#the hardest part is finding a faceclaim that works with the very specific image i have in my head 😔
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murmel-malt ¡ 1 year ago
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outfit concept line-up for a HotD dragonseed!OC
sometimes I draw OCs, sometimes I frankenstein them together from images I found on the internet 👉👈
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sassypandacandy ¡ 6 years ago
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11-11-11 Tag
Thanks to @zmlorenz and @dumb-lr-512 for the tags! I’ll be talking about my current WIP, Brightest Day.
Rules: answer 11 questions, ask 11 questions, tag 11 people!
1. Would you prefer your wip be adapted for the big screen, the small screen, or the stage? why? The big screen! A Day Out of Time would make a great TV series, but Bitter Dawn and its sequel, Brightest Day, would make better movies since they follow traditional story arcs. And the monsters/magic system can be very cinematic, so the stage wouldn’t do it justice. 2. Do any of your ocs have pets? if yes, tell me about them. if not, would they ever consider getting one? what kind of pet might they get? (i am definitely not fishing for pictures of cute animals. nope. no way.) Zora, Davina, and Raph share custody of a small black cat named Mouse. She is the sweetest, cuddliest cat in town. She asks for hugs and pets, and she sleeps on one of them every night. She’s too trusting and sweet for Eyphah, and the only reason she’s still alive (and hasn’t been eaten by a spirit) is because she belongs to the Grace’s household.
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3. What colour(s) do you associate with each of your ocs? With Zora it’s warm colors, especially red. She’s brave (bordering on reckless), fierce, aggressive, active, and impatient. And although her powers technically burn white, the most common name for them is “the fire of the Grace.” I associate her with fire/lava imagery. With Davina, it’s cool jewel tones (sapphire, amethyst, emerald) because of her sensitivity and patience. Her temper is usually far cooler than Zora’s, unless you’ve absolutely fucked up beyond all belief. Raph is honestly the hardest to pin down because he’s the newest OC, but I think I associate him with gold and copper. He’s active and intense, and unapologetically Extra when the mood strikes him. But he also has a streak of kindness and nobility that he doesn’t show off very much, like a hidden vein of precious metal in the earth. Finally, I associate silver and black with Aurun because of his duality (kind when he can afford it, brutal when he can’t) and his ability to move unseen. If Zora is the purifying fire, Aurun is the knife in the dark. 4. Do you have a specific image of what each of your characters look like? or do you have a general idea only? With these characters, I have a very specific idea because I’ve been working with them for years, in most cases. You can find all of my faceclaims on the Bitter Dawn and Brightest Day WIP pages! 5. Do you have any conditions that must be met before you can write? (ie. a glass of water nearby, a certain playlist, must be wearing socks, etc.) I usually need coffee nearby, and I really need the right music. I change playlists/songs depending on what kind of scene I’m writing. Every big project has its own playlist, but I also have specialized ones (Danger music, fight scene, etc.). If I find a song that perfectly captures the mood, I’ll just keep it on repeat. 6. What is your favourite quirk you’ve given an oc? Zora is absolutely awful at subterfuge. She’s not great at lying, and she’s too...present to sneak anywhere with people. 7. Which of your ocs is most likely to steal breadrolls from restaurants? Aurun would do it if he needed them to supplement his diet, but Raph would do it just because he liked the bread and might want more later. 8. Do you have any character names that were supposed to be temporary but then you got attached to them? Nah, not that I can think of. 9. Have you ever made yourself cry when writing? Absolutely. I draw on my own emotions when I write in order to make the scene authentic. If a scene doesn’t affect me, how can I expect it to affect a reader. 10. What is your favourite trope to use? which tropes will you never use? which trope would you like to use some day? My favorite is either the Strong Silent Type (stoic/harsh character who only melts for children, animals, or their SO), or the Underestimated Character (someone who seems small, harmless, incompetent, etc. before opening a can of whoopass, physical or otherwise). I don’t want to say that I’ll never use a certain trope, unless it’s gross or problematic (White Savior, Abused Person Begins to Love Abuser, etc). I honestly can’t think of any trope that I’d like to use some day. 11. Show us some covers you want your future books covers to look like, pls. All I have is the mock cover for my WIP page:
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And since I didn’t answer @dumb-lr-512‘s questions, I’ll recycle them here!
