The grand hall of the Imperial Palace was filled with the chatter and laughter of the nobles and officials gathered for the feast. The room was lit with fire bowls, torches and candles, casting a warm and inviting glow on the opulent decorations. Clusters of people were engaged in conversation or entangled in a bit more intimate activities, their faces flushed with wine and the heady thrill of the evening. In the center of it all was the long table that stretched the length of the hall, laden with food and drink. Slaves and servants moved about silently and efficiently, refilling cups and replenishing platters.

The feast was underway, dignitaries from different countries present and the palace bustled with activity. A few eyes seemed to be on the young woman walking in with the arms-dealer, Macrinus. She walked with a confident poise and a sly smile, a smirk of mischief dancing on her painted lips. Her light green tunica flows down to her ankles with strange elegance and was held by a golden belt with golden feathers and leaves.

The concubines, draped in their most lavish dresses for the occasion cast jealous and surprised looks between each other, whispering behind their silken fans. The servants found themselves stopping for a moment, gazes lingering on the new arrival. Seeing the living legend Cica themselves.

As soon as the girl got a good overview of the event she merches with the crowd, leaving Macrinus to his own business.

She moved through the throng of people as if she owned the place, an unseen grace to her, drawing eyes to her as she went. Mostly because of her scarred face which still held so much beauty. Concubines whispered and pointed, and even a few of the higher ranking guests couldn't help but stare. But none of that seemed to bother her. With each step she took, her movements became more relaxed but never sloppy. She knew, she was the target of many gazes and that she stood out like a jewel amongst rocks.

Perceptive as he was, Emporer Geta heard the whispers of the courtesans surrounding him. Their hushed voices carried the air of gossip and intrigue as they discussed the newcomer. He smirked to himself, his dark eyes scanning the room, searching for the woman who had caused such a stir.

He was curious, just like his twin with the girl. Finally something new in this fest of routines. He wondered who she was, where she came from and what she was doing with the businessman, since he never saw her before.

"Who is the girl? You all seem to know her somehow.", Geta asked with a raised brow to the concubines on Caracallas side, ignoring his one next to him.

The men murmured amongst themselves, their eyes flicking to each other before turning to Geta. One spoke up, his voice carrying a hint of awe and a touch of gossip.

"That's Cica, my lord. She's a legend on the streets." Another added, "She's a prodigy gambler, they say she can turn a losing board to a winning one with a single move."

"Not only that," a third spoke up. "She's made a fortune on the tables, all by herself!"

"She got stabbed multiple times and survived!"

"A Praetorian accused her of fraud and wanted to cut off her hand but he stumbled and let the sword fall, so she got away."

"She's blessed by Fortuna!"

The courtesans speak in hushed tones.

Geta raised an eyebrow at the tales of the woman named Cica. He had thought her a simple outsider, a pretty face amongst courtiers and dignitaries, maybe a relative of some General or Senator but the gossip he heard spoke of something more.

"Blessed by Fortuna, you say?" he mused, his tone intrigued. "Certainly just exaggerated gossip of the streets...", he disregards them all while rubbing his lip.

Caracalla who was engrossed with playing with his pet monkey, Dondus, looked up at his brother and smirked, noticing the interest in those dark brown eyes.

"Nonetheless, it seems like she's caught your eye, brother.", Caracalla chuckled, playing with Dondus' little dress tenderly.

Geta shot his brother a sidelong glance, his expression a mix of annoyance and mild resentment. "She's nothing but a passing interest...", he replied, turning his gaze back to the crowd, trying not to glance her way.

Emporer Caracalla chuckled again, clearly not convinced. "Is that so?", he taunted. "You've been staring at her since the whispers started." Geta's annoyance grew at his brother's teasing. "I'm not the only one, at last." he retorted, gesturing briefly to the other guests who had taken notice of this street legend.

Caracalla smirked, enjoying winding up his brother. "But you're the only one trying to pretend you don't care~" he sing-songed, continuing to play with his little friend.

Geta has enough of this wastful conversation with his twin and waves Macrinus over. The businessman, seeing the subtle gesture, excused himself from another conversation with a Senator and made his way over to the two emperors.

Geta's gaze was intense as he looked at Macrinus, his expression a mix of curiosity and authority. "Who is the woman you brought with you?", he demanded straight, his voice firm.

Macrinus, accustomed to the emperors' brusque manners, replied without a hint of intimidation. "That would be Cica, Emporer.", he said with a slight smile.

Caracalla leaned back in his seat, listening to the exchange with an amused glint in his eyes. He continued stroking Dondus, the monkey now contentedly perched on his shoulder.

Geta's gaze was fixed on the businesman, his dark eyes narrowing. "Cica." he repeated, as if not heard before from the concubines. "She's quite... captivating."

Macrinus chuckled softly, a knowing look on his face. "I'd say that's an understatement, my lord."

"Tell me, why do you bring a street rat in our palace?", asked Geta with sharp tongue and stare.

Macrinus remained unflustered, his gaze steady as he spoke. "Oh, she's not a street rat, my lord, not anymore.", he replied. "She's more than meets the eye."

Geta raised an eyebrow, his irritation growing at the arms-dealer's vague responses. "Explain!"

"She was a street rat, now she has a villa in Ostia and servants. She is Benefactrix to the temples of Fortuna. Cica asked me, where she could bet and gamble without much restriction, and as the good friend I am, I brought her here to indulge.", Macrinus stated honestly.

The younger twin's annoyance was replaced with intrigue at the mention of Cica's title. "A Benefactrix to the temples of Fortuna...", he repeated, his eyes flickering with intrigue. That means she really had to be wealthy.

Caracalla, still casually playing with Dondus, added: "And she asked to bet and gamble here? Seems like she's looking for a challenge."

Macrinus chuckled. If they only knew. Cica has more in mind and so did he.

"Always. Sometimes I think she likes to hurt egos of men more than the wealth.", Macrinus admitted.

Geta smirked at the revelation, his irritation fading into amusement. "Oh, so it's not just about the money. She enjoys shattering male pride as well.", he mused. Caracalla, intrigued, said: "Quite the combination. Greed, skill, and a touch of malicious pleasure."

"I'm skeptic about telling her about the gladiator fights. She will be out of her mind.", spoke Macrinus with a knowing smile.

Geta's interest was piqued even further. "The games are free, why would do you think she'd be interested in the gladiators now?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with a newfound excitement but also mistrust.

