the weight of my sins may mar my skin, but never taint my soul for there is nothing left but void
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princezam should get eviler as a treat!
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The thing w the silly "no one does anything on this site" poll post that makes it so funny is that people TALK on here like they do things and then just...don't. And it's fine to not do things! But when someone who has never had sex talks about being a slut or someone who does not interact with their local lgbt community in real life calls themselves a "queer elder" it's just funny to me idk. Not just the "no one does anything" site but the role playing site. But instead of pretending to be a kickass centaur you're pretending to have an offline social life.
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Lilie likes tattoos but doesnt necessarily go for them all that often, she only gets them for major milestones (Religious tattoos for career milestones / Sun to celebrate her marriage to Nour / Matching Apollo tattoo to celebrate her brother getting clean)
Andre on the other hand has been getting them since he was 16, he treats his body like a scrapbook for whatever he thinks looks cool, in the end they're all small rewards for hanging in there. Some have more meaning than others tho (Scorpion on the 20th anniversary of his father's death / sun for Nour / Matching artemis tattoo when he got clean / Dionysus to celebrate 5 years clean)
The most meaningful one he has is the sleeve. His arms are a vulnerable spot for him and he used to keep them bare (his left still is, just in a compression sleeve) until a spur of the moment decision to get the sleeve with the medusa, daffodils, and lilies.
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Abe: Topher is so nice!
Harriet: Abe, he’s literally recreating Romeo and Juliet with taxidermied rats.
Abe: And he’s creative! Wow! Save something for the rest of us, bud!
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Combing around the archives and I found this Fallout throwback from 2022.
I've put her intro under the cut for anybody who'd like a little read on Gillespie's vibes. The fic has since been deleted from Ao3 but archives really are a wonder.
A creature waits at the base of the memorial.
From a distance Lars had assumed it to be a horse, equine at any rate, but the place its soft nose should be is hard and set. Its reptilian nostrils italic slits above a set of long, scissor sharp jaws. Its dark, scaly hide would be better described as mottled, but it is as alive and real as Gus.
It stares at Lars in near perfect stillness as he slides out of the saddle. Hairless, all ridged scales and crested feathers, it's a colour closer to an inkblot than anything else he could compare it to.
There is an elongated, cadaverous quality to the beast that has it look voracious even at rest— its three-toed, draconic feet has Lars linger for a beat too long. It might be horse-like in proportion, but his comparisons fall short when he spots its reptilian tail.
It hisses, dropping its lower jaw as much as it can against the secondary strap keeping its mouth shut.
Lars catches sight of a dark tongue and row upon row of needle thin teeth, thus a hefty step away from what looks like a demon attempting to poorly impersonate a horse.
It has only indents instead of ears and a feathered, spined crest where a mane ought to be— the feathers on its head and puff in warning as it jerks against its tethering rope.
All that black leather does nothing to have Lars believe it's truly domesticated but, edging forwards, he gingerly offers his knuckles in an attempt to settle its nerves.
Gus wickers as he sets his ears back against his head. Lars mutters in reply, “I know.”
The beast snaps its teeth at his hand until he opts to tentatively offer out a piece of jerky from Gus’ saddle pack. It cranes its neck forward to sniff, nostrils flaring, then peels back its mouth to gingerly snap it away with its teeth.
That does the trick. Whipping its head back to open its cavernous mouth, it devours the jerky without any real need to chew, then looks at Lars expectantly. Turning its head to stare at him with one of its high cut, yellow eyes, it cocks its jaw and clacks its teeth impatiently.
Lars feeds it the rest of his travel portion. Some habits die hard.
Getting close enough to run his hand over the arch of its neck, Lars squints at the silver plate on the animal’s bridle strap.
“Gillespie,” he murmurs out loud. The creature lacks any visible ear flaps, but he figures they would perk them up at the sound of its name.
It might be an abhorrent thing, perhaps the same creed as Deathclaws or Nightstalkers in terms of spliced horror, but it is loved regardless.
It chitters a soft ticking breath through its teeth, feathered neck shuddering as Lars runs his hand over its scales.
“Somebody loves you,” he murmurs. Gillespie inhales the smell of jerky from his fingers, then tries to bite at his flannel sleeve in a greedy request for more.
Gus snorts, jealous.
“Be mindful of her tongue.” The voice has Lars freeze. It's measured, calculated, maybe even cold.
“She may take fancy with your fingers."
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okay so i’m slowly uploading my pics from the gigs on instagram so if you wanna see them you can check out my photography account (_eurydicee_). follows, likes or any kind of interaction are always much appreciated <3
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