1. What did you do for April Fool’s? 2. What/Who would your next pet be? 3. If you could bring one of your characters back to life, who would it be and why? 4.  What’s your biggest aspiration? 5. What’s your least favorite part of any regular day? 6. One change you would wish to make to history? 7. What would you sell your best friend for? 8. The weirdest/awesomest/craziest/oddest thing you thought of doing but then realized you shouldn’t? 9. The best thing you did when bored? 10. What social construct would you crush first? 11. Since I’m out of questions already, DO YOU BELIEVE IN MIRACLES?
Tagging @mvcreates @sunflowerfarie and @missguided-ink
Taglist: @theouterdark @toboldlywrite
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penumbra-rp ¡ 5 years ago
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Congratulations Hayley, you have been accepted for the role of Emma Vanity!
“Which Hogwarts University faculty did you study at?”
“Hufflepuff School of Art, obviously,” she answered, tongue dripping in sarcasm. “I got my degree in fingerpainting - forensic science is just a hobby of mine.”
Admin Becky: We all know I love a shamelessly rowdy firecracker of a girl. Emma is everything I could have hoped for her to be and more. As tough as she seems, you’ve managed to capture an edge of vulnerability that comes from absorbing her mother’s anger and inheriting her crooked, unshakeable ties to Tom Riddle. The added dimension of Emma being blackmailed into becoming a Death Eater is so exciting! It breaks my heart that her job seems to be one of the few things in her life that has gone well and that she adores, only for it to become tainted by her newfound purpose. Maybe she’ll listen to her conscience and consider escape. Or maybe she’ll let herself get dragged deeper for the sake of gaining the acceptance she wants. I can’t wait to find out.
Please check out our checklist for joining Penumbra.
01. Out of Character
NAME: Hayley
AGE: 22
YOUR BIRTHDAY: November 14
PRONOUNS: she/her
TIMEZONE: EST
02. In Character
CHARACTER: Emma Vanity
CHARACTER’S PRONOUNS: she/her
FACECLAIM: Aiysha Hart
CHARACTER’S BIRTHDAY: November 6th, 1992
PERSONALITY:
+ Analytical, expressive, passionate
- Hot-headed, emotional, stubborn
BRIEF BULLET POINT BIO
She inherited her temper from her mother. A woman fiery and bold, but perhaps a bit too bold, Emma would learn. It drove her father away. It caused risks to be taken that didn’t work out, resulting in a business crumbling and Emma left with less food on her plate and more fire in her mother’s eyes.
They could have lived in the world of the Sacred 28, maybe not completely joining their ranks but still living a life tangent to their greatness, had it not been for Adeline Dupree (the divorce from Theodore Vanity had been finalized by this point) and those risks she took. Emma never saw her mother blame it on herself, however, instead blaming the man whose name she’d only ever heard in whispers, now folded into a string of curses at her mother’s fury: Tom Riddle. She claimed it was he who pulled her over the edge, though the reason always changed - for his own sick delight, because he saw her as a threat, using her as a disposable way to take a risk of his own.
Emma saw why her father left as verbal anger hurled her way as she grew. It was that anger she harbored - for her mother, who snapped at the slightest drop of a glass or entry a minute past curfew, for her father, who knew exactly when to get out but never thought to take his daughter with him, and for Tom Riddle, who, as far as Emma had learned growing up, was responsible for this whole mess.
She only ever wanted to get out. Resenting the anger her mother projected her way didn’t stop it from infecting her. The apple never fell far from the tree, and Emma was a shining example of that. Her natural reaction came flooding from her the moment she felt it, regardless of how irrational it might have been. She screamed when she was angry, cried when she was upset, and had some combination of the two when she was frustrated, which turned out to be often. She believed all that anger, all that the family endured at the hands of her mother and Tom Riddle (the villain of these stories ever since their world came crashing down) made her brave, made her fearless. If she could endure this, nothing could pierce her own flaming heart.
College was her way of getting out - specifically, Gryffindor School of Applied Science at Hogwarts University. Emma had always been interested in science, though once struggled to find her niche. Chemistry was the one that sparked her interest the most but not quite her forte, with chemicals more reactive than she was. Biology was alright but she hated the memorization of body parts and plant systems she never thought to care about. Physics was out of the question. Bare-bones science was repetitive, not something she could get behind, until she learned of the fields in which you could apply it all. Chemistry produced makeup and medicine. Biology studied animals in their natural habitats and identified new viruses. Physics was still out of the question.
Above it all, a perfect combination of all science and excitement and a break from the monotony of following a recipe: forensic science. She loved the work, no matter how small-scale or tedious it could become, because it always changed. She loved the environment, the thrill of a scene and back-and-forths with officers. This was what she wanted to do. But there was still something missing.