Caracalla chuckled, his eyes still fixed on Cica as she talked with a group of sons of noble men. "Why do I have a feeling she'll be more than just interested?"

"Because there is bets to win. Not for the bloodshed.", Geta answers in thought.

"Hard to say. Cica is unlike any other woman I have met. I can't tell what's going on in this pretty head of hers. Despite money and mischief. I just know that she never set foot in to the Colosseo.", Macrinus expressed with a shrug.

Geta chuckled at the description, his initial irritation replaced by a growing fascination. "Hmm.", he mused.

His older twin smirked, his gaze still on Cica. "Sounds like my kind of woman, bring the street rat here!" he yells, a hint of mischief in his tone.

The room grew more quiet and the brunette girl perked up, looking to Macrinus in surprise, who in turn waved her over. Cica made her way through the crowd, her stride confident and cautious, her eyes darting amongst the dignatries, eyeing before looking ahead.

As she approached Geta and Caracalla, she could feel their gazes on her, their eyes roaming over her figure and face.

She bowed down a bit as greeting. "My Caesars."

Geta's gaze roamed over her, up and down and kept hanging on her freckled face. The scar under her eye prominent now that she's near. "Cica. A fitting name as I see.", he snorts in conclusion. Cicatrix meaning scar. Was she born with that thing, why else would she be named like that? Or was ist just a nickname signed by the gutters.

Caracalla being the more playful of the two brothers, smirked, his eyes lingering on her a bit more than his brother's. "You're quite the talk of the palace."

"Is that so? Yeah, I see familiar faces around here. I almost didn't recognize you without a dick in your mouth, Rufus.", she addresses one of the male whores behind Caracalla.

Macrinus face palms himself. He should've talked about her running mouth before the event. But he knows that she can behave, simply refuses to... even before the Emperors - reckless as ever.

The courtesans around them gasped, their eyes widening in shock at Cica's boldness. Even the outcalled courtesan, Rufus, seemed a little flustered at the comment.

Caracalla, however, found himself more amused than offended. His smirk widened, as he looked at the brunette with even more interest. "You've got a mouth on you, don't you?"

"Streets were rough, of course. But others use their mouth for other purposes.", she grinned, showing slightly chipped front teeth. "I just like to be honest and forward, my lord."

Geta's eyebrows rose at the audacity of her words but Caracalla let out a rich laugh, his smirk turning into a wide grin, golden tooth appearing. "Oh, I like her!", he chuckled, nodding his head in approval.

The courtesans around them whispered among themselves, shocked at the scene that was unfolding before them. No one ever talks to the Emperors that way without losing their tongue.

Caracalla, the more impulsive one, leans forward, his eyes glinting with curiosity. "You gambled all your way into wealth, from rags to riches. Quite the story."

Cica smirked: "That's just the surface of it."

Geta, the more aloof and calculating of the two, eyed her with a mix of intrigue and skepticism. "And what's beneath the surface?"

"Vengeance.", she answered with a sickening sweet smile.

There was a pause at her response, both brothers sharing a brief look of surprise and curiosity.

"Vengeance? Against whom?", Geta inquired, his gaze fixed intently on her.

"A girl keeps quiet and enjoys. But worry not. It's not you, my Emperors.", she smiled now more honestly.

Caracalla giggled at her words, clearly entertained by her cryptic response. But Geta's gaze grew more intense, his eyes scanning her face for any hint of deception.

"You're a woman of many secrets, Cica.", he said, his tone slightly admonishing but mostly curious. Cica merely shrugs, her smile remaining unchanged. "The world is full of secrets, Caesars. Not all are worth sharing..."

Caracalla laughed again, amused by her answer but Geta's glare sharpened, his irritation returning. He was not used to a woman withholding information from him. Actually anyone denying him something and he didn't like it very much.

"You have a bold tongue, street rat!", he grumbled with a hint of coldness in his voice. "But I suggest you mind your words and remember with whom you're speaking with. Otherwise I'm letting it cut out of your mouth and giving you new scars for instance."

Macrinus intervened, sensing the growing tension between Cica and Geta. "My lords, I apologize. Cica, perhaps it would be wise to choose your words more carefully in front of Gods."

Caracalla, ever the mischief maker, can't help but egg the situation on. "Oh, I don't know, I quite enjoy her bold demeanor. Would be a shame if that tongue dulls a blade."

She smiled and shrugged a shoulder at Marcrinus in a knowing manner.

The black man shot her a warning look, shaking his head slightly. He was about to usher her away when the older twin spoke up again.

"No no, let her stay!", Caracalla demanded, his manic gaze fixed on the girl. Thinking about how his twin wasn't interested as he said... "Come with me in the garden, Cica! I want to talk to you more.", he proposed as he jumps up from his seat. Dondus still on his shoulder, clawing in his robes due to the sudden movement.

The brunette looks a bit surprised but took his hand nonetheless.

Caracalla lead her towards the imperial garden. His steps jolly and his grip firm, though not uncomfortable. Dondus, the monkey, chittered softly on his shoulder, as if also intrigued by her presence.

Once they were away from the prying eyes and ears of the banquet, he stopped and turned to face her, a smirk on his face.

"You're an interesting one, Cica.", he started, his eyes roaming over her face, taking in her every feature, especially her scar. "No court lady would speak to us Emperors like you just did."

"No court Lady comes from the streets, I assume. Don't get me wrong Macrinus and a tutor supervised me in court behaviour and I can keep faces... if I want to...", she explained and watched the plants in the moonlight. "But I simply don't like it. Can't imagine doing this my whole life.... must be annoying.", she sighed and looked at him again.

Caracalla chuckled, leaning back against a nearby column. "Annoying is putting it mildly. It's more like slowly being suffocated by etiquette and false pleasantries. You have a refreshingly blunt approach, to say the least."

As Dondus squeaked from his shoulder, he scratched the monkey behind its ear affectionately.

"Is it a boy or a girl?", she abandoned the thread before. Now she glanced at the monkey with big eyes. Was the little thing there the whole time? She didn't really pay attention until now - too tangled in the conversations.

Caracalla followed her gaze to Dondus, a fond smile forming on his lips. "He's a boy and my best friend!", he replied. "His name is Dondus."

Dondus, sensing her attention, squeaked again and chittered softly, curiously eyeing Cica. Caracalla chuckled and patted the monkey's head soothingly.

