#I want to make an oc for this series

[cloverthemonke]

i had nothing else to draw so you get this goober too

[choccy-milky]

clora teaching her doggy some restraint 💞🐶

[feyhunter78]

Description: During your Uncle Robert's Royal Procession, you find yourself enraptured with Ned Starks' bastard son. While Jon has never dreamed so vividly until your arrival. A thread seems to exist between you and him, pulling you together. Luckily for you both, your father Tyrion sees the need for a sworn sword in his beloved daughter's life.

Ch 2

You should know better, truly you should, but you’ve always had a weakness for pitiful-looking creatures, or at least that’s what your father has always said. He stands a pace ahead of you, watching as your uncle, the King Robert, embraces Lord Ned Stark with a boyish joy you have never seen in your uncle. Your Aunt Cersei stands to the side of them, smiling politely at the Lady Catelyn Stark, Joffery all but hanging from her skirts, demanding attention. Usually, you would scowl at the back of the boy’s head, but the sight of Ned Stark’s bastard son has you quite distracted.

He is pitiful, even his name, Jon, it’s so common, so often used it cannot differentiate him from others. He stands stiffly, with gray eyes so dark they almost seem black set beneath thick brows. He has curly dark hair that frames his face, an unchanging frown upon his face, and his hands clasp and unclasp nervously as he watches the mingling of your two families. Jon’s dressed like all the other Starks, but somehow lesser, as if he has chosen only the drabbest of colors in an effort to blend into the dreary landscape. There’s a solemn softness to him that intrigues you. What secrets does he keep? Why does he look so mired in grief? He notices your gaze, and his face tints pink as he ducks his head further into the fur collar of his cloak. You bite back a laugh, for a moment he looked like a turtle.

The boy beside him, Robb, stands an inch or so taller with cornflower blue eyes, and auburn hair. The clear son of Lady Catelyn radiates confidence, nearly bordering on arrogance, as he surveys the servants unloading your family’s belongings from the wheelhouses. Beside him stands a boy whose arrogance you wouldn’t mistake for confidence, even if you were less astute than you are. But the arrogance rings false, you can see the cracks in his bravado, the insecurity leaking from every pore. It’s in the way he hovers so close to Robb, as if he fears to be away from him would be his undoing. This one you know inside and out; your father had drilled you on everyone you were going to meet before you even stepped foot outside King’s Landing.

Theon Greyjoy, last surviving son of Balon Greyjoy, a war prisoner disguised as a ward, the closest companion to Robb Stark, both accepted and held at a distance, Lord Stark’s sword an ever-looming threat should his father ever revolt once more. Theon has eyes like the sea and tousled hair the color reminiscent of the mahogany desk in your father’s study. He is lankier than the other two, hungrier, and when your eyes meet his, he winks. You resist the urge to wrinkle your nose in response, you were a lady, a Lannister, you were not so easily swayed. Theon is handsome, but if your father’s reports were true, he spent much of his time in brothels. The tactics that worked there would not work on you.

“And this is my eldest daughter, Sansa.” Lord Stark says, motioning to a girl that was perhaps two or so years younger than you. She is beautiful, with fiery red hair, eyes like Robb’s, and high, graceful cheekbones. She curtsies with the air of a Southern lady, and smiles when you do the same. This is who you are meant to befriend, and it does not seem it will be too difficult, Sansa’s eyes eagerly drink in every aspect of your being, as if she wishes to glen all she can of Southern life before it is ripped away from her.

“She is as beautiful as her mother.” Your father says, giving her then Lady Catelyn a smile.

They both thank him, Lady Catelyn beaming at the praise, while you notice Sansa’s cheeks flush with color. She is easily flattered; you must remember that.

“Allow me to introduce my own daughter, Y/N Lannister.” Your father introduces you, putting emphasis on your surname, the very fact that you have one. You are not a bastard, no matter what awful Joffrey likes to say. Your mother and father had married in secret, she died giving birth to you, it was tragic and left your father quite saddened, but you were not a bastard.

Your eyes dart back to Jon taking him in subtlety. You wish to see him blush again, but you will not make your actions so easily observed.

“It is too cold, why must we stand here all day?” Joffrey whines, crossing his arms over his chest and stomping his foot resoundingly.

Your aunt fusses over him, and Lord Stark leads you all inside, talking jovially with your uncle as you hurry to catch up with your father.