That something was the thought that burned at the back of her mind, the thought of what her life would be like had her mother’s risks paid off, had they joined the high society the Sacred 28 revelled in. The thought didn’t occur to them too much before college, for they only ever heard it through bitter grumbles from their mother’s lips and imagined those who enjoyed that lifestyle as the villains she painted them as. Jealousy turned their images ugly through her mother’s acid-soaked tongue, but in college, finally away from that corrosive thing, Emma got a view of some of high society’s most favored up-and-comers, and like everyone else, she longed to know what their world was like, especially knowing she had once been so close to it.
Unlike everyone else, she decided to go after that desire, though in the most foolish way possible: lying. She’d never meant for it to be larger than it was. Her name and place of study and connections were all fabricated, yes, but it was only meant to be for a night, to dance along the edge of glory and return to her bed to lament about what could have been. But the life was addicting, and all it took was one hand of a Death Eater to pull her in.
They liked her and wished to see more of her, and so Emma gave them what they wanted - those people always got what they wished for, after all. It was a life she felt she had missed out on, a life that could have been. But it was a life that wasn’t meant to be, and she should have known the Sacred 28 could smell those that didn’t belong. The only thing worse than not being one of them was lying about being one of them.
Found out, they began to blackmail her. Her real name, her real life, her very real mother and problems that came with her all hung over her head. Petty theft as a teen she was let off the hook for came back to haunt her. Even made up stories that threatened her degree and her credibility as a forensic scientist were brought into the mix, for who would believe her over those that had the society wrapped around their fingers? Enough, she had said. Make it stop.
And so, they took her to Tom Riddle. He was different than she envisioned. A man who knew how to play those around him. His words blanketed all the things her mother had said about him over the years. All would be forgiven if she helped him out. She’d get a lot more than she could ever hope to get without him. It seemed like an unfair deal on his end, to give her so much in exchange for a little help, but he knew Emma’s worth even when others might not have, saw the mind behind the skull and the shiftiness that could be projected into those eyes. Nothing was ever unfair on Tom Riddle’s end. She took the deal.
It wasn’t the hardest thing to do. Her life would continue relatively as normal, only her connections would grow deeper (though darker) and the sum in her bank account would grow larger (though dirtier). She would work in secret, ruining samples or sabotaging instruments. Bleach instead of water on her swab to destroy incriminating DNA. Fibers glossed over, hair evidence dubbed inconclusive. Blood cleaned up before it could be found by other investigators. It ruined the integrity of the work she loved. It didn’t completely ruin the job, but it put a pressure upon her. If a Sacred 28 member is caught or Death Eaters are found out and it’s due to the physical evidence she could not corrupt, it would all be over. She couldn’t fail.
She likes her job. She likes the crime scenes and the laboratory and maybe not so much the part where she goes to court, but she likes her job. Sometimes she has to step away from the bench to distract herself from the realities of her unethical actions, but she likes her job. Her outbursts at police interactions and breakdowns when the instrument has frustrated her to her breaking point made it seem otherwise, but she likes her job. Emma likes being where she belongs, and it’s that sense of belonging extended to her through the Death Eaters that tangles her in this web. She is a fly to these spiders, trapped in their web until she is no longer of use to them - that is, when she is wholly consumed.
She’s angry. Angry at the Order, for they don’t know what anarchy and misery they would bring to take down those keeping the world afloat; she’d hit the bottom, she knew it well. She’s upset. Upset with herself in moments where a conscience appears beneath the darkness she’s succumbed to, though it’s often washed down with some alcohol or words from those she holds close. She’s frustrated. Frustrated with the burden on her shoulders and with the damned IR that won’t give her good results even when she needs them. She’s scared. She’s ruthless. She’s her mother reincarnate.
INTERVIEW:
i. How do you feel about your current occupation?
Emma hated having her time wasted. When time was of the essence, as it often was in cases she worked (and as it often was with her other superiors’ watchful eyes beating down upon her like hot sun rays), she grew impatient with things that didn’t need to take up the amount of time they did. Sure, things like PCR had no choice but to take a few hours, but this? This was just unnecessary. Arms crossed over her chest, she glanced at the door briefly, wondering when it was she could get back to the very occupation she was being kept from to answer a few bullshit questions. “Love it,” she answered briefly, hoping that would be enough. Prompting eyes from the questioning figure made her sigh. “Fine. It’s great. I’ve studied for this; I’ve wanted this for a long time. What, do you need to hear some sob story about how my uncle’s cousin’s dog-walker’s sister was murdered once and I’m on some vengeful quest to find the killer? Newsflash: this isn’t CSI.”
ii. What song would you say describes yourself?