"Well, good evening, Dondus! I'm Cica!", she grinned. "I've never seen such a small monkey! I always tried to see animals at the macella but the aediles always told me off...", she confessed to him and watched Dondus with a child like fascination.

Dondus, vice versa fascinated by her friendly interest, chittered back, his little eyes sparked with curiosity.

Caracalla laughed softly at her enthusiasm. "He might be small but he's full of personality. He can be mischievous too."

As Dondus hopped off Caracalla's shoulder, he scurried closer to Cica, seemingly drawn to her presence.

"You sound like an interesting companion, little man.", she bend down to Dondus and hold out her hand for him to sniff.

Dondus, intrigued by her hand, scurried closer and sniffed at her fingers, his little nose twitched as he took in her scent. Caracalla watched with amusement as Dondus became increasingly interested in the girl just like him.

"He seems to like you!", he observed, a smile on his face. "He's usually more wary of strangers."

"Oh, does he eat faces?", she looked up at Caracalla with a genuine interest and giggled as the little monkey noses her fingers.

Caracalla laughed heartily at her question, amused by her curiosity. "No, Dondus is much more tame than that..." he pouted. "Though he has a habit of stealing fruit when given the chance."

As Dondus continued to explore Cica's hand, he gently grabbed her index finger with his tiny hand and then proceeded to nibble on it.

"Sounds like we have something in common, Dondus!", she grinned and scratched his chin carefully.

Dondus squeaked softly, clearly enjoying the chin scratches, and nuzzled his little body against her hand.

Caracalla watched this interaction, his smile widened as he saw how comfortable Dondus has become with her. "Well, you certainly have a talent for winning over my little friend here."

"Not to boast but I have an overall talent for winning.", she winked playfully. "But I'm glad I'm winning you over, little man!", she said in her animal voice that she always used for stray cats and dogs.

Dondus chittered softly, his attention now fully on Cica. He climbed onto her hand, seemingly content to stay there as she continues scratching his chin with the other.

Caracalla raised an eyebrow, amused by her antics. "You're certainly full of surprises, street rat!" he said, a hint of admiration in his tone. "Not just a talented gambler, but a charmer of animals too."

She stood up slowly and looked at the Emperor. "Animals were my only true friends in the streets. More loyal than any human."

Caracalla's smile slowly disappeared, a hint of sympathy in his eyes. "I get that. Animals can be better companions than people sometimes. They don't have agendas or ulterior motives. They just accept you for who you are."

As the silence settled around them, Dondus continued to cling to Cica's hand, his little body curling up against her palm. The moment felt strangely intimate, with the moon casting a soft light over them.

The silence wass broken by cheers and low murmurs from the banquet.

Caracalla perked up and grabbed her hand again. "Come the fight starts!"

As she was pulled back into the aula, she pressed Dondus carefully to her chest, so he wouldn't fall from her arm.

She wanted to ask what fight he talked about but she decided to just let her drag there and see for herself.

The ginger lead her back to the banquet room, where the excitement wass palpable in the air. People were cheering and chattering eagerly, their gazes fixed on the center of the room.

As they approached, Cica could see that space was cleared up in the middle of the room, surrounded by spectators. Two men were already engaged in combat, fighting with swords and shields.

Caracalla turned to her with a grin. "A Gladiator fight. The best entertainment after a good meal."

He pulled her to his throne to watch from there. In his enthusiasm he seated her on his lap as he would do with Dondus.

Cica didn't mind. Already caught up in the fight before her. Thinking about betting. Do they even bet on such inofficial fights? She had to ask Macrinus when time saw fit. Now she'll enjoy the new found opportunity without further thought.

As she sat on the Emperor's lap, he could feel the excitement radiating off her. He chuckled softly at how enthralled she was by the fight, finding her enthusiasm endearing.

The two gladiators clashed swords, their movements fluid and precise. The sound of clashing steel filled the room, mingling with the cheers of the audience.

Geta watched his brother and the girl out of the corner of his eyes and squinted. Not fond of that picture.

Caracalla leaned in to whisper in her ear. "Care to wager on who wins?"

"Hm...", she hummed as she thought. "I think the one with the large scar on his chest."

Cica unconciously let go of Dondus who sat down on the armrest beside her, rather uninterested about the fight.

Caracalla laughed softly at her pick, impressed by her choice. "You're observant. That one's been in many fights before."

The audience around them cheered and whispered.

"You have a good eye for this!", Caracalla praised her, his hand resting on her waist, subconsciously drawing her closer.

Geta interjected. "It's rather obvious who wins. Fighter with scars have likely survived another fight. Of course you would pick him, since they both have the same statue.", he mansplained annoyed.

Caracalla shot his brother a mildly irritated look, his grip on Cica's waist tightening a fraction. The light green material rustled under his pale fingers. "Don't be such a spoilsport, Geta. What got you so grouchy?", he teased then looked back at the brunette, his gaze lingering on her face. "Besides, I wouldn't underestimate her abilities just yet. Such reputation does not come from nothing."

"Tssk... Abilities... apparently it's all just luck.", Geta spat in hope to anger his brother and the street rat but both were too engrossed in the two fighter. Which further upset Geta as he rested his head on his hand on the armrest.

The fight continued, the two gladiators exchanging blows. The crowd cheered and gasped with each strike and parry.

Cica watched intently, her gaze flickering from the gladiators to Caracalla and Geta. She could feel the tension between the brothers but she kept her focus on the fight as much as she could.

But it seemed that there was not only tension between the gingers as she felt Caracallas erection under her butt. A slight blush came over her freckled cheeks and she tried to focus again on the fight.

Caracalla's hand around her waist was getting a little possessive now, subconsciously pressing her closer to him, causing her to feel his tension even more.

He seemed to be oblivious to what he was doing to her or not giving a care at all, watching the fighting still with all his attention span.

The combat reached a climax, with the scar-chested gladiator delivering a series of strong blows, ultimately overpowering and knocking the other fighter to the ground.

The crowd exploded into applause and cheers.

Caracalla released her waist, clapping his hands together with a smug look on his face. "Looks like your pick was the right one." She also clapped, feeling happy that she got to witness such entertainment. Feeling proud that she even managed to be there at all.

"I hope to get to pick more in the future, my lord!", she responded with a twinkle in her green eyes.

