#the reality of having an oc for over a decade is that they become so ingrained in your mind that all kinds of random shit becomes them coded

[anithikos]

a list of increasingly specific/ obscure, confusing and/or cursed things that are jincoded. a look into my strange and unusual mind........... I may add to this list in the future

hyperpop music

reality tv

parasite (2019)

the substance (2024)

secretary (2002)

i love you phillip morris (2009)

the brat album

rush by troye sivan

virginia slims

the drugs ke/ta/mi/ne and ec/sta/cy

club kids

a bor/der/line diagnosis

guns with silencers on them

the time that den/nis had a breakdown bc ma/c's mom didn't find him attractive/want to fuck him

this specific style of brat edit of me/la/n/ia where she very clearly hates her husband and its extremely obvious this was a marriage for $ / the theory that she's his dom

[dawneternal]

The Benevolent | Eight

☁︎ Eris x Healer OC

☁︎ Notes: okay. This is kind of a big one 👀 pls let me know what you think, if the descriptions make sense, etc. I'm really hoping the concept for Aya's powers is actually interesting and not dumb but here we go

I've gotten a lot of notes from new readers lately and I wanna say thanks so much for the love and comments!! 💛💛

☁︎ Warnings: battle/war, injuries, blood, death, grief (it's not that graphic I just wanna make sure I get all the tags needed)

☁︎ Word Count: 3.5k

☁︎ AO3 Link / Masterlist

☁︎ Latest Artwork

☁︎ Taglist (let me know if you want on or off) : @cauldronblssd @teddyhoneybear @tele86 @mybestfriendmademe @imma-too-many-fandoms @allyjoe755 @milswrites @shadowdaddies @zenkindoflove @landofpetrichor @secret-third-thing @bookwormysblog @mal-adaptive-dreams @daycourtofficial

The secret behind Aya’s power was the extra eye in her mind. Whether they were simply visions or she had some connection to another place, she did not know. But either way, she was born seeing things that no one else could.

Aya had discovered another world, visible only with closed eyes or when she let her vision go hazy. It was a place where wards and spells were visible things, overlayed on top of reality. She could see the building blocks of the universe, the materials that made up the world. And she could reach out and touch them. They were hers to fix and break and manipulate how she pleased.

After years of observing people and the things that they were made of, she came to understand that they could be sorted into three categories. Sewn things, woven things, and things to be fired in a kiln. The first three people Aya had known were one of each. The first memories to exist in her mind were ingrained with their imagery. Her mother, a tapestry. Her aunt, a quilt. And Thesan, a vase.

It took nearly a decade of life for Aya to understand that no one else saw things the way she did. No one else had another realm materialize when they closed their eyes. No one else healed by patching those quilts, stitching down loose threads, or filling cracks in pottery with veins of shimmering gold.

There were many, many times when she wished that she had never spoken about it to anyone. She could have learned sooner to close her eyes and not let anyone see the golden light that shone when she used her power. She could have taken less time to understand that she was different. Or maybe she could have been born knowing that she was not the same as everyone around her.

But it was too late for any of that. Her life had already been molded by her differences.

In truth, using her power was easy. So easy that it scared her. Sometimes an extensive injury or a complicated spell would draw a sweat from her brow, but even then she could go for days if she wanted to. The store of energy within her seemed endless. She had never experienced burnout, or ever been close.

There were so many terrifying truths lying underneath the lid she kept on herself. Her morbid curiosity, the things she could do, how much she was capable of. She never dug too deep, never once in her life testing the limits or possibilities. She could not bring herself to. She would not let herself become a thing that destroyed.

The fear that others carried around her was tangible. Whispers of witchcraft followed her everywhere - apparently her mother hailing from the continent was suspicious, with less known about the origins of their magic. And Aya's own tapestry was stained with the echoes of her mother calling her a liar, holding deep grudges over the discrimination that Aya had brought upon her family. There was no shortage of things that had made this existence difficult.

But on days like this, no matter how much she hated it, Aya thrived.

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The battle had seemed so endless. The shouting, screaming, and clashing of weapons were a constant song, and Aya did her best to tune it out as she ran from bed to bed, cleaning, bandaging, and healing wounds. Her ears rang, desperate for a moment not filled with terrible noise. Her muscles ached, begging for her to take a break. But there were always more buckets to haul, more soldiers to drag to safety, more wounded to heal. She ignored every protest of her tired mind and aching body as she splashed through the mud, dodging arrows and swords, zeroed in on whoever needed helping.

She also ignored the magic within her that sang, thrilled to be used and stretched and tested. It pushed her body to keep going long after she had reached her physical limits, always restless and desperate to be let loose. But she would only ever release as much power as she needed to do her job well. Never any more.

Even still, Aya was always the last standing, the glow of her healing still going steady when all the others had used their last sparks. In class, this earned her jealous looks and accusations of cheating or witchcraft. But of course today, there was nothing but murmured thanks and praise. Aya ignored those, too.

At last, dusk fell like a funeral shroud, covering the silhouettes of broken bodies littering the battlefield. All of the gore blissfully hidden in the darkness. The sky could not, however, hide the sound of suffering and grieving of those who still lived, reaching toward the heavens in desperate tones.

Now, it was an effort to keep her head upright as she sat beside the High Lord of Night, her hand hovering over the gash in his arm. Rhysand, even with his weary eyes and the grime caked into the lines of his skin, watched her heal with a keen interest. If it was a different time, and her heart felt a little lighter, Aya may have asked him about it. Maybe he knew something that she didn’t. But right now it was taking too much focus just to stay awake.

When she closed her eyes Aya was stitching silver stars into a quilt, each block made from a different shade of night. Slightly darker shapes made up the subtle outline of a city, constellations hiding in same-colored thread here and there. It was lovely work, the stars twinkling and shimmering, the night sky velvety soft beneath her fingertips. It did not take long for his arm to be healed. With eyes glittering like the thread she had just held between her fingers, Rhysand thanked her and swaggered off to find his mate.

Truthfully, Aya liked him. Often, she came away from a healing session feeling as though she had read the person's soul front to back like a book. And in Rhysand, she liked what she learned. He was deeply kind, very clever, and generous. She knew without a doubt that his story of Under the Mountain was true. She could see the scars within him, like rips and tears in the quilt that he had tried to fix himself. Some were smoother, aided in their mending by his loved ones. He did not know how lucky he was to have them.

Of course, there were dark patterns in the fabric of his being. Shadows much deeper than others seemed to carry. But that seemed to be a burden bestowed upon all of the High Lords.

Aya liked the Night Court general, too. She had healed Cassian many times over. At first she thought it was recklessness and it was an effort to bite back on her lecture about looking after himself. But she learned, upon closing her eyes, that it was all deliberate. Calculated. It was not carelessness, but devotion. He would take shots and blows for others as often as he could, his shouts and commands ringing out louder than the din of battle. In his mind, he had not done his best unless he was nearly falling apart.