“What kind of bullshit questions are these?” she snapped. Emma knew there was a script being read from, but frankly, she didn’t care. If her time was going to be wasted, she would at least prefer it be wasted on questions that mattered, like a proficiency test or something. Irritation came through in her voice. “I don’t know; I don’t exactly listen to music because it ‘gets me’ like I’m some teenager looking to be looked down upon by every adult.” Still, she was prompted once more to answer the question. A simple answer was made. “‘Nightmare.’” Surely Emma was no sweet dream.
iii. Does reputation matter to you?
Her brow raised incredulously at the question. “What do you think? No. Let them think what they want - doesn’t mean shit to me.” Perhaps she should have answered “bad reputation” to that last question, but it was too late to backtrack. But really, that was a lie. Reputation mattered among the Death Eaters, for if her reputation for doing her job were to slip through the cracks, she was dead to them - and maybe even dead literally. Reputation mattered in the court when she testified, possibly the one place she could even somewhat keep her temper under control, for if she didn’t, her credibility could be jeopardized, and it was that same cycle of being dead to both groups she worked for. Rinse and repeat.
iv. What is your relationship with your parents like?
The tension was recognizable upon her face immediately. Her teeth were together, hard, and her jaw showed obvious tensity through the soft skin of her face. “My mom’s a bitch and my dad’s a deadbeat. Next question,” she answered curtly, her voice firm. Prompting eyes stared back at her again, meeting the fury in her gaze. Her mother’s voice rang in her ears upon sleepless nights. Her father’s decisions weighed heavily in her mind whenever she dared to think what if? She resented them both. When the inquisitor attempted to get some elaboration, she cut them off, her voice sharp and threatening. “I said, next fucking question, asshole. Don’t make me answer again.”
v. What languages can you speak?
“Fluently, one,” she answered in said language. It was hard to lash out at a question such as this, though the randomness of it all still brought a frustrated edge to her tone. “I speak a bit of standard Arabic - al'ahmaq sakhif -” she demonstrated, mostly ever learning curses from her mother’s outbursts - “and some Spanish, but only enough to pass my exams.”
vi. If your home was on fire and you could only save one item, what would you choose?
There was something she’d received as a child; a Christmas present from a teacher, back when teachers did that sort of thing and back when Emma went to a school where teachers could afford to do that sort of thing. She wouldn’t be attending there once the holiday break passed, for they’d just lost everything; the fall would be hard and fast with little time to say goodbye to the friends she had made before being forced into a completely different environment full of completely different peers. The gifted book wasn’t necessarily anything special on its own - a moleskin journal with decorative pages - and wasn’t even touched by Emma for the longest time, gathering dust on a shelf until she finally decided to open it. It held so much history - many remnants of pages violently torn out and crumpled in anger, scribbles made in a thought-fueled fury, lists upon lists, photos and magazine cuttings and memories taped to the pages that remained. Her hands would reach instinctively for it, but she lied. “My laptop, I guess? What kind of question even is that?”
vii. Which Hogwarts University faculty did you study at? The Gryffindor School of Applied Science, the Ravenclaw School of Humanities, the Slytherin School of Social Science, or the Hufflepuff School of Art?
“Hufflepuff School of Art, obviously,” she answered, tongue dripping in sarcasm. “I got my degree in fingerpainting - forensic science is just a hobby of mine.” Her tone switched back to speaking genuinely, the sarcasm turned to venom. “Which do you think I studied at? Come on, asshole, use some fucking context clues and stop wasting my time.”
vix. What is your social media username?
“vanitye on everything. Is that it? Can I go now? I’m done wasting my time here.” The chair was pushed back with nearly enough force to topple it, the scraping sounds of it drowning out whatever the other person’s protests might have been. Enough wasting time, Emma had decided, and so she stormed out, hoping something useful would at least come out of the seconds she would never get back. “Fucking idiots and their dumb fucking questions,” she muttered under her breath, arms swinging at her side as she exited the hall.
[Quick extra context hc: In England, forensic science is not performed by the police, typically, but is rather sent out by these agencies to various companies that do forensic analysis for a price. Because of the nature of Operation Auror, they do not send out their evidence, rather entrusting it to their own team, which is small by comparison. Thus, Emma tends to do a variety of tasks under the umbrella of forensic science, when most people in forensic science careers stick to one specific discipline.]
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