#crow ooc

[sonderingcrow]

(for mun) ooh writing lore? 👀

(ooc: anon...anon you don't know how wild this lore is. lemme give you a brief summary because I need to talk about it hehehe

For the general story of the campaign: The year is 1928, in a world where humanity focused more on deep sea exploration than space travel. A few years ago, a Russian scientist goes to travel in the deep sea, and never came back since. But a message was caught in the radios around the city. "Whatever you do, don't go down here. I have seen everything, I have seen god- and god hates us" An organization sends 5 people letters in hopes to search for the missing scientist that found god.

For characters we have: a medicinal researcher from Greece (Lucien), and a former coal miner turned investigator (Cecily), they're family, father and adoptive daughter.

A technological researcher (Estella), who's father died in an 'accident', and was taken in by his research partner named Mr. Lorenz.

a Russian spy ("Anastasia"), who knows what truly happened between the first three, and a theology student (Valerie). )

[sonderingcrow]

(ooc: since @yoshizawaviolet asked about the team—

Purely vibes. There was not a single thought in my head while making this except for the following:

1. Corviknight and Zoroark are his closest pokemon

2. Umbreon only evolved to Umbreon after the engine room, before that Mimikyu and Annihilape were in Eevee and Skarmory’s spot

3. Annihilape can replace Skarmory ngl

4. You can’t tell me he wouldn’t min-max his pokemon to an extent- that and i tried to balance battle prowess and personality-wise for Goro, that’s why Honchcrow isnt there, because that type of crow pokemon is pure evil, evil vibes. Honchcrow is the type of pokemon Shido would have

5. Pre Sae’s palace? the Media would eat up any content that’s related to the ace detective prince and his eevee

obviously Robin Hood Goro would have a different team, this one is more aligned with 3rd sem. (Robin Hood Goro would still keep Corviknight in his team trust, he’d also have Gallade and Palafin-Hero :3 )

Using This website, what would your muse's Pokemon team look like?

[jkriordanverse]

Jesper: I wasn't THAT drunk Wylan: You colored my face with a highlighter because you said I was important. Jesper: well-

[sonderingcrow]

(ooc: it's just little things but here's a little list:

- Contact lenses! I like to think he tried to wear glasses back then but it made him look nerdy, and feminine- which is NOT the look he was going for. the contact lenses are a shades lighter than his actual eye color. (speaking of eyes his eyes are also sharper)

- slight freckles and kinda obvious eyebags, and a small beauty mark under his left eye, covered by makeup when he used to appear on TV because wowie beauty standards.

- Tear stains... tear stains :D oh and his ears are pierced but he changes the earrings depending on the outfit.

(ooc: i'll probably rb this in the morning but i was curious, does anyone have any physical headcanons for their muse(s) that differ from canon?

for example for my sumire she has her earrings ofc, and her hair is a little on the desaturated purple-r side than a deep red!

it's also not super obvious but sumire's eyes are a little sharper, while in canon her eyes are round & kasumi's are the sharper ones it's backwards for me :3 (gotta draw kasumi so u can see for REAL...) my hc is that when she wears her glasses she looks sharper than without, the opposite of akira who wears his glasses to soften his appearance!!!!

anyway heh LMK BC IM CURIOUS and also (ahem) if its ok to draw ur headcanons when i draw ur muse. THANK U HEHEHE OK GOODNIGHT FOR REAL)

[mossattack]

(Some silly headcanons about Mortalitasi and Nevarran traditions that ended up leading me to Emmrich. How typical.)

We don't actually know all that much about Nevarra and their customs. World of Thedas and some of the in-game codex tells us some key points: strong royal families, a rich history of dragon hunting, an elite group of mages rumored to be heavily involved in makings of the country, and, of course, the thing that this country is most famous for - the fascination with the dead.