Caracalla, engrossed by her enthusiasm, grinned at her. "Oh, I think you will have many opportunities to pick winners in the future. Perhaps you can become my personal lucky charm."

He gently squeezes her thigh, his hand lingering there a bit longer than necessary.

She grinned at him. "If you're lucky enough, perhaps!"

──────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────────

benefactrix = female doer of good, female benefactor giving financial or social support

aula = hall, saloon, room

macella = market

aediles = enforcer of pubilc order

[sergeantcowboy]

Hey I'm gonna pretend like the western worlds decent toward facism isn't a thing and that the already fundamendally flawed democratic system of the US isn't actively collapsing in on itself as we speak, I'm gonna share some oc facts.

(In all seriousness: to all my american followers or whoever happens to see this please stay safe. If you're part of any of the groups trageted by the right wing please keep yourself alive, they want you gone and just being alive is already resistance. I believe in you.)

Wow look at that! OC facts! (Mainly Crow's backstory and family stuff)

TW: parental death

Crow was born in New Jersey to a teen mom who had him at 16. He spent the majority of his childhood being raised by his grandparents.

His mom still lived with them, aside from some of the time in his early childhood where she attended community college for a bit.

She's a very nice woman and did her best but she was mostly clueless about parenting. Even as a small child Crow recognized her insecurity in that area but he still loved her.

His full name is Simon Francis Trevino. At this point he's so used to Crow he actually reacts a millisecond later when someone calls him by his actual name.

He hasn't met his father but at this point he isn't even really interested in the guy. His mom didn't talk about him much either.

Crow got bullied as a kid. He did have some friends in the neighborhood, but not anyone at school. He went to a catholic school that was in a different area, meanwhile his neighborhood friends went to the local public school.

His family is originally from the domican republic, both of his grandparents were born there. His grandfather's family immigrated to the US when he was still a child. His grandmother immigrated to the US as a young adult.

He speaks spanish very poorly, much to his grandparents disappointment.

His grandpa is kinda too into toxic masculinity, he has tried to raise Crow to be "manlier" from day one.

He's also not a fan of the fact that Crow likes other guys but he's not outright disowning him over it. He's just kinda awkward about it.

Same with his grandma, she's leaning on being more accepting though.

Both still prefer to call him "creative" or "different" if it comes up around extended family or neighbors.

Around the time Crow was 13 he got into a fight with a bully over a stolen diary. The fight got more violent than anticipated and the bully ended up hitting Crow's head on the pavement, resulting in his eyebrow scar.

As per tradition in school, they both got expelled for a week for fighting, despite the fact that the bully had been the one stealing Crow's property. The bully was also clearly the one with the upperhand in the situation. Crow did start the fight... cough

Crow had already been lashing out a bit at some of his classmates for the bullying, and after that incident he was officially branded as a "problem child" by the school.

His grandparents made the decision to send him to bullworth academy, partially to set him straight (not like that) and partially to "toughen up" a bit.

Around the same time they, along with Crow's mom, had been planning that she could take full custody of him and move away to learn more independence and also have a more "conventional family life". So instead of just sending Crow to live in the dorms, he and his mom moved to bullworth where they rented an apartment and his mom went on to work from part-time job to job.

She even worked as a maid for the Harrington household for a bit, before being diagnosed with breast cancer and getting fired so that the Harringtons could avoid having to pay any sick leave.

Her cancer was diagnosed late, so it was already at stage IV, and it was one of the more aggressive forms of breast cancer (triple-negative).

Despite getting help from his grandparents, they could barely afford the treatments. Crow started doing odd jobs around town and eventually started selling stuff at school for some more cash. It proved to be more profitable than he initially thought, he was around 14 years old at the time.

Crow and his mom had already made plans to move back to New Jersey to save more money and to be more around family, but she passed away before that could happen.

Crow went back to New Jersey for a bit, attending her funeral and taking a break from school, but after a month he and his grandparents made the decision to send him back to Bullworth where he'd live in the dorms now.

Crow continued his side business at school mainly because he realized he liked the adrenaline rush of doing something that wasn't allowed, and that was before he was even selling cigarettes and alcohol.

At the age of 15 he started getting into that part of his business as well. He also started spending time in his dorm room learning how to forge signatures just to make counterfeit hall passes and such.

He also started smoking because he got too curious about cigarettes. And, well... he already had some packs to sell, might as well try one.

He doesn't stay at bullworth during christmas, preferring to go to his grandparents house.

Even though he spends a most of his time there doing chores and helping around the house.

And even though he doesn't like dressing up to go church every christmas morning.

He still wants to see his family.

And visit his mother's grave.

[valjeancrazylover2]

A little introduction to Marius' new group of friends

Sorry to the Amis fans out there - but i've given Marius a new group of friends cause I felt bad for him. He does sort of... lose ALL of them on the barricade, and I had to give him SOMETHING to do once he recovered ... so i just made him some new friends (with the help of the genius mind of @24601orwhatever SHOUTOUT!!!) so hes not lonely.

Admittedly, one of them IS technically a character in the musical. None other than Jordan Simon Pollard's very own Gérard (he told me the name of the character when i asked, for which i am forever grateful. I've just taken him, given him a surname and expanded on whatever personality he displays in the musical. There are benefits to eagle-eyeing the ensemble in company scenes!!)

As a sort of .. i suppose Teaser? for my next fanfic due to come out (which was originally plotted as a chapter for the wrestling fanfic, but is now its own thing because of how off-topic it got), here's the section i have written in the fic which introduce these weirdos. These might not end up being the final versions, as I'll probably tweak bits here and there.. I've also attached the drawings i did not too long ago.

I'd love to hear any questions/assumptions, and additionally if anyone else has made a les mis OC to give marius a friend post-barricade? The boy's lonely, he needs them, I want to hear.

(Under the cut, since this is long)

~

First, there was François-Michel Dolosa. He was meek - not entirely suited to the bar, Marius thought - but he had a kind heart. Marius had seen the man, about half a head shorter than him, struggling to carry a large pile of books and offered to help, and the conversation between them began when he saw that half the pile was about various native birds. Along the span of the afternoon, of which was spent talking amiably with François, he noticed more bird motifs about his person. His waistcoat was adorned with beautiful tree-like embroidery, with birds atop their branches; his watch was engraved, with a small bird charm on his fob.