It is loud in the Great Hall of Winterfell, made of gray stone and smelling of smoke, meat, and a hint of dog, which you must assume is from the Direwolves. It is well lit and filled with people, all enjoying the bountiful feast set before them on long wooden tables. You’re seated away from your father, something you despise. He is closer to your Uncle Jaime, nearer to the King and Lord Stark, while you have been seated with the other children. It has only been you and your father for so very long, a part of you feels anxious to be separated from him, but you are a Lannister, if you cannot charm the strangers around you then can you truly call yourself such?

“Will you tell me more of King’s Landing, Lady y/n?” Sansa asks, looking enraptured by the mere thought of it. She is dressed in a gown of blue silk, her fur lined cloak on the back of her chair, her hair done up in a style you’re quite familiar with. She is very beautiful, and you spot many men staring at her, one of them being Theon who is seated at the lower tables. You catch his eye and smile knowingly. In response, he scowls and ducks his head.

You must mention this observation to your father.

You smile and return your attention to Sansa, regaling her with tales of festivals and feasts, of tourneys and services in the Great Sept. Her siblings either listen as well or turn their attention elsewhere, which you don’t mind. They are not who you are here to befriend.

Sansa sighs dreamily and turns her gaze to Joffrey, who is seated next to his mother further up the table and is staring down at his food as if it has offended him. “And what of Joffrey? Surely you must be close?”

Your cousin, and closest companion, Myrcella snorts into her drink, and you shoot her a look. Myrcella was meant to be sitting next to Joffrey but had convinced someone to switch with her so that she could be next to you.

“Joffrey is a…spirited boy, he has many…passions.” You say carefully, running your finger along the rim of your glass.

Your father suspects Robert will wish to wed Sansa and Joffrey. It’s a strategic match, but your cousin is a horrible bully, you have marks hidden beneath your sleeves to prove your words, and you do not wish to see innocent Sansa suffer in such a way. True, you have not spent much time with her, but she has been warm and welcoming, her innocence shining through like the sun on a spring day.

“Does he enjoy tourneys? I have heard the King was quite the warrior, he and father fought together.” Sansa continues, resting her chin in her hand.

You smooth out the nonexistent wrinkles in your skirts. “Joffrey has not competed in any tourneys quite yet, Lady Sansa, he is too young.”

“He is three and ten, is he not? Most squire by one and ten, why has he not been sent to one of your bannermen like his uncle?” Robb says, taking a long drink from his glass.

“My mother does not wish for him to get injured; he is heir to the throne, after all.” Myrcella chimes in, saving you from coming up with another excuse for why Joffrey has not been allowed to leave King’s Landing.

Sansa nods and gazes longingly at Joffrey once more. “That seems most wise, what a dutiful mother Queen Cersei is.”

“Where is your mother, Lady y/n? I did not see anyone else arrive.” Bran, one of the younger Starks asks, his round innocent face not dulling the sting of his words at all.

Myrcella takes your hand under the tables and squeezes it. She has been privy to the nights of crying, of mourning the mother you would never know.

“Bran, that is not polite.” Sansa hisses.

You shake your head, a soft smile on your face. “My mother died giving birth to me, but I am told she held me in her arms before the Stranger came for her, that she named me and spoke of how dearly she loved me.”

Bran makes a soft noise of apology, and the conversation lulls, until finally you have finished your meal and are free to retire to your chambers.

You wave off any offer to escort you, telling them all you wish to admire the architecture of Winterfell in solitude.

It’s not wholly a lie, though you cannot say you ever wish to be alone , you enjoy the company of others, are invigorated by it, but tonight feels different. Perhaps it is the mention of your mother, or the false face Joffrey is putting on for the Starks and their bannermen, the sound of his laughter ringing about the hall. You wander the halls of Winterfell with a faint knowledge of where the guest chambers lie, when you find yourself approaching the training yard. The night is quiet, snow falling gently, the brisk air seizes your lungs, purifying them with an icy chill.

You are not alone, the thud of blunt metal upon wood, the sounds of exertion, the turn of boots in snow covered dirt. You slowly move towards the sound, knowing your father will scold you later for such carelessness. There are countless people here, and you cannot be assured they all wish you well.

Jon Snow, the ever so distracting bastard, stands in the middle of the yard, training alone, the moonlight shining down on him, making his pale skin glisten. You rest your hand on the stone archway, one foot on the dirt, the other still firmly planted on the stone. You should leave him alone, you know it, but you’re mesmerized by the sight, the tension in his muscles, the expanse of his back, the strength in his arms. He is a little older than you, six and ten to your five and ten, both old enough to be married, yet both remaining unbetrothed.

There had been offers for your hand, even though you were the imp’s child, and many wondered if you would sire broken children, if you would pass on your father’s curse. But for the gold that backed your name many were willing to risk it. You didn’t like your suitors, they were too brash, too lewd, too old, or simply just not right.