Healing Cassian was like knitting homespun wool yarn. Each stitch snug and precise, marled grey and white like the Illyrian mountains. The colors were so solemn, the material so practical, but the finished product warm and comforting. That seemed to sum him up. He always had a grin and a wink for her, always a genuine thank you and some absurd compliment. He was consistent, always, like the woven pattern of his being.

Over the course of the battle, Aya collected those images, like a scrapbook of the people around her. She mended seams, knit and wove, spun thread, molded clay. Every once in a while, she was too late. The knitting had too many missed stitches, too many loops had come loose and it all unraveled beneath her hands. Every time, she mourned with her whole heart. Grieved until it hurt.

If she kept her eyes closed, tuned into that other realm, she could watch the soul depart this world. Always drifting toward the sky like a wisp of smoke. The first handful of times she had witnessed it she had not been able to look away, frozen in place by some terrifying curiosity. Or perhaps it was the desire to see them off, on the chance that her guidance could provide one last comfort.

But she did not like to watch it anymore. It would show up in her dreams that night without fail, always with her hands reaching and that soul slipping through her fingers despite her efforts. Today, she did not need to give her nightmares any more material to work with.

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Aya did not see Eris until the battle was over. The possibility of seeing him here, of seeing the worst, had haunted her every moment since she had arrived with the rest of the healers. She never had the heart to scan the lifeless bodies for his pale, freckled face, but she also feared that she would be the last to know if something had happened to him. There was a long list of people who would take priority first.

It was a strange thing, the aftermath of battle. The air was thick, relief and mourning twining together into something heavy and difficult to breathe. Celebratory laughter and singing clashed with the solemn sounds of funeral rites and grieving songs. Metal clanged as armor and weapons were moved and cleaned, soldiers lay resting wherever they could before the journey home.

Among the chaos, a glint of red captured Aya's attention and she turned to see Eris striding across the field, armor glittering in the sun and that crimson cape billowing behind him. Her breath caught in her throat as he pivoted and his russet eyes locked on hers. The relief was immense, almost painful as she drowned in it.

Even so, she was prepared to see him turn the other way and pretend he hadn't seen her, as he had done at the High Lord's meeting. And she would be content, just knowing he had lived. But he did not look away. Eyes growing wild, he turned on his heel and rushed toward her. He pulled off his gauntlets and let them thump to the ground, hands reaching for her face the moment he was close enough.

"Sparrow," He murmured, turning her head back and forth to look for injuries. He took in her tired eyes, swiping a thumb over the purple bags and lines of dirt. "I was afraid I'd find you here. I'm so glad you're alright."

Aya was speechless, staring up at him with her lips parted as she searched for words. She was still confused, her thoughts snapping back and forth between lingering anger and relief to see him. Her skin burned under his touch, under the eyes of those that watched them as she could practically hear the gossip forming on their tongues.

"I never got to apologize," He said in a rush, his voice hoarse. He paused, tongue darting out to wet his chapped lips.

Aya’s head throbbed. She did not have room for this in her mind, today. Not for the memories of their last conversation or for whatever game he was playing now, looking at her like she was the sun when anyone could see and overhear his pet names.

Her mind was still reeling from these last days, trying to process everything she had seen and heard and felt. There had been no room for hesitation and no place for her fear, all anxiety barred from her body so as not to weigh her down. Now the fear and pain rushed back in, like predators reclaiming their territory and she was nothing but a vessel for the conflict, barely holding herself together.

So, Aya let her gaze drop from his eyes and fall to the grass, breathing deeply in an attempt to placate the beasts threatening to tear her apart.

Eris watched, and she missed the understanding dawning on his face as he studied her trembling form. He swallowed the dozens of things he wished to say and put aside his desire to extinguish the nightmare that had haunted him since the High Lord's meeting. Later. He could say it all later.

As her eyes trailed back upwards, they snagged on Eris’s hurt knee, blood dripping between the plates of armor on his leg.

"You're hurt," She said, unable to resist despite her tiredness, "Let me heal you."

"Alright," He was still for a moment as he considered protesting. But right now he'd do anything to lift even a fraction of her burden, so he picked up the gauntlets and followed after her.

She led him to a quiet tent, only a few others inside, resting or bandaging fellow healers. A few heads turned at the Autumn heir, tall and regal. And then their stares flickered to Aya, the black sheep of the Dawn Court leading the way for him. She ignored them, as she was developing quite the talent for.

"Sit," She murmured, scurrying to find a clean rag.

Eris obeyed, sitting on the edge of a cot and removing the armor from his leg to reveal his bloody knee. He watched her trembling hands, chest aching as he imagined what she may have been through. The memories of his first battle had stayed sharp through the centuries, the desolation still so heavy after all this time.

"Aya," He said when she’d returned, keeping his voice soft.

Taking the supplies from her hands and setting them aside, he reached out and took her shaking fingers in his, gently pulling her in to stand between his knees. He rubbed his thumbs over her icy knuckles, grimacing at the dried blood under her fingernails. His power was nearing the dregs, but he still willed a bit of heat to the surface to warm her skin.

She looked up at him, such sorrow in her grey eyes, and when her chin wobbled, it broke him. Aya was strong and brave and could do whatever she put her mind to. But he would still choose to keep her away from this place, too full of death and hurt and blood.

"You did well, today," He whispered.

They stayed like that for a long moment, Aya standing in the shelter of his body, absorbing his heat and all the comfort he tried to emanate. This time as she closed her eyes and took deep breaths, Eris's warmth began to wash away the terrible things she had seen. The ways she had failed. The lives that had slipped into the afterlife while she had no choice but to watch.

The burlap tent dimmed the sunshine, beams of light sneaking through ripped holes in the fabric to dapple Eris’s skin. Between those golden spots and his whiskey-brown-sugar scent, Aya could almost pretend they were somewhere else, under the canopy of the Autumn forest.

"Thank you," She murmured. Her eyes fluttered open and Eris let out a breath, relieved at the return of the steadiness he'd grown used to.

Heaving a deep sigh, Aya grabbed a cloth and began to wipe the blood from his skin. With the tender moment passed, the silence between them was heavy, charged with unsaid things. It did not help that the air was filled with the tang of blood and the cries of the injured.

Aya tossed the bloody rag into a bucket and closed her eyes once more.

Through the darkness, shapes began to emerge, that other world coming into view. Searching for his essence, she found the woven texture of Eris's tapestry. It appeared before her in all its loveliness - a gorgeous scene of Autumn woods, adorned with thread that shone like rubies. She had seen it a dozen times by now, but she was always captivated by it's beauty. By the secrets hiding between the threads.

She desperately wished to know the meaning of all of them. The hounds and the maple leaves were clear enough, but what of the birds and the chess pieces and the interlocking pattern cleverly hidden in the leaves of the trees? There were stories in all of them, pieces that made Eris who he was. Her hunger to know them had never lessened, and she was beginning to wonder if it ever would.

The section that needed fixing was interlaced with gold, and Aya found herself already equipped with a length of gold thread, wrapped around her forefinger like it was a spool.