Our very own Nevarran companion mentions a couple of things about her home country:

And even though she doesn't seem fond of Mortalitasi practices or Nevarran customs surrounding the dead, she admits that some stories that pervade the South are greatly exaggerated:

(I feel so called out)

This makes me think that this interest in the dead is still a personal choice. I doubt that an average Nevarran is obsessed with those rituals any more than an average person from Ferelden is with theirs - those are just a part of their traditions that obviously affect their lives in unique ways, but that is all.

Now, Nevarran nobility are a different matter. They are said to start the construction of their tombs very early in life - lavishly decorated palaces with gardens, ballrooms and bathhouses. A sign of power and wealth for them, and that I can believe.

But when it comes to Mortalitasi, do they, in general, care as much? Do they take all these things, all these rituals, to extreme somehow, professional pride and all?

How much would a Mortalitasi care about their own tomb? Would Mortalitasi friends and colleagues ever promise to lead the other's ceremony depending on who dies first? "Oh, I'll totally mummify you if you're the one to go first, don't you worry, I know you think that Markus is getting sloppy".

The coffin sharing is also not unheard of (the spouses from The Flame Eternal), and I wonder if it's ever used as a grand gesture - to ask someone to be placed in the same tomb?

(And just imagine how messy this could get, the way people are. Building a tomb together only to have a falling out, what are you even supposed to do after that?)

Would it be romantic then, to tell your significant other that you don't want to ever part from them, even in death?

Beacause imagine Emmrich writing a quick letter to his friend from the Mourn Watch (Johanna, if they are still friends after all these years, or Myrna), "doing fine, on a saving the world business trip, will be back when I can; could I trouble you with a favor - a bigger coffin, installed in my tomb, not urgent, just whenever you have the time."

When the reply comes and his friend is (obviously) asking for a reason for such a sudden change, he just looks at Rook from the corner of his eye and replies with "no particular reason, just felt like it."

[shit-people-probably-didnt-say]

Wylan: I dont know how to flirt but I can argue in 4 languages

Also Wylan: *Cries at the first sign of conflict*

[climb-inej]

Strange as it might sound, I do enjoy the show's occasional perspective of the crows being portrayed as side characters, because that's an entire point in the books; it's what they're meant to be. They're not the chosen ones, they're not heroes, they're ordinary people trying to survive.

And I don't know, I find it fascinating to think of what the crows are perceived as by more objectively crucial figures like Alina or Nikolai or any Grisha fighting in the war.

Like, what is it like to hire a generally 'disposable'-looking gang of thieves, thinking you'll never have to think too much of them but ending up witnessing that they're neither props nor saviours, just wholeheartedly and entirely human ?

What is it like to meet a cruel, foul-mouthed Barrel boss that won't hesitate to rat a Saint out for financial gain and then watch as he, not only helps save your country but also offers you his own cane because you're too injured to walk?

What is it like to witness a gunslinger who has shot entire groups of Grisha down in the Fold light up at the sight of an ordinary Suli girl that most people wouldn't have cared to see alive or dead? A Suli girl that he proceeds to embrace and twirl around in a form of joy that you never considered might even exist among criminals?

What is it like to have been hunted down, betrayed and almost kidnapped by that gang of criminals, only for one of them to end up praying to you, fighting for you, crying at the sight of the power you have doubted for so long?

I'm just. . . SO curious to know what the s&b characters thought after getting a glimpse of the crows' humanity, the moment of them realizing that solidarity doesn't only exist among patriots, saints and kings aiming for peace, but even among ordinary criminals with questionable morals.

[wolfgirlfangs-mun]

THEY R JUST A LITTLE CREATURE AND I AM ROTATING THEM IN MY HEAD‼️‼️‼️

AND YEAH LMAO THAT WAS A RLY COMMON THING SPECIFICALLY WITH EMO AND SCENE PEOPLE BACK IN LIKE. THE 2000S!!!! THAT'S THE VIBE I WAS GOING FOR HEHE

which troll should i make a blog for next do y'all think

[sonderingcrow]

(ooc: Im locking in chat trust i can draw i can draw—)

[dead-boy-detective-agency]

Hello.