Marius had noticed but did not comment on the fact that François did not seem to be of a very wealthy standing, contrary to what his jewellery might have suggested. He reminded Marius of himself, before he had been married, living in that dingy apartment.  There were many difficult memories now tied to that place, but perhaps that is why he had found himself drawn to François. 

The next to come along had been Réne Gignac, an excitable young gentleman, who could always manage to stick his nose into someone else’s business. That was indeed how he had been introduced to Marius and François, when they had been discussing their families in their claimed table of the library. His demeanour was certainly enchanting, like he would have much liked to be a peacock, and his eyes shone with intrigue whenever he sensed the opportunity to inquire about your personal life.

He, unlike François, was clearly of good money, and seemed that he was studying law simply for something to do, and because it provided him with a sort of higher-class gossip. It was surprising, then, when Marius discovered that he was in fact a very competent student. 

René was also of great contrast to Marius and François in that he liked to make a scene, never one to be quiet, always talking to whoever happened to walk by where the three of them were sitting and they’d leave him with their life story. 

Marius supposed the reason why René had stuck to their small group was because he had elected Marius to be his ‘project’, to say. There was a lot about his life that Marius knew he must keep private, as being involved in an insurrection definitely did not look good for any chances of employment - he had enough trouble as it was with people inquiring about where the faint scars on his face had come from. For Monsieur Gignac, the plea of clumsiness did not satisfy, and so he stuck to Marius and by extension, François - who he enjoyed hearing facts about local birds from.

The fourth in the group had not made his own way into the company, but rather it was René’s habit of chatter that had dragged along Gérard Ambroise.

Gérard was an interesting person, to put it lightly. He reminded Marius somewhat of Javert, in that he was uptight and loved to argue, which explained the choice of career, as well as his passion for the public and the lowerclassmen. That was less like Javert, but certainly more like his previous group of friends.

Something about the similarity unsettled him, with the added fact that something about Gérard seemed familiar. He even bore a scar which looked fresh enough to have been open in the past year, but no less. No, it was too much of a coincidence. Marius would have remembered him if he was a friend, and certainly a person such as him.

He and René certainly made a pair, with Gérard’s rigid politics often clashing against René’s more blithe attitude, leading to Gérard hissing an argument until his face went red, received only by a shrug from the shorter man, which then infuriated him even more. René seemed to purposefully provoke him, seeking some sort of entertainment in seeing Gérard huff an agitated Well! and spout his opinions until his entire manifesto had been represented.

Marius knew René to be a genuinely cordial man, with enough chatter to speak for the entire group, always interested and attentive, so this behaviour was strange. 

Strangest of all, it was clear that René infuriated Gérard, so why Gérard bothered to stick around with a crowd he seemed to think himself better than was unclear. Though he did have his bouts of pleasantry - usually when politics was not in the equation. However, it seemed hard for him to avoid the topic, so these moments were not as frequent as what people would have usually liked in a friend.

It wasn’t that Marius disagreed with his points, in fact he agreed with him on many of them, but surely he could enjoy more pleasant conversation? At least he would listen attentively to François’ reports on the local bird population he had been observing that week, as they all did.

The commotion of this group of four attracted the attention of another student, the fifth and final member, a Monsieur Albéric Jean-Pierre Lafitte.

He was an average man, mild, good-natured and good-mannered, the kind of attitude that came from modest money, not quite old enough to have earned him a title or to have seen his family fall in the Revolution. He was the kind that followed in his father’s steps into law, not out of particular interest but because he knew nothing else, and of his life he had been expecting nothing else. While he did not seem to mind this - in fact, he seemed to have a very promising career in front of him - he seemed bored.

Marius thought that this was most certainly the reason he had ended up in this queer yet close circle. He often acted as the judge-umpire to the arguments of Gérard and René, like he counted it as practice for court. With Gérard’s staunch attitudes and René’s deliberate, feigned ignorance, Marius did not blame Albéric for taking them as a sort of case study.

~

And thats about it. More character details, including some physical descriptions, will probably come later in the text? (I can't decide if physical descriptions would fit into the above passage very well). The plot of the fic is a dinner party, so they will all get a chance to shine beside their friend Marius, with Cosette, Valjean, Javert and Gillenormand thrown into the mix. It's a disaster waiting to happen.

[disgruntleddemon]

working on my werewolf oc story! i think i'm gonna call it The Wolf of RIverclan. here's the main dude, Lambstar!

he's a laidback guy, who's a bit too trusting that everything in his life will work out. he hasn't experienced many hardships, and he's a pretty young leader. he's helpful, and wants to make life better for other cats, which is how he got the deputy position in the first place. the only thing that causes him any real stress, is his secret relationship with the clan's medicine cat (who's name is still a wip)

one of the things i'm still trying to figure out, whether or not to keep the the full moon transformation, or change it to a different moon (probably claw moon). i want Lambstar to get a few moons of transformations before he's caught, but, especially with him being leader, it'd be found out super fast at the gathering.

anyway, he's either attacked while on his way back from the gathering, or while sitting watch one night. he's mortally wounded, and looses a life. that's where he gets his scars.

after that night, he's started noticing something is definitely wrong with him...

i would say size wise, Lambstar's werewolf form is somewhere between fox and coyote. he's definitely not full wolf size. his claws are still retractable in that form, and he keeps a very cat like tail. he's also a lot more agile than a fox or coyote would be.

i love horror, specifically creature features, so i really wanna lean into that here. The Wolf of Riverclan felt like a typical werewolf movie name, and works as a reference to the werewolf of london. Lambstar's name is both a wolf in sheep's clothing reference, and a reference to the slaughtered lamb from american werewolf in london.

[n0tamused]

"Amoris"

A/N: I miss my husband y'all. Made this as an oc x canon thing but I took out any names or descriptions so it can be read as x reader. We all deserve soft Nanami

Content: blind reader, female reader, post Shibuya - Nanami lives, they're enjoying their time in Malaysia now, soft Nanami

Word count: 978

Warnings: Scars? Besides that, nothing.

Long arms of midnight blue embrace the once azure skies, taking them into their slumbering hold. A soft light emanates from the young moon hanging overhead, drawing and calming the breathing waves that swallow up the beaches lick by lick.

The sight is one of its kind, and one the two dreamed off for years beforehand. They could only dream about how refreshing the salty air would be, and how the sound of the sea would lull them to sleep every night, how the summer rains will water the plants hanging from their windows and how lovely it would be to hold hands through all of it. 