She went to work, filling the gaps in the images and stitching down loose threads. Her magic eagerly rushed to the surface, still energized and ready. Its endlessness reminded her of the time of daily faebane doses to keep her powers from being revealed to Amarantha. The memory was bitter on her tongue, the horrid taste of faebane like a vengeful ghost.

At least now, she did not have to rush. There were no rows of beds waiting for her help. It was just Eris, patient and calm and not in any danger.

There was just enough golden thread around her finger to finish the job. But as she tried to find the end of the spool and tie off her work, she found it had wrapped in a loop in the exact place her golden band should be. Pulling on the string revealed it to be as unmoving as Edana's ring, as if it were attached to her skin. Aya tugged her hand back but the thread pulled tight, attaching her to Eris’s tapestry.

Again, she pulled, but it did not budge. A pulse traveled back down it, sending a tingling feeling through her hand, as if the tapestry had tugged back.

What was this? This was like no healing she’d ever experienced. Once more, Aya yanked as hard as she could, and heard Eris make a choking sound in front of her.

Her eyes snapped open. She was met with the image of Eris, his brows furrowed in confusion, a hand resting on his armored chest. Aya's heart stuttered, her throat closing with her rising panic. Time seemed to slow to a stop, and through the blood rushing in her ears, she heard his heartbeat. Her own echoed, calling back like a songbird.

"What's wrong?" she whispered, afraid of the answer.

"A chest pain," He said, and he shook his head, any suspicion clearing from his mind. He was oblivious.

Aya could not breathe. She closed her eyes again, willing her lungs to fill with air, and she could still see that golden thread, bridging their tapestries. She dared not pull it again, not with Eris right in front of her.

Had she done that? Had she made it herself? Was she that powerful, that she could forge a bond with her own hands?

"Are you alright?" Eris asked, eyes flicking back and forth between hers.

She ignored him, thoughts whirling faster and faster. She couldn't look at him anymore. His gaze burned, burned like fire and it hurt. The space between them was painful and her body was crying out for her to close the gap, to weave every thread of herself together with his and become one.

“I need you to go,” Aya swallowed hard. Eris opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off with an unconvincing smile and added, “I just need to lie down.”

He stared at her for a long moment, anxiety written so clearly in his eyes. It took all of the strength Aya had left not to tear away from his gaze, not to let tears rise to the surface and his hands wipe them away. The magnetic draw pulling her towards him only aided in confirming her suspicions and furthering her panic.

Finally, his lips drew into a tight line and he nodded.

“Please take care of yourself,” He said, slotting the armor back into place. At the entrance to the tent, he gave her one last glance before returning to the field.

Aya managed to wait until he had left to let the tears fall, dropping slowly to her knees and bending to let her forehead rest on the edge of the cot. What had she done?

She hadn't meant to do it. She had only been trying to heal him. Oh gods, had she trapped him, by accident?

All at once, everything that she was not flooded her mind. He deserved someone better. Someone less strange, someone people weren't afraid of. Someone smart and gorgeous with a mind for politics. Someone from Autumn, who Edana would love and welcome.

Trapped trapped trapped hammered against her skull in a steady rhythm. What had she done? Selfish selfish selfish.

She cursed her power over and over. It was not possible. It could not be possible.

And yet, she felt empty, her body acutely aware of his absence. The thread itched, begging her to chase after him and be closer. She had dreamt of a mating bond before, in the way that most young people did.

But this did not feel like a rose-tinted daydream come to life. This was another nightmare.

______________________________________

p.s. there is a metaphor in here that was especially fun to write if you can find it I'll give you a prize 👀

[comp-lady]

[FIC] An Empire From The Ashes of Old, chapter 53

An Empire From The Ashes of Old, chapter 15

Fandom: Ghost

Pairing: Copiiia, poly ghouls, the Papas and the ghouls

Characters: Copia, Terzo, The nameless ghouls, various OCs

Notes: Copia is NOT related to Terzo in this. If you have a problem with that ship take it to someone who cares, because I don’t. Your lack of imagination is not my problem.

Summary:

The Emeritus brothers are dead, and Cardinal Copia has been installed as the new front man of Ghost.The Lights, the fans screaming and singing along, the way the tension between himself and ghouls seems to melt away. Every night it’s like he’s stepping from one world to another. One where he is a better version of himself. Confident, likeable, maybe even a little bit sexy. When on stage there is some part of Copia, buried deep and long ignored, that finally feels at home. Like he is no longer alone.But eventually the ritual ends. Final bows are done and he must leave the stage. Re-enter reality. Where nothing is simple and those in power have their own plans for the Ghost Project. To whom Copia is little more than a pawn, to be moved across the board as they see fit. He can be the puppet, or he can take the more difficult path and become the Papa he was meant to be

Read it here on AO3

So this is it.

The last chapter.

I first started properly creating for fandoms somewhere in my early teens. Those early works and the computers they were written on are all lost to time. What has lasted, for well over two decades at this point, was the dream to one day create one of those giant epics I saw on Fanfiction.net. One of those 100k plus fics. I had tried so many time before and failed so many time before.

And now here it is.

I've done it.

This fandom, for as toxic as the antis can be, has been a gift. It was a solace to find in the wake of my father's death. And when I started writing this fic in the September that followed his death I did not expect this fic to be my companion for the next two years. I was so sure that something, even disinterest, would kill it before it got finished. The same way it did to a hundred other fics. Yet here I am. It's done. You know it's a big thing when finishes gives you a small existential crisis that you get to talk to your therapist about.

At the risk of sounding like some sort celebrity accepting an award I want to thank everyone that has ever commented, whether here or on Tumblr. You all are the reason I finished this fic. If I did not have the support and the comments it never would have been finished. I want to thank @acindra , who took on transcribing for me, which saves my sanity. I want to thank my friends on discord for humoring me yelling about this monster for two years.

I promise I'm not done with this series. You'll see more side fics. I have a whole Babies Ever After sequel outlined and ready to be started. So keep you eye on this space lol, as I also other fics on the burners

See y'all in the next fic

If you like my work consider leaving a tip! ☕

[creaturefeaster]

How do you go about design puppet forms for the mines? Your designs are so well thought out and intricate and it’s so cool seeing how unique they all are !! They’re definitely what I struggle with designing the most for mime ocs so I was wondering what your design process is usually like :]

Honestly, and maybe this is just me speaking from the end of a decade-long road of character design, I do not think much about it in the moment.

For some puppets, I have had some key elements floating in my head for a while before designing them-- That monkey from earlier for instance I know was A) monkey-like, and B) needed a hand at the end of their tail, for plot reasons. Otherwise I didn't actually know what I was gonna make them look like until I throw lines at the canvas and see what I end up liking. In some cases I don't even know their color, haha.

Some link up closely to their identity and gimmick as a mime. Some don't. Some are just weird and out there for the sake of being weird and out there. The one and only thing I always consider is from looking at it from the mime's perspective. Is this who they are at their core, and how does this affect what they look like, before entering reality? And that's it.