Jon stops and lifts his tunic to wipe the sweat from his brow. His stomach is toned, his skin mostly smooth, though there are some faded scars.

Yes, they were simply not right, they did not look like that.

You feel heat rise to your cheeks and you avert your eyes. What were you, a child? A lovesick maid? You have spent no more than mere minutes in his presence, and already you are lusting after him like some silk street whore? It must be the chill that is muddling your mind, yes, the chill. Not the kindness that you saw within him as he played with Arya and Bran in the courtyard earlier in the day. Or the way he stood stiff lipped while Joffrey threw barbed insults at him as he passed him in the hall, or the stack of novels you had overheard the maester say were to be set aside for him. Merely the chill. The chill and the flights of fancy all young girls are prone to.

With that in mind, you wait until he has returned his tunic to its rightful place and step fully into the snow.

He turns on his heel, weapon at the ready. He is perceptive, you note, good reflexes, excellent hearing, fine form, carved from marble, glowing like a god in the moonlight.

Gods y/n, pull yourself together.

“My apologies, I did not mean to startle you.” You say, wrapping your cloak tighter around you. It is thin, far too thin to wear in the chill of night.

Jon lowers his sword. “Lady Lannister, why are you not inside at the feast? Are you lost?”

“Yes.” You lie, batting your eyelashes at him, crafting your expression into one of helplessness. “I wished to return to my chamber, but I lost my way.”

Jon stows his sword and retrieves his cloak from a nearby rack. “I will escort you, if you do not take offense?”

You tilt your head in faux confusion. “Why would I take offense?”

He shuffles his feet and busies himself with his cloak. “You are a lady of a great house, and I am…” He lets the unspoken words hang in the air, and you have the grace to act surprised.

“Oh, yes, right, you are a Snow.” You say, taking a step towards him and extending your hand, waiting to set it on his arm. “Well, I care not if you are a Stark or a Snow, I am sure you are more than capable of escorting me to the guest chambers of your home.”

He ducks his head, that delightful blush returning to his cheeks, and he holds out his arm for you.

You take it gratefully, allowing him to guide you back towards the way you came. The wind blows through the yard as you walk and cuts straight through your thin cloak, a shiver shooting down your spine.

Before you can blink, Jon has draped his cloak over you, clasping it shut with a surprising boldness. “It is far too cold for such a thin cloak; you must remember to wear your furs if you find yourself wandering out here once more.”

You look up at him through your lashes, your heart skipping a beat at the proximity between you and him, the depth of his dark eyes. “And if I were to wander out here again…might I be able to count on you to escort me? I must confess I find the halls of Winterfell quite confusing.”

He lingers for a moment, drinking you in, his head nodding almost imperceptibly, then he wrenches himself away, his gaze set forward. “Anyone in Winterfell would be more than able to escort you, My Lady.”

You nod, feeling the sting of rejection. It’s no matter, this is only the first night, there’s still plenty of time.

Yes I used a Hozier line bc it's perfect for the vibe of this fic

[fizpup]

bringing some highschool ocs out of retirement for artfight :3

[ottororin]

wanted to make something that encapsulates how existential thesims4 makes me feel, so hi tumblr, here's a comic!

[syrupyyyart]

space cadet cherry

[kulai]

still on that brainrot btw

[antariies]

my new completely original concept barn owl charr guardian, soren. he uses offhand torch.

[lord-squiggletits]

One of my favorite parts of phase 2 (and indeed one of the few moments I resonated with IDW Prowl) was when the neutrals were coming back to Cybertron and Prowl said that he refused to let Autobots be pushed aside and overruled after they were the ones who fought for freedom for 4 million years (the exact wording escapes me atm).

And I mean, that resentment still holds true even once the colonists come on bc like. As much as it's true that Cybertron's culture is fucked up, and as funny as it can be to paint Cybertronians as a bunch of weirdos who consider trying to kill someone as a common greeting not important enough to hold a grudge over.... The colonists POV kind of pissed me off a lot of times, as did the narrative tone/implications that Cybertronians are forever warlike and doomed to die by their own hands bc it just strikes me as an extremely judgemental and unsympathetic way to deal with a huge group of people with massive war PTSD and political/social tensions that were rampant even before the war?

Like, imagine living in a society rife with bigotry and discrimination where you get locked into certain occupations and social strata based on how you were born. The political tension is so bad there's a string of assassinations of politicians and leaders. The whole planet erupts into an outright war that leads (even unintentionally) to famine and chemical/biological warfare that destroys your planet. Both sides of the war are so entrenched in their pre-war sides and resentment for each other that this war lasts 4 million years and you don't even have a home planet any more. Then your home planet gets restored and a bunch of sheltered fucks come home and go "ewww why are you so violent?? You're a bunch of freaks just go live in the wilderness so that our home can belong to The Pure People Who Weren't Stupid And Evil Enough To Be Trapped In War" and then a bunch of colonists from places that know nothing about your history go "lol you people are so weird?? 🤣🤣 I don't get why y'all are fighting can't you just like, stop??? Oh okay you people are just fucked up and evil and stupid then" ((their planets are based on colonialism where their Primes wiped out the native populations btw whereas the Autobots and OP in particular fought to save organics. But that never gets brought up as a point in their favor)) as if the damage of a lifetime of war and a society that was broken even before the war can just magically go away now that the war is over.

Prowl fucking sucks but he was basically the only person that pointed out the injustice of that.

And then from then on out most of the characters from other colonies like Caminus and wherever else are going "i fucking hate you and your conflicts" w/ people like literal-nobody Slide and various Camiens getting to just sit there lecturing Optimus about how Cybertronians are too violent for their own good and how their conflicts are stupid, with only brief sympathetic moments where the Cybertronians get to be recognized as their own ppl who deserve sympathy before going right back to being lambasted.

Like I literally struggled to enjoy the story at multiple points because there was only so much I could take of the characters I knew and loved being raked over coals constantly while barely getting to defend themselves or be defended by the narrative so like. It was just fucking depressing and a little infuriating to read exRID/OP

[didiwaffles]

"Time goes by, everything changes, yet our bond remains unwavered. You once promised me that you will always be by my side, no matter what. And now, when it is time for you to leave, I must follow you to where no human can even dream to step. This way only will your promise remain unchanged. And may my curse once again be a blessing."

[blaithnne]

Came across these old drawings where I experimented with an alt outfit Lauren. Still not entirely sure what I want to do with it but it’s definitely staying in rotation.

[myreia]

✦ F F X I V L E V E L 9 0

—compendium

[4ce-of-2pades]

Wella Ink cosplaying some of my current favorite characters:

I invite anyone who feels so inclined to do the same with their self-insert or OC, because it’s really fun!

[raynotraymond]

Yeah

[simplegenius042]

WIP Moodboard/Wednesday, Last Line and First Picrew

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton @inafieldofdaisies @aceghosts @imogenkol @cloudofbutterflies92 @cassietrn and @voidika

Tagging @josephseedismyfather @direwombat @noodlecupcakes @adelaidedrubman @raresvtm @derelictheretic @davrinsgriffons @shallow-gravy @strangefable @statichvm @carlosoliveiraa @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @alypink @shellibisshe @josephslittledeputy @skoll-sun-eater @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @turbo-virgins @florbelles @minilev @justasmolbard @yokobai and @seedsplease + anyone else who want to join.

WIP Wednesday for my Unnamed FC5 Omegaverse WIP, Moodboard for my Doki Doki Literature Club WIP You Make My Heart Go Doki Doki Literature Club!, Last Lines for my Wednesday WIP Word Of Woe and a picrew of Silva during Christmas. Enjoy under the cut:

Another snippet for the FC5 Omegaverse WIP, with Silva trying to live her life in relative peace as a junior deputy and contributing member to society. And yet she can't even have that at a public barbecue when Eden's Gate crash it. Read below: [CW: Minor subtle discrimination in the context of Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, mostly towards Beta dynamics like Silva here (there's more in the full scene but here it's just like maybe once, or two if you count John ignoring Silva's obvious signs of 'leave me alone'. Also John harassing Silva, but what else is new]:

Silva really just wanted to fill up her plate with some nutritional food in peace and without an alpha poking his nose into her business for whatever reason.

She was unsure what his game was; could he be trying to determine if she was an omega? She understood that some omegas took a variation of suppressants that masked their scent as similar to betas, if only to deter certain alphas.

Although the suppressants were often effective, it didn't take much to discern the difference between an omega using suppressants and a regular beta. A beta's scent was far stronger than that of a suppressant's scent, though Silva guessed that wasn't common knowledge.

That or she had a better sense of smell than most betas. Which she didn't disqualify as an option.

"Invited by friends," Silva answered curtly, gesturing to where she saw her co-workers last, "Thought I'd socialize a bit."

His scent was throwing her off. Not because it was like an oregano herb, unlike the homely, comforting scent of basil and parsley that Paul had, but because he seemed familiar. Intrusive as well.

"Funny you should say that," the alpha, John, replied with a confident grin, "I've seen you avoiding more people than talking to them."

She glanced into his blue eyes; his smug glint irked her. She rolled her eyes as she replied, "That's because I'm done socializing."

She moved down, away from the alpha, and reached for the chicken ceasar salad to add to her plate; to compliment the chops that were already present. As she began topping it, her unwanted and persistent conversationalist filled the gap between them and asked, "So what is it you do around here?"

Silva's brows knitted together as she gave him an annoyed glance, stating, "I made it very clear I was done talking."

John chuckled, "No need to be so tart, my dear. Besides, I think you do want to talk."

Silva paused when she heard what he said; there was a tone within his words that rung sharply in her head, a growl that commanded obedience. To an omega, it'd be something to fear or respect; an effective deterrent towards refutes. To her though, it was something that grated at her nerves, like a man-child loudly demanding he get his way.

But it also sounded so damn familiar.

She looked at him with a burning glare that seemed to surprise him; like he hadn't prepared for his alpha voice to fail.

"I would be inclined to talk if I choose to," Silva asserted, adding, "And if you use that voice of yours on me again, you will regret it."

Despite the warning, John seemed more intrigued than anything else, putting on a friendly smile. Which bothered Silva immensely.

Her dissatisfaction only furthered when he replied, "My apologies. I wasn't too sure if you were actually a beta. I'm sure you're aware how omegas believe they have to hide themselves with your scents... a shame really."

Silva gazed at John with a stoic expression that contradicted with the bafflement she felt. One moment he was acting like a persistent sleaze and the next he's suddenly chummy with her after finding out that, yes, she is in fact, a beta.

She chose the last of her toppings for the chicken ceasar salad before walking away from him. Silva didn't grace him with a goodbye, just left him to fill up his plate.

However, in spite of this, he persisted in pestering her.

"Hold on now, you still haven't answered my question," he unhelpfully informed her as he followed after her.

Silva gripped the cutlery in her hand, repeating the mantra, It's illegal to kill a person without reasonable cause. It's illegal to kill a person without reasonable cause. It's illegal to kill-

It wasn't as helpful as she thought it would be.

[Silva to John, in some other AU probably: "In all timelines. In all possibilities. Only you... can show me how fucking annoying a person can be." If anyone understands this edited reference, I'll let you know I liked the season. Didn't love it, but it was still very good despite the high expectations]

Last Line for Word Of Woe, which is a WIP for Wednesday post-Season 1 set in the Life, Despair & Monsters series, where Wednesday Addams returns to Nevermore to unravel a new mystery; who the in the Nine Hells is bold enough to stalk her? Here she sees the introduction of Nevermore's new botany teacher:

When the teacher entered, Wednesday noted his appearance; he wore a dark blue suit that would have been better for a Gala than a school, with his dark hair and eyes, short stature, and the ridiculous Breton cap he adorned on his head didn't help her judgement of him. There was a skip in his step, with a jolly smile that sickened Wednesday.

He also held a cane in his hand, the handle like a bulbous doorknob. She wondered if he's ever caved in a skull with that.

However, her eyes narrowed when she realized something; she's seen him before. Earlier in the courtyard, playing what she presumed to be chess with a crowd of students around him and his opponent.

Moodboard for You Make My Heart Go Doki Doki Literature Club! is a WIP for DDLC, where Monika and her friends find themselves in the real world, with only Monika able to remember the things she did while in the game, and as a result the guilt too. She also gets used to actually living and while she does want to do just that, she can't help but notice a few... contradictions to her new reality.

And below is the first ever picrew of Silva Omar. It... certainly is a close encapsulation of how I picture Silva (second to her faceclaim Mina El Hammani). Although she usually has her hair done up in one braid tail that stays behind her. But this is as close as I could get to her hair undone. Here she is attempting to commit to the Christmas joy. Could either be celebrating at Elsa's lodge (which would explain the undone hair (plus the sweater) as Silva didn't do up her hair until after Persephone's death...) or at a co-workers home or something akin to that for a party (which would explain the false joy and tired look as Silva is generally like that because of her insomnia and night terrors plus putting up a front to hide her grief for this particular month... though post-Persephone's death, Silva would be spending her time alone at her residence because, well, this is the month her sister die and Christmas is literally Elsa's birthday so...). Anyway image below:

[kaiserouo]

hi I just wanted to say your ghost and lightless duo bring me so much joy i love them so much FJKFDSKJL

the little ghost is always so proud of themself!!! give them a cookie!!!

they can have a cookie from another universe