Nanami’s calloused hands draw the long curtains over the window after catching one final glimpse of the view outside, humming along with the tune that plays on the phone radio. When he turned to face the bed he saw her sitting comfortably against the headrest, a young little tabby kitten taking much interest, and taste, in her fingers as it let out playful yowls and meows, nibbling at her digits. His beloved giggled, her eyes pointed downward but staring at nothing, the small little scars that sprawled around her eyes had faded, but they were still there, and proof of what hardships she faced. Long lashes flutter shut as she gives up on trying to get the kitten off of her hand, simply letting one fingertip stay lodged between its small pointy teeth, feeling how he tried to chew and bite. “Kenntoo” she called into the air, hearing him move about, his humming following him along. He always seemed to make it a point to do his activities a bit louder than he needed to, simply to let his presence be known to her so she knew he was still there. 

“Yes, my dear?”

“It’s time to go to sleep, I hardly got hold of you the entire day today” says (Y/N), breathing in deeply and letting her sigh fall heavy from her lips, as if to make a point. The kitten in her hands lets out a meow that sounded more like a squeal instead, making him turn his head to the two on the bed. “See? Even he agrees, he’s calling you over- Na Na Miiiii” she teases, barely hiding a smile from her lips as she feels the kitten's body, turning it around to face away and lifting it up into the air. Her smile widens as she feels Kento’s big hands take the kitten from her, inevitably touching her own hands. “You both seem so needy today, I can’t have been absent for that long, right?” The bed dips beneath his weight as he takes a seat beside her stretched legs, and the kitten is promptly placed into his lap for a short while. Big strokes over the little furry head and body leaving the kitten purring loudly. She nudges his hip with her foot when she finds it, asking for more attention to be cast to her.

“We had a perfect chance to sleep in this morning, yet you got up so early. And for what?” she points her words at him, curling her knees to her chest before scooting closer to where she felt him, one hand stretching out and landing on his bicep first. Then the hand crawled up to his shoulder, holding herself there. “Besides the kitten surprise, what else do you have going on?” she asked with a soft sigh, squeezing his shoulder as if that would squeeze and answer out of him. He chuckles, letting the kitten jump to the floor before he turns his body towards her, taking her hands in his. “What could I have going on? I can’t keep anything from you, even the cat was hardly any surprise”  “Only because he was meowing from his box” “Pfft”

“But no, seriously. You’ve been working a lot.. and I miss you, Ken” Her voice had mellowed out, and with his guidance she made his lap her seat, her hands climbing up his chest before cupping his cheeks. The feeling has her smiling bigger, her heart catching up in her throat. One hand can feel the scarred skin from the burns he had sustained, and the other is met with smoother skin, both equally warm to the touch, both his cheeks lead up to the brows she mapped out with her fingertips before moving to his temples. He falls silent, holding his words on the tip of his tongue as he lets her touch his face.

Her fingers go to his hairline, carding through the golden locks before dropping to his earlobe, and with a fingertip on each side she traces the high cheekbone up to the base of his nose, and then a single finger goes to his lips, and he swears he can feel his heart leave him completely. It escapes his chest and runs to her embrace. Finally, he moves, taking hold of her wrist to keep it still while he kisses her fingertip, and gently he turns her hand over to show her palm so he could place kisses onto it. “I missed you too, so much” Kento replied, taking the other hand to and making her cup his cheeks again while he turned his head and kissed this hand and then the other, maneuvering them how he saw fit, showing love to each hand that held him so delicately, much delicately than he believed he deserved. 

Nanami pulls her closer in his lap, and before he could initiate it, he already felt her  soft lips find a corner of his own. Both of them burst into a quick chuckle that gets muffled by a proper kiss, now landing on his lips and it quells their feelings of yearning. 

“Mm, let’s get to bed now, hm? And I can tell you what I was up to today, alright?”

I didn't write in a while, so I hope this is alright <3

Ⓒ n0tamused. Do not repost, translate, edit, and/or copy any of my works. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

[artxeevee]

So! I’ve been quietly working on another Kirby oc that I have from last year, but I never gotten to making a proper reference sheet for her. Now I finally finished and her name is Moxie! Also a lil Moxie with an artist ability as a bonus!

I’ll even have some background info under the cut, lmao!

Background

Born close by to a planet forming disk that has excesses of water vapor for the tear star to absorb alongside the accumulation of wishes to those who are lonely and the magical residue of the universe, she was born as she ended up crash-landed into the ocean where a couple on their boat ride made a wish for a child, as they ended up saving her from drowning. She then lived on a planet named Coral Core, where it was originally a refugee hotspot for people to hide from the events of Void Termina, as it eventually became the sort of vacation planet with few islands populated of different species and the likes. This all took place after with the Void Termina situation and eventually pre-Nightmare war as another event.

However due to the makeup to her biology, she’s able to breathe underwater as an infant and to an adult currently to this day. But neither the couple (which soon became her parents) didn’t know this nor did she, so it’s a fun surprise to the all of them.

Having a peaceful life on the planet, eventually when she has gotten to in her early young adult stage, she did joined the GSA which needed star warriors and those who cared to stoping Nightmare causing destruction to other planets and or turning the innocents into monsters.

During that time, eventually Meta Knight came along on joining the GSA, thanks to her mentor (who come to be another father figure to her) saved him from Nightmare. Being told from her mentor that she needs to gain his trust because of the hostility he has over the members of the GSA, she complied to being his first friend, even through… those first few times did started out difficult. What came afterwards did became more than breaks and spars, it eventually turned to them steadily opening up to each other and eventually falling in love as a couple. It did got to the point where they got married hence why she has the ring. She didn’t pushed him as she was patient. She was there when he was in his vulnerable moments and in turn, it was the same for her when she lost their mentor. She loved everything about him from all of his perfections and imperfections, even that she knows more than well enough, that he is not a monster to her eyes. So, stars help her if anyone says otherwise about him that she will absolutely be enraged.