Some mimes regret their appearance after they've become physical and learn more about the connotations of their themes. Or after they go through personal changes, and are left with the echo of who they were pre-Fault showing through their puppet. Some really play into their appearance whether or not they understand it. Some are confused why they look the way they do, because they have not realised themselves yet. Some do not question it. But it's always, to a varying degree, about their core consciousness... at the time of the Fault.

I think what really makes a fun design though is good detail placement. I like to add sprinkles or stripes or dots or whatever feels appropriate, where I think it fits without being too overbearing. There's definitely a balance to a puppet design between being too simple and boring and being way over the top. But even then, that's a spectrum and puppet designs are spread across it. Maggie's simplicity vs. Holly's intricacy.

All that, plus I like bugs, animals, and clowns. So there has to be an appreciation for what you're designing. Enjoy the glory of a mushroom before designing a mime after one. It'll feel much more natural and "right" if you enjoy it.

[offorestsongs]

vampire ocs omg ,,, anyways here’s a free pass to infodump about rorik 👀🙏

VAMPIRE OCS I LOVE VAMPIRE OCS (and just. vampires in general. to the surprise of no one im assuming 😭)

anyways. thank you so much for enabling me Ian ‼️

i'll try to make it somewhat brief and also coherent, but it is past midnight for me and im not good at either of those things even when it's not the literal middle of the night 😭 . ALSO ‼️ the whole story has been living in my head for a long time and i've been constantly changing and shifting the lore so i may not have the details on everything

so basically Rorik is the main character of a story about a vampire society; it's kinda funny because i never actually planned for this universe to have an actual plot, i just wanted to create some characters and put them in situations and the plot just kinda happened on accident lmao

Rorik is,,, actually not his real name. he used many names through the ages and he likes to change them often, never feeling particularly attached to any of them, but Rorik is the one he uses with the people he's somewhat close with.

he's a trans man. he's been born a peasant in a small village in, uh, [gestures vaguely] what would be Poland at the time and what is now Ukraine. the time period is forever undecided because i keep changing my mind but he's always one of the oldest vampires in the story

he never got along with his family or anyone in the village, really. he was always... weird. always cold, never talking much or even looking at the people, seeming to always be in his own world, often questioning the rules and wandering the forests a lot instead of doing anything useful. people would say that he's talking to the devils or that he's a pagan. not that it ever bothered much ― he didn't want to live there, with those people, and if they left him alone, that was all the better.

when he wasn't helping his family during the harvest season, he worked as a maid in the estate of the lord who owned the few nearby villages (despite his importance to the story, the lord does not have a name because i could never decide on one either. sorry)

the lord was known for his eccentricities. some said he never left his house at night. or that he had a laboratory in his basement, where he did strange things. or that his face didn't seem to change despite the years. in reality, he's basically the oldest vampire in the story. so old, that he started to get bored with life and in turn, tried to find amusement in strange endeavours

Rorik had quickly caught the lord's attention, tho he never minded much the favors his employer started to bestow on him. one day, the lord cornered Rorik in the estate's chapel. he revealed his vampiric nature to Rorik. he told Rorik that he's too smart for the people around him, that they will never truly appreciate him, that eternity would allow him to become the person he was truly meant to be ― it was exactly what Rorik needed to hear and so, he allowed the lord to turn him into a vampire

after that, he stole some valuables from the estate and ran away. he was enjoying his new life for a few decades, mostly travelling around Europe and studying new things.

then basically, after some time, he ran into the lord again (supposedly on accident). the man's newest amusement was trying to organise the vampire society in Europe; try to establish rules and laws, sometimes, but mostly just stir up trouble amongst the different vampires. he asked Rorik to join him, but Rorik declined. he never liked dealing with people and so any try at politics just sounded like a headache for him

except, a part of the vampire lore here is that the person who turned a vampire can have control over them. so the lord had basically forced Rorik to be his servant again, presenting Rorik as his "perfect little wife" during the many parties for vampire aristocracy

it went on for,, a long time until slowly, over the years, Rorik had learned how to resist the commands of his creator. he waited until another one of the parties; when everybody was busy socialising, he slipped out of the room and ran away... but not before setting fire to the whole house

fire is one of the few sure ways to kill a vampire and Rorik managed to kill many of them that night, just not the one he actually wanted to.

he's spent some years hiding and hunting down the supporters of his creator that he didn't manage to kill that night, until he was caught by the vampire council (that was established by the lord, by the way) to be punished for his killings. the lord was not a part of the council by the time it happened and because of that and of some vampire politics, Rorik got a lighter punishment. the blue lines on his face mark him as a killer on his own face and work basically as a magic seal, restricting some of his vampire powers

nowdays, he's mostly focused on his revenge quest and ignoring everybody else

most art that i have of him is pretty old and embarassing to show but dhfhh i have this one

also i have this art i got on art fight one year (he's in traditional slavic clothing here <33)

Rorik is autistic. he's snappish and awful and doesn't like most people and tries to distance himself from everyone around him and is basically allergic to showing his true feelings. when he's not off to his revenge quest, he's mostly sitting up in his room or does anything else that would get him out of talking to people. he always wears his hair in a braid, as braids have a significance in slavic culture ― while he tries to distance himself from his past as much as possible, it's the only thing that he keeps. he's also very good at learning languages, he knows several of them, and can usually learn well how to talk without having a foreign accent

he's also in a complicated, on-and-off again with another vampire named Gustave :3c

and here's Gustave by himself

honestly i could talk about their relationship and also Gustave himself for hours, but this is already so long djgjfj so the tl;dr is that Gustave is kind, and a bleeding heart. before being turned into a vampire against his will by the same man that Rorik was, he was a devoted catholic and a father who became a criminal to keep the roof over his family's head. he treats being a vampire as a curse and his guilt and self-loating are almost bigger than his boobs /hj

they meet when Rorik dragged Gustave out of a river when Gustave tried to commit suicide and their lives have been entangled ever since. Gustave loves and yearns, Rorik pretends he doesn't feel the same way. it's a whole thing

so. uh. yeah. that's about it?? i guess??

[allfleetingdreams]

LORR RAIDEL

Lorr is an old OC of mine from 2010, a result of me being one of the biggest weebs back in the day lmaooo

I have not seen my old writing of his story for a decade now and so I barely remember his background, but!! He's supposed to be an assassin sent on a mission to take down 12 enemies - the Zodiac signs personified called the Brothers & Sisters - because they spread evil all over the land, but in reality it's to stop him from learning the truth that he is the 13th brother, the unspeakable one, Ophiuchus, the Serpent Bearer. Traitor of the family, but for good reasons. He can never do what he was told because that meant he was harming people. He was sent on this mission alongside an archbishop, a priestess, and another assassin he eventually becomes involved with but in reality he has fallen for the priestess - but he is avoiding her because he's involved in a dark past that caused the priestess to lose her family, although she doesn't know that.