My name is Edwin and I am a member of the Dead Boy Detective Agency. This agency was started in the 1990’s with me and my colleague Charles being the only members. Since then, we have collected more.

Because of this, Niko, one of our newer members, was insistent that we use the internet in order to “keep with the times.” After a vote, the majority of our members agreed.

We now have 8 members, so we have all decided that we would each put a signature at the bottom of each of our replies. These are listed below:

- Edwin

Charles (CR)

💎 Crystal

Niko (≧◡≦)

Cat King 🐾

<O Monty

Jenny 🟩

Night Nurse

Feel free to let us know if we can help with anything.

- Edwin

OOC HERE

Hi, i’m making this account because I love dead boy detectives, and I encourage you all to watch it if you haven’t already.

I will answer almost anything in or out of character, so please send me anything you want as long as it is respectful. i’m doing this for fun, but i do have an IRL life, so sometimes it might take me a hot minute to get to answering your asks, so please me patient with me!!!

Finally, please let me know if I need to tag anything i haven’t. i’m a silly lil goose so sometimes i forget or miss stuff.

thank you all!!!

[ask-gimmiventures]

Pokeblock theater

Have a silly au doodle inspired by me playing battleblock recently lol

You clicked the button? Well would your oc like a chance to become famous?! Preform dangerous feats and deadly acts in front of a live audience?! Then comment below for a chance to join the theater!

aka a dramatic way of asking if y’all want to be silly cameos in the background if I decide to draw more of this for fun :3 anyone who joins the fellow crew of prisoners friends will be anthroed and drawn in dangerous situations but will probably not go to far past a bit of blood

[gotham-crow]

Edit: ooc post

Thingy about Theo being sick cause I'm sick and thought of this when I couldn't sleep last night :) TW: suffocation/sh mentions

(Background: Theo got really sick and threw up on their shark plushie that helps them sleep)

Dick, entering Theo's room: Hey, Fledgling, heard you weren't feeling too hot...

Theo, siting up in bed suddenly: *dizzily smiles and waves at Dick before collapsing back onto his bed*

Dick, sitting next to him on his bed: okay... anyways, since your shark is getting washed, do you wanna use Zitka for tonight? how does that sound?

Theo: *latches onto the stuff elephant and snuggles into it*

Dick, ruffling his hair: aww, guess you're to out of it to be a little menace right now, huh? *as he leaves* feel better soon, Fledgling.

later, in the kitchen or sm idk

Dick: oh, hey, Bruce, wanted to let you know that Theo finally fell asleep, I let him use Zitkz and he was out like a light.

Bruce: That's good. Thank you, Richard.

Dick: Yea, he's so out of it though, I've never seen him so relaxed.

Bruce, Ah, yes, the medication he is on helps with that.

Dick: What, like NyQuil?

Bruce: Well, that and some anxiety meds.

Dick: You got him to take them? I thought he hated those.

Bruce: ...

Dick: Bruce?

Bruce: I had no choice.

Dick: Did you drug him?

Bruce: I did what I had to.

Dick: BULLSHIT! He's still fucking healing, Bruce!

Bruce: He was suffocating himself!

Dick: He- what?

Bruce: *sighs* He has been to congested to breath through his nose and, as you know, he has his issues with breathing without a filter. He- he wouldn't let himself breath properly, he wasn't getting enough oxygen... I didn't want to, I didn't know it was still effecting him this much...

Dick: ...oh

Bruce: Oh. Once he's physically better I'll be sure to speak with him about this, about how to help him, but for now... I need him to breath.

[mista-mystery]

take me out to dinner first

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

[doctorcranes-ask]

How’s Ichabod?

She’s fine. I attempted to get a photo of her, but Craw got in the way

She’s an attention seeker.

[victor-v]

whenever i remember shadow and bone ended with the inej and tolya situationship.... that was a choice 😶