However, when the war during Nightmare gotten worse, she fought as much as she can against the opposing enemies, but she eventually fell in battle when she gotten fatally stabbed by the opposing monster (hence the cracks on her mask and the scar she has). In the last of her strength, she took the opposing enemy with her to stab her with her bow to plunge it at them to kill them off. Though… “fell” is one way to put it. A certain butterfly came along to say that it wasn’t her time yet to get a second chance in life, in which she ended up waking up in one of the few GSA bases off planet. Shock and confused, the first thing she asked was, “where’s Meta? Where’s Stardust?” (Stardust is a nickname that she affectionately calls him exclusively). Only to find out that they couldn’t find them and it might be chalked off to him being “dead” and it devastated her.

Many years have passed and the GSA are in hiding in order to rebuild their strengths and steadily grow their numbers in secret through missions of any other survivors who fled and thought the army is gone, Moxie was assigned to stop by to the planet named Popstar as she gotten reports of two Star warriors are in Dreamland as she would head to there. But what she didn’t expect is that Meta was there on patrol when she landed and came out of her starship.

And boy, did they really took a moment to reunite through tight embrace, loving hand in loving hand to not wanting to let each other go in fear it’s all a dream… and quiet words spoke they both thought one another is gone. But they’re together again and now, she’s apart of a found family consisted of not only her husband but also Kirby, Sword and Blade Knight.

Personality

Her personality is caring and energetic puffball, even sometimes flirtatious! By being flirtatious on getting a rise at someone (also at enemies to agitate them)c which can make her smug about it too. She is eager to make friends and will absolutely make teases and jests when she’s close with them. This also includes on fun and special nicknames on what she can think of for them by symbolism or abbreviations. She is also starting to be a mom-friend thanks to Kirby.

She is also calculative (so think Penelope of the particular Odyssey or Epic the musical), as she would be level-headed to think of plans on helping others to safety or what sort of fakeout tactic she makes to throw her enemies off guard. She can even tell on the actual message of what someone is saying. As for example, if someone wants to talk to her about their problems by disguising as wanting to hang out for some grub, she will acknowledge it on agreeing and taking them to a spot where it’s only between them so they’re free to talk what’s been troubling them.

She likes to be productive as she still wants to keep herself active! Even though, residents of Popstar are notoriously lazy, she does her job on patrolling around the castle. It’s not a bad thing on being lazy though as she does have hobbies which are, she sometimes chill with a book to read, fishing, swimming/diving, bird watching to look into different birds for fun (she will be also eager to hear on bird facts, lmao!), and or paint as she actually come to love as a child (even if it’s from a funny prank experience put on her to be chaotic).

Behind all the sweetness from the knight, she can be ruthless if someone were to hurt the people she loves and cares about. Even a little bit aggressive that she can be a menacing powerhouse whether it’s through magic and or weapons she has in her experienced disposal. She does not take much hesitation on causing payback if it meant her loved ones are safe.

Powers/Abilities

She has three abilities as she is within the puffball species! Mainly it’s water ability that she has grown used to over time alongside with Wing and Archer! It’s kind of basically water-bending at this point as she can make tidal waves, vortexes, make a game of turning orbs (heh) of water into flying fishes, and conjures swords out of water for it. If she is near by bodies of water, she will take advantage of her surroundings to use it to attack someone.

Funny thing about the Archer ability, she ended up being soul bonded to the weapon when she was diving in her home planet as a child. She came across an ancient underwater temple and got curious to taking a look, which resulted to obtaining the bow in the first place when she showed her parents what she found. Now she can be able to summoned it at will and combined it with her water ability to create arrows out of water, when she pulls on the string.

As for Wing ability, she can be able to use her feathers to pluck them out to use as ammo for her bow, based on what the reference sheet says! That or she can use them as a knife because they are surprisingly sharp if plucked out but soft when touching her wings. Her wings can regenerate a bit of a faster rate, but it still can be annoying sometimes for her

She does have a sword though, thanks to her training from the GSA as well as her mentor from the GSA. She has it in tow with her, in case she were to get exhausted from her magic usage or can’t summoned her bow to fight someone. So during her focused training on specifically with the sword, she does have enough of the skills from her mentor to be taught how to make sword beams and the likes.

If you got this far to the end, thank you for reading me yap about her. There is still more, but this is the condense version of Moxie I can say. XD She has been on my mind for some time now and I was kind of hesitant, because this is the first time that there is an OC x canon aspect on her backstory’s, but also it was relevant to her reference sheet. At the same time, I also just wanted to share her to the world, so Moxie is my beloved orb bean that rotate rent free.

[defira85]

Your OC's Personalities

Thank you for tagging me @ltleflrt!! I've been chomping at the bit not being able to do my usual WIP progress drops because of spoilers so this was nice and fun :D

Kassara Bhaal (Left) and Ryme'dra Ulutar (Right)

(I'm being good and limiting myself to only two OCs)

I'll tag @elinorbard @flamemittens @sleepytimegrrl @angelicfangirl @robinyourcreator @darkfeanix and anyone else who wants to gush about their Tavs/Durges/Rooks/etc

How would you describe Kassara's personality?

There's a few versions of Kass over time, but fundamentally regardless of where she is in her life, she's a powerfully loyal individual. Her devotion to Bhaal, her unwavering love for her brother Heron, her ability to forgive Orin again and again and again, her commitment to the Absolute plot because of her loyalty to Gortash even though she was very clearly losing faith in their chance of success prior to Orin's attack... Kass gives her everything to the people she cares about. Her loyalty defines her like nothing else does

What brings Kassara joy?

When she was younger (prior to Bhaal's resurrection) it was feeling wanted. Feeling needed. As a girl, that manifested in her desperation to get her and Heron adopted, and then her sex work, and then when she came into her heritage and embraced being a Bhaalspawn, she loved the heady mix of fear and desire that people felt for her. Many decades later, free of Bhaal's influence, it's her family that brings her joy which is to some extent an extension of the first joy. She loves being a mother.

What does Kassara strongly dislike?

Being controlled, being manipulated. As Bhaal begins to exert more of his control over her with time, and she loses periods of time and begins to lose her sense of self and bodily autonomy, it grows into fear.

She hates mint.

Is Kassara scared of anything?

She's scared of losing herself. She's scared of her Father. She's terrified of being alone, so the haunting visions of standing alone at the end of the world is truly her worst nightmare. She's terrified every time she comes back to herself and realises that her Father possessed her again and she's lost hours or days to his influence, not knowing what he's done with her body

What is Kassara's alignment

It moves like a metronome lmfao she's hard to pin down. As a young woman prior to Bhaal's resurrection, chaotic evil. Following Bhaal's resurrection, neutral evil. Following the start of BG3? She starts at True Neutral and starts to drift towards Chaotic/Neutral Good by the time she meets Torm and confronts Bane. Carmela is a really strong influence on people haha

How would you describe Ryme'dra's personality?

Thirteen hundred neuroses hiding in a trench coat pretending to be a woman. Sentient scar tissue. If C-PTSD could be a person.

Ryme'dra's personality is buried under so many layers of trauma and pain that it's hard to say. Her personality IS about survival and little else. Closed off. Bitter. Desperately lonely. Actively suicidal but trapped in the body of a race that reincarnates, so she can't escape even if she kills herself. There's a teensy tiny shred of a hopeless romantic inside of her, still clinging to life like a weed

What brings Ryme'dra joy?

Oh gods that's a hard one. I don't think it's too much of a spoiler at this point to say Gale. She genuinely does enjoy language and linguistics, because as she points out to Gale in the future - it's all well and good that spells like Comprehend Languages or Tongues exist, but only a tiny tiny fraction of the population have access to magic like that, and the rest of them have to learn to communicate the old fashioned way. She used to feel pride and contentment doing her work as a runesmith, but that's a long time in the past

She loves a good dark hot chocolate, the more sharp and bitter the chocolate the better. She's not really got a sweet tooth but she'll make an exception for the sweet bitterness of a dark hot chocolate

What does Ryme'dra strongly dislike?

Heat. People who assume that all drow are just slutty, highly-sexual priestess dominatrixes and brooding male warrior sex-slaves without any attempt to understand that the drow are a race of millions of people with vast differences in culture between cities that span the planet, and that the vast number of drow are just poor working class or slaves who live their lives without ever hurting anyone or ever having the opportunity to escape from their circumstances. Tooth-rottingly sweet desserts. Attention in general.

Is Ryme'dra scared of anything?

Lolth. Mephistopheles. Her own feelings. Getting other people hurt. Living forever while everyone around her dies and she has to keep living in ever increasing pain because she's some immortal dickhead's favourite chew toy again. Doctors and hospitals

What is Ryme'dra's alignment?

Probably True Neutral. She's hunkered down behind so many self preservation instincts. She'll perform truly evil acts if she thinks it will keep her safe, not because she's perversely driven to take life or hurt people. There's also arguably a nice and good person buried down inside somewhere but Rhyme keeps trying to kill her with a rock. For self preservation.

[pennyaprillamb]

WELCOME TO URANIUM CITY, SASKATCHEWAN! OH, THE SUN IS OUT TODAY, I SEE!

Uhm, hi! I'm Penny Lamb, full name being Persephone April Savannah Harmony Goldy Lamb, an aspiring animal conservationist! (and a former drug dealer, we don't talk about that, I was young! :D)

I decided to make a Tumblr blog, my friends have one, and Tammy convinced me to make one! So I did, I'm not so good with tech, Tammy and Astrid taught me how to use a phone, so I still have some problems while using phones or social medias!

I'll talk about me, as I said, my name is Persephone April Savannah Harmony Goldy Lamb, but my friends everyone just calls me Penny or Penny Lamb for short! I have a little brother called Ezra! I also have my best friends: Tammy, Corey, Astrid, Trishna and Hank! They were the first ones to talk to me at school!

Some things about me: I was diagnosed with BP and suicidal behavior, I study at St Cassian and make part of the choir! I don't really talk with anyone in the choir, thought, or at school! Only with Ezra and my friends, I like to go in the fair with them, my favorite ride is the swing ride! I really like animals (I'm going to be an animal conservationist)! Did you know that when a lioness has children, she stops making love to the lion? And the lion gets jealous! Sometimes so jealous he eats the children. You'd think this would upset the lioness, far from it, they make love again like the children never existed! Isn't that terrifying?

I don't really have much to say? I don't know how to these info posts (is this how they are called?), feel free to talk to me or send me ask in the askbox! See ya!

ABOUT THIS PENNY (TW: MENTIOS OF TAKING YOUR OWN LIFE AND BULLYING):

(I'll update with the time)

- This version of Penny is Penny from Legoland Squad! It's a fic i'm writing and i'll maybe post this week! It's an au where Penny's friend group are the cut characters + tammy!

- I'll try to make her personality a mix of legoland penny and shy penny, like in school and with the choir she is more shy and quiet but with ezra and the squad she acts more like herself! It makes some time since i read Legoland!

- Bisexual and Agender! (Any pronouns)

- Has a friendship bracelet with the squad!

- Terrible with tech!

- DESPISES rap!

- Loves cotton candy!

- She has a collection of dolls!

- She has some nicknames, Corey calls her coin, Tammy, Hank and Trishna calls her Pen while Astrid calls her Lambchop (in a caring way)

- The motive hers and Ezra's uniform are different from the rest of the students is because at the time they were enrolled at St Cassian, they didn't had extra uniforms, so the school gave them some super old uniforms models!

- School's punching bag! She is strong enough to end her bullies, but doesn't want to cause any trouble after the JK-47 incident, plus she thinks she couldn't do it!

- Appearance: Medium long dark brown hair and dark brown eyes, she has some scars in her face due to bullying, also some burning marks, some bandages in her body, under the one under her neck is a rope burn and she uses the friendship bracelet!

EXTRAS/ABOUT RP:

- Mod is @theangelcatalogue, i also have a oc rp blog called @hiya-molly-sanders

- Any ships are allowed (cdplayer, perfectdolls, bugdolls, eggdolls, spacedolls, etc.)! Except for Noel X girls or Karnak, Virgil or any other grow up with one of the teenagers/kids! Poly ships are allowed to! (I love polyride/six saints and spacerapdollys cough cough)

- This blog this after the cyclone rollercoaster accident where everyone got revived! She doesn't remember much of being Jane, just a little bit, she doesn't talk much to the choir about that and just stuck with her friend group! (The only motive she is in the choir is as one of the punishments of the JK-47 incident, plus some teachers, like Miss Peachery thought it would be good for her to fit in and socialize, although she tried to convince them that she didn't need it cause she already has friends) (that's why she's trying to be kicked out of the choir)

- NO NSFW ASKS!!!

In rp:

This means typing

" This means talking (like talking irl with one of the characters) "

[ This is action]

(This is occ, when mod is talking)

I hope this wasn't confusing? Ty!! Have fun in this blog!