I don't think this is a story I will revisit in the future because of how incredibly convoluted and downright ridiculous it is, but I love it despite its cringy nature, and I wouldn't be where I am today as a writer if not for this story! This is actually the second one I've finished. I've yet to talk about the first story I have ever written and finished - if I have the guts to reveal that much more preposterous mess 😂

But even though I may never rewrite the story again, I'd love to draw Lorr more in the future. Yes, his name doesn't make sense. Please forgive 14 year old me. They were just trying to have a good time even when they were bullied for being such a weirdo. Proud to say I'm still a big fucking weirdo.

[sketch-mer-6195]

Conjunx Ritus Ritual (TFP Megatron x Tempest [OC])

Prompt: While on a date, Person A very shyly touches Person B's hand and Person B reassuringly (and tightly) holds Person A's hand.

For this it would be for Tempest and Megatron beginning courting where Tempest is initially reserved and shy as she is with the Leader of the Decepticon's. Tempest reaches out to grab his servo, only to just ghost her digits close to his as she feels that it would show her being weak. But on the contrary, Megatron takes her servo in his own while among other Decepticon's to show that she is his Conjunx.

Enjoy~

Taglist: @mysticboombox @saberstars @sometimesshattered

Though through a war and gaining final preparations to leave their dying planet, there had been a new addition to the rankings in the Decepticon's ranks for Megatron had chosen a mate. A former Autobot Elite Guard now aligned with the Decepticon's and a formidable fighter and strategists. Tempest, formerly known as Skystreak. Her skills in the pits of Kaon, her growth and loyalty to the cause, and her newly rebuilt form had made her a great asset. But also gained the attention of her one true leader, Megatron. So much that he had written her poetry and placed the data pad where only she would find it. And soon proposing that they become Conjunx Endura, following the Conjunx Ritus to become official.

But it wasn't as easy as war raged on and both the Autobot's and Decepticon's continued to fight. It wasn’t until both sides abandoned the planet Cybertron that both Megatron and Tempest began the ritual.

It had been over a decade that they had been on the Nemesis and hunting for the Autobot's, but it was a slow process it seemed. It gave Megatron some spare time to be with his new young queen, Tempest. She had been training under Dreadwing and Skyquake in one of the training halls where Megatron had entered to observe his mate's skills being sharpened and honed. Her sword in full view replacing her left servo, her right servo clenched tightly into a fist. She was sparring with Skyquake who was just as strong strength wise as Megatron, but dared not to harm his queen.

“Dreadwing, how is our queen?” Megatron stood beside the Elite Guard who was observing the sparring match.

“She is keeping time with Skyquake. Though I fear that she is not ready for being on the battlefield.” Dreadwing replied with honesty.

Surprised by Dreadwing's response, Megatron was going to put his theory to the test. As he walked towards the two sparring, he unsheathed his own sword under his fusion cannon and walked behind Tempest. As he raised his sword to land a blow, Tempest noticed the shadow behind her and spun around to block his attack. Her byzantine optics glowed with fury, but soon dimmed when she realized it was her mate.

“My lord!” Pulling away, she dropped to a knee and bowed her head in deep respect. “My apologies, I didn't know it was you who entered.”

“You did well, my queen. For you may never know who is behind and attack you.” Megatron explained.

As he retracted his sword, Tempest stood up and retracted her own sword. With a simple hum, Megatron turned to leave the training hall with Tempest in tow. It looked like obedience to Skyquake and Dreadwing, but in reality it was their time to be alone and without distraction that Megatron and his queen had time together. With the halls empty and just the two of them by their lonesome, it was a comfortable silence that they had grown accustomed to which brought a small smile to their faceplates.

“It has been some time since we have had the opportunity to be in each other's presence.” Megatron spoke, though his voice was hoarse it was so gentle to Tempest.

Gazing up to him, she still felt her tanks twist and flop at how such a tyrant would still present a uniquely loving smirk her way. He was ruthless and a warlord, yet he would place it to the side for just a moment to express his gratitude and true devotion to his queen. Tempest bowed her head and smiled back.

“It has, and I look forward to these moments when we have a semblance of silence and peace.”

The two slowed to a stop where they felt comfortable to break their walls down and follow through with the first ritual of being intimate. Although he had always kept her close and laid his servos on her shoulders or back, both she and Megatron knew they had not completed the first part of their Conjunx Ritus. To hold each other’s servo's or a simple hug meant a great deal to be each other's spouse. But as the thought of continuing with the ritual.

“Lord Megatron!”

The screech of the First Lieutenant, Starscream. How it pained her to hear his obnoxious voice disrupt their only shared time. Both put their walls back up and looked upon Starscream with an annoyed shared look.

“What is it, Starscream?” Megatron barked.

“Master, I have located intel that the Wreckers base is on a neighboring planet only ten lightyears away.” Starscream explained with such glee it sickened Tempest to her core.

Megatron was already intrigued and began to follow Starscream to the bridge, Tempest quietly following behind with a sour look. For the first time in years, they were close to finally starting to become a pair only for it to be thwarted once more. Once on the bridge and saluted by vehicons and Soundwave, Tempest turned off her audials and blocked out all sounds. Soundwave would recap any important information if she asked, but her optics fell to Megatron's servo. His right one, with the fusion cannon and sword. To show power and might. Absent-mindedly, she slowly reached to his open and sharp servo but flinched as she noticed Starscream looking at her actions oddly.

But it was not unnoticed by Megatron. Nothing goes by Megatron without his say so. As quick as he was, he saw Tempest's servo retract from his own. The slightest touch was what caught his attention originally. And he hoped she would slip into his awaiting servo. But she was not respected and seen as his queen. She was still shy even though she held herself at such a high standard. She was not wanting to be shown as weak and desperate, but strong and unmoving like Megatron.

And he was going to reassure her.

Grasping her servo into his own, he made Tempest gasp and look up at Megatron with such shock that it gave him time to pull her to his side and bring her servo to his dermas to place a kiss into her palm. Openly. In front of the crew. He was to display that she was his and his alone. That they are one. And that she is to be respected as such. Her cooling fans began to whirl which caused a more seductive and charming smirk play on Megatron's dermas.

“Uh, master?” Starscream asked. “The plan of attack-”

“You may discuss it while in the presence of your queen.” Megatron reassured him before lowering their intertwined servos.

Tempest smiled proudly and then shot a sly smile at Starscream. Maybe being queen and letting the Ritus take its course wasn't going to be as bad as she thought it was.

If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know in the comments!

[laugtherhyena]

OCs are a funny thing where you start off with this initial idea that you're pretty down for, but as you develop them a bit more and maybe even sit down to design them, you realize that they're giving off a different vibe or you come up with a different idea that seems more suitable for character. Bonus points if this is an old OC that you had when you were younger and they end up changing a lot over the years as you grow older and become more mature as both a person and a creator.

This is kinda what happened with my OC, Hiro, as she used to be this creepy kid that came back from the dead after a few decades and was okay with murder as a form of justice. But nowadays she's a kid that comes off as creepy when in reality she's just a depressed kid that's desperately in need of help and support in a time where everything had changed since she's been dead for a few decades and is struggling to adjust to the modern setting after reviving herself. And she hates murder in general now. Her concept was still technically the same, it's just the surrounding details about her that changed a lot.

(Interesting to know that Hitaru was going to be a lot more spoiled and like her parents since she's never been abused like the rest of her siblings. It would certainly hammer home the idea of continuing the cycle one way or another, but I like who Hitaru is now. She's so sweet and I wanted to destroy Mrs. Nijiue SO BADLY the more I learned about her and her husband.)

THAT'S LIKE,, THE FUNNIEST INSTANCES OF THIS HAPPENING the oc does a 180 and becomes the complete opposite of the idea you crested them for in the first place, absolutely insane.

Yeah if i had kept her as an asshole it would show how sometimes the cycle just can't be broken but i think she's much more interesting the way she is not because it's surprising? In a way? Like, this is the oldest of the Nijiue siblings and the one born with a natural talent for arts so you'd expect that she would be treated the best by the parents and take after them due to that but Hitaru has it just as badly as her siblings and took it upon herself to not be like the parents and help them in the only ways she could while being in such a terrible situation. It's a nice break of expectations i think

Akemi also charged a lot from my original idea for the character, she was a lot meaner when i first created her for voidswap and genuinely looked up to the parents and wanted to impress them for the attention he never received from them, but then Mod Bubbles picked the siblings up for Asoot and it led to her becoming a much nicer and nuanced character which is really cool because i think that's the first time an oc of mine changed because of my friend's ideas rather than something stemming solely from me so that's fun

I guess we could include Beni in this list too, but also not really? Because Beni herself really hasn't had major changes to her character ever since creation, she's remained largely the same, i just added more and more stuff to her

Even her design has been pretty much the same ever since this first sketch lmao

The thing is that before she came into my mind i had this different idea for a character which was this girl who woked at the foundation's police division alongside Ryutaro and Keisuke and she was this scaredy cat type character that was always stressed and hated her job, but I wasn't super into the idea and the design i had in mind just looked a lot like Maki + i wanted someone that could have some form of connection to the Dra so cue to me remembering Kanata had a younger siblings and coming up with Beni after i checked the list just to be sure

(Also dude do you have posts of any kind about Hiro and whatever world she comes from? It's such an interesting concept I'd love to hear more about it 👀)

[darsynia]

Could you do a Bucky/OC one based off of the phrase "How the hell are you here right now?"

This got smutty AND all up in the feels. I hope you enjoy!

Summary: “I won’t go back,” he says. His chest feels as hard as the vibranium that has built this place of refuge. Lyza is no foe, but she’s usually paid by one. Length/Warnings: 931 words / Oral sex, male receiving MINORS DNI Fill: @allcapsbingo square 'the 1970's'

Note: I think this story kind of fell flat when I first posted, because the implications of Bucky/OC and the previous summary implied some kind of relationship that would preclude any other. Lyza is definitely not a girlfriend, hardly a lover. This is a story about Bucky realizing the difference between his HYDRA life and the Avenger he's becoming.

Oath of the Betrayed One

When he’s deep in cryo, he dreams of her.

He was awake a lot in the seventies, enough that his handlers worried he’d figure out what he was missing, so they’d found/hired/recruited Lyza cel Tradat to soothe him. A prize. Bucky knew it wasn’t her real name-- hell, ‘cel Tradat’ means ‘betrayed one,’ and she’d once told him that Lyza meant ‘oath.’

Bucky very much enjoyed fucking the oath of the betrayed one.

How he was able to remember her, he doesn’t know, but he figures it has to do with the way human memory works. His dreams of Lyza reinforced her reality, and now he’s standing in a field in Wakanda, and she’s walking toward him.

Except, she can’t be, because she’s every bit as wiry and beautiful as she had been in ‘73, when he’d committed an assassination every few months and came back to weeks on a beach with her before the ice again.

“How the hell are you here right now?” he asks when she’s close enough to catch the words. His arm isn’t even here right now, but Lyza is. She’s got on a swimsuit coverup over tiny white shorts and a tube top no one’s worn for decades. No bra, no shoes, too much eyeshadow, too much hair, that’s Lyza.

“I’m not. You’re dreaming again,” she says with an artful shrug. The fringed silk slips off of her shoulder, and Bucky reaches out to touch her, half expecting his hand to pass right through. 

It doesn’t. She’s warm, vital, and he shivers. If she’s right, why is she right? He doesn’t remember why he’d let that happen again, not now that he’s free of HYDRA, not now that he’s got Steve back. He trusts the people of Wakanda, and their trust means the world to him.

“Shhhh,” Lyza says, resting both forearms on his shoulders like she always does. She smells like sunshine.

“I won’t go back,” he says. His chest feels as hard as the vibranium that has built this place of refuge. Lyza is no foe, but she’s usually paid by one. For the first time, Bucky wonders if she’s some kind of construct, if those lazy pleasures they’d shared in the sand were a dream, too.

Was her name a hint, all along?

“You don’t have to, I promise,” Lyza says, trailing a languid hand down his chest toward his waistband. “This is another reward.”

He catches her hand as she starts on his buckle, squeezes hard. She doesn’t flinch, because she isn’t, can’t be real.

“Who sent you?” Bucky grits out. He’s a weapon who wields himself, now, but for all his bravado, he fears the answer to his question.

Lyza sinks down to her knees, head tipped back, unafraid as always. “You did. As a goodbye. A goodbye and a reward.” She leans forward, nuzzles at his crotch with a hum of approval. “I love that you’re sweaty and worn out, even in your dreams.”

Real or not, she knows just how to please him. His grip on her loosens, and Lyza takes advantage, finishes what she’d started. It’s a sultry commentary on truth, because if this weren’t a dream, he’d never insult his hosts by letting her strip him in broad daylight.

Fuck, but her mouth is perfect, even if nothing else around them is. It’s too hot, they’re too exposed, the wind is blowing the wrong way so her long, long hair is tickling his bare thigh, he’s about to lose his balance and--

Bucky tips his head back and stares at the sun above. His breath is coming in short gasps as Lyza’s hands and mouth trigger ten, fifteen, fifty memories that may or may not be real. All of them are more perfect than this one, but this is the one he’s rewarded himself with, because he remembers, now.

He’d chosen the ice, this time. To give his hosts time to figure out how to save him. To take part in saving himself.

“That’s right, let go,” Lyza coaxes, reaching for his hand. She wraps her silken hair around his fist, and Bucky lets himself look down at her. Her mascara’s running, lips stretched around him, imperfectly perfect, just right. “Use me,” she says, and he is, but more like a salve than a slave.

With a very great effort, Bucky stops her. He needs to know before the dream ends, and in his experience, most dreams end before the climax. 

“Was any of it real?”

“I’m sorry, Buck. It was all real. All of it.”

She doesn't just mean sex on the beach.

It’s the worst possible response, but it’s the one he deserves, Bucky thinks. “How do I wake up?” he rasps. He feels naked, but not because of what she’s been doing, and not because he’s given up the arm for now.

“Trust,” dream-Lyza says, her smile warm and reassuring.

“Well, shit,” Bucky smiles, with multiple decades’ worth of regretful humor.

“Trust you can finish what you started,” she continues, pressing a meaningful kiss to his thigh.

Bucky thinks about Steve, how grateful he is to have found him again. He thinks about the nobility of T’Challa’s grief, about how much faith in second chances it took to allow Bucky to convalesce in Wakanda. As he pushes his thoughts toward how to make amends, Lyza takes him in her mouth again, and the pleasure mitigates the pain of those thoughts so perfectly that he finally believes her.

The real Lyza is gone. So is the man HYDRA forced him to become.

[jasmariswonderland]

🌙Sweet Dreams of my Twst OCs Part 2🌙

PART ONE HERE

“You will become the protagonists of your own fairy tales…”

Hello everyone!

So…how about that most recent update in EN?! With everyone on the Isle of Sages currently in a deep slumber, I thought it’d be fun to explore just what my ocs are dreaming of. So I’ll be devoting the next few days of posts to just that! This part will be devoted to my four Pomefiore ocs. 

What is your oc’s ideal dream world?

~~~

Danica’s dream begins during spring break, she and Vil visit Pyroxene together. On their first night, they attend a production of Don Quixote by the Pyroxene Royal Ballet, with Fiona playing the principal female role. In Danica’s perfect dream world, Fiona is still alive and her ballet career is flourishing. She’s still the main face of Ledelle Cosmetics but encourages Danica’s desire to have more of a hand in helping their parents with the company. The day after the performance, Danica takes part in a spring promotional photoshoot and another commercial filming for her family. 

In real life, she did this with Neige (again), much to her and Vil’s dismay. But in this perfect dream world, Danica does this spring promotion with Fiona by her side. The sisters truly enjoy working together and the spring promotion is a massive success. Their parents are also much kinder and more supportive of Danica without having to constantly compare her to Fiona. Toward the end of spring break, Vil takes Danica to meet his father and he takes her jewelry shopping. Their relationship also flourishes and in this dream world, Danica never makes her transfer to Diasomnia, because the events between books 6 and 7 never happened.

It probably goes unsaid that in Sidonie’s perfect dream world, she is Pomefiore’s dorm leader. While she has found some fufillment as Vil’s vice dorm leader post book 6, taking his place is still her true goal. So her dream begins with the announcement that Vil has decided to step down. There is great pomp in her accession with Vil removing his crown and ceremoniously placing it upon her head. He tells her that while he didn’t think much of her at first, over the last year and a half, she has proven her intelligence and tenacity has earned Vil’s respect. He's confident he’s leaving Pomefiore in good hands. 

Afterward, the dorm holds a reception in her honor and Trey and Sinclair congratulate her on her promotion. When asked who she has in mind for her vice dorm leader, Sidonie says she’s thinking about either Farron or Epel. Of all my oc’s dreams, Sidonie’s is the one most likely to become reality in time. 

Like Taima, Farron’s life is already pretty satisfying. There are some things that could be better, but for the most part, Farron is pretty happy. But there is one thing in Farron’s life that he wishes could be different. One thing he wishes for more than anything else in the world. His dream begins with him, Sidonie, Danica and Maximilian sitting together at the spelldrive championship between NRC and RSA. Danica and Maximilian cheer wildly for Heloise when she takes the field but Farron is only watching Andrew who, in Farron’s perfect dream world, is an NRC student playing on their team.

 Andrew initially wanted to attend NRC but it’s implied that he couldn’t afford to go and the headmage of RSA offered him a full scholarship to play spelldrive. Andrew’s skills prove instrumental and for the first time in decades, NRC wins. At the celebrations later while everyone is congratulating Andrew and the other NRC players, Andrew opts to spend most of his time with Farron, culminating with them finally sharing their first kiss. Little does Farron know, somewhere else on the Isle of Sages, Andrew is dreaming of something very similar, with Farron being the one to attend RSA. 

Maximilian is another one who is pretty satisfied with his life and any changes he’d make aren’t very dire. His dream also begins during spring break with Jade and Floyd inviting him to visit the Coral Sea. Jade gives Maximilian a potion to help him breathe underwater and he has an incredible time exploring the ocean and collecting gems and other minerals that can’t be found on land. 

[karekuat]

Call of the Witch

I did a short creative writing piece from the perspective of my Bloodborne OC. If you don't know much about Bloodborne lore it probably won't make much sense, but it follows my character from the Hamlet as he's sealed asleep.

I don't tend to write a lot, and I'm not like super confident in my writing but I'm okay with how it turned out so I figured I'd post it cuz why not

Headsup warning that this ofc involves some of my headcanons/interpretations of the Bloodborne Lore

I slumbered…

I watched them through their nightmares. It was the only place I could open my eyes. See, nightmares tend to mirror the reality, with the fine details only being slightly warped by fear and greed. I understood the world as it had progressed around me, and there was a deep burning inside my heart. 

It seemed sickening to me, that there was a clear double standard nobody living within the wretched city of Yharnam dared to confront. That the monsters they purged every night on the hunt were treated the same as the ones who live in hamlets far away. For them it was a disease, the mistake of filthy intemperance made manifest under the guise of faith, and for us it was a blessing, it brought abundance and life. And yet, in the eyes of the envious, our monsters were the same as theirs. 

Perhaps I am being too inconsiderate. 

Over the years I have watched the hunters evolve over generations, from scholars to priests, and I have only seen the same cycle of abuse as Yharnam matured into the hell it is today. The vilebloods, Kos rest their soul, struggle to keep their kind alive as they hide in the shadows. Their Queen lies eternally imprisoned. Yharnamites both poor and wealthy succumb to the illness, victims of the institution dedicated to their health. There are only a handful of souls who I’ve found carrying within them a sense of justice, who see with eyes unclouded by faith and fortune.

When I watch them, I smell smoke and gunpowder. I feel the fear of slow poison and the warmth of flames. Their monsters are their people. It reminds me of home. 

I called out…

For the first time in what felt like decades, the burning felt bright. I could almost feel my body again. There was a man amongst these smoke-scented hunters who’s mind felt balanced. He was not opposed to violence as a means of justice, not unlike the others, but he carried within him a sense of morality and soulful strength that was… Different.

I called to him. Gentle. He would not hear my voice in the way he’d think his own thoughts, he was not the first person I’d spoken to in this state. Others had perceived me like a song they’d never heard before, or the sound of rain during a clear day. He would not see me, but he would know my presence. I beckoned his thoughts when he was asleep, and I learned of him, of his family and desires. I learned his skill and his craftsmanship. 

While I’m sure he had felt offput the first few times I approached him in his dreams, as time went on it seemed almost as if he enjoyed my company during the resting hours. His mind would open to me every night in a welcoming effort to connect to my presence. I could exist comfortably in both his dreams and nightmares. He wouldn’t fight me. 

I need to wake up…

There was a lurking desperation I felt every time I sensed the moon rise. My existence in the waking world was that of darkness. My body was numb. I could not see nor use my voice. Sometimes, when I tried, I could hear the sound of rain and thunder in the hamlet outside. There was always the presence of two with me, but they were not comforting. They’d been appointed there to make sure I never woke up. 

In the beginning I had tried to beckon them in their dreams, but they’d quickly become aware of my efforts and had their allies develop new substances to keep me out. 

Those who used the substances sparingly did so because their hatred and fear outweighed their guilt. They had nightmares about me breaking loose. Waking from my forced slumber and killing them with their own sins. In their dying moments they’d watch me emerge from where they had kept me sedated: a dark cave blocked off by an intricately carved door, water flooding down into my cell. The cavern path led to the basement of a hamlet house that was boarded up from the inside. The only entrance was through a window on the second floor, and a trap laid in wait for any who dared to seek my prison.

I knew all of this because they knew all of this, and in those nightmares I would venture past the hamlet and return to Yharnam to bring vengeance to those responsible for the death of my people and Our Mother. 

It was the only time I felt peace… 

[irkimatsu]

Thinking about my Hazbin OC before bed...

They were a hi-NRG/freestyle singer in the mid 80's - early 90's. Think Dead Or Alive, 80's Kylie, Stacey Q, Shannon... they had one or two hits in their peak before being largely forgotten outside people who are still into that style of music decades later. Their career was highly controlled, but they had fun! They had a nice voice, could have been a more "serious" artist, but they liked the club scene just fine. They stuck in there until the early-to-mid 90's, as their genre started to fade and newer, younger starlets started to move in. Their label didn't want a washed up one-hit-wonder anymore, so they were dropped, and their career halted there. The idea that they were now "too old" to have fun and had to get a "real job" freaked them out, and they went a little nuts. By the time 2000 rolled around, they were nothing more than a footnote, an 80's curiosity who released some cheesy music, disappeared from the public consciousness for a few years, then resurfaced in an alleyway overdosed on pills. The crazy lives of those 80's OHWs, man.

Their demon form is a squirrel and their outfit is reminiscent of the wild fashion they wore as a singer, but in grayscale colors. A brightened wardrobe over time could indicate character development. (Giant 80's hair?)

They party a bit when they first get to hell, but by the time they arrive at the hotel they're super reserved, trying to avoid sex, substances, any sort of vice. The others think they're a prude, but in reality they're trying to prevent themselves from another meltdown. They see how people like Angel are doing, they don't want to go back there. (They will eventually relapse a few times, and everyone is horrified to see what they become on pills. They look like they're having fun, I guess, but Jesus Christ.)

They're immensely bitter about the entertainment industry that threw them away like trash, but deep down they do miss being a performer. They liked the attention, and they loved the music. Hopefully they find a nice disco in Hell somewhere.

Maybe works for Velvette somehow?

They identified as a cis woman for the whole time they were alive, but eventually began to embrace the "genderless" label while in hell. Part of this is discomfort with the femininity that their producers pushed on them back then, but even if not for that they're simply happier considering gender as an abstract concept that's irrelevant to them.

Yes, they'll be shipped with Husk. Husk is the first one to realize, in private, that the prudish squirrel who turned up at the hotel a few months ago is a Fucking Freak in bed. This works for both of them, though if anyone besides Husk finds out then OC will sink into the floor and never come back. (Angel will find out somehow.)

Still need to name them. Project for self, find a living name that would fit an 80's Hi-NRG singer, along with a stage name they continue using in Hell because that was Them, Real Name died the instant their first hit climbed the charts, they don't know how to be Real Name anymore, they tried it in the 90's and look how that turned out.

Would it be awful if I wanted them to meet up with famous dead Hi-NRG stars. OC, Angel Dust, and Pete Burns would make an amazing power trio. Also, tasteless jokes from Pete. "Dead Or Alive? We're in hell, we know the answer now!"

[staring-at-my-keyboard]

Rambling about my OCs!

Disclaimer: I may update/change a few things here on occasion

Brief rundown

Thomas and Atlas are romantic partners living in Fallen London, which is basically Victorian London: cosmic horror edition and also underground (from the browser game of the same name. You should give it a try)!

For those familiar, Atlas is based off my player character and Thomas is a combination of the Exquisite Beauty and the Master Jewel Thief with my own ideas thrown in.

They live in a shared apartment and pay rent through Atlas' artistic commissions and Thomas' only somewhat modest family wealth, along with his more illicit hobby of theft.

The setting, Fallen London

Like I said before, it's a slightly more horrific Victorian London, taking place specifically in 1899. It was stolen underground by bats over 30 years beforehand, and has since adapted to its new surroundings and rulers. The city and what surrounds it- the Unterzee, the scattered islands therein, the Elder Continent...- are in the Neath, which operates by different rules than the Surface when it comes to more abstract concepts like death and sanity. That is to say, they have a rather more transient nature.

Also, the Empress decreed London shall never pass into the 20th century, so it is always 1899.

I only comprehend about 1/5 of the lore and have only had this game for a year so please don't expect complete accuracy to the Neathverse in my writing.

Atlas

Pronouns: he/they

Gender:

Age: definitely somewhere North of 25, most likely somewhere South of 30 (he lost track)

Story: Not native to the Neath, he originally made his way downwards seeking to avenge the death of his brother, whose murderer he pursued to Fallen London. As he got swept up into chaotic city life, while hunting his brother’s killer he discovered his love for archaeology and investigation, along with a keen interest in the Correspondence. His studies and interests and occasional PI work, not to mention his entire reason for entering the Neath, lets little time for social conventions. His odd demeanor and questionable ability to properly dress for formal occasions leaves him with few friends and little tolerance from the wealthy. Nevertheless, he wound up firmly entrenched within the throngs of the upper echelons of the population rather on accident-- his self-published writings caught the attention of the right people, and his commissioned works kept it. Seen as a genius (and sometimes even believing it), writing novels and plays or composing orchestras for the Empress' Court becomes a large source of his income. However, he still never finds himself attaining the complete respect of high society— when independent, he is as likely to publish a remarkable philosophical contemplation as he is to write a collection of sensational penny-dreadfuls, and his ability to navigate the labyrinthine tribulations known as polite conversation tends to randomly swing from breathtakingly charming to staggeringly uncouth, and everywhere in-between. He misses wind and Sunlight and flowers and rain, but refuses to regret his decision- he has already died and came back in the Neath, he cannot return to the Surface now.

Miscellaneous: he has incredibly frequent nightmares coupled by occasional lapses in reality. some call them "the burden of genius," he calls them "a bloody irritating ordeal of little meaning".

He has been stabbed 3 separate times for 3 separate reasons: once by an academic rival, once in a mugging gone wrong, and once by a serial killer.

Due to his studies of the Correspondence, a forbidden language that literally and figuratively burns, his hands are covered in scars.

Thomas

Pronouns: he/him

Gender: cis male

Age: 31

Story: Born in London less than a decade after the Fall, his family was perfectly content with the city's new situation and he, therefore, never experienced much interest in the Surface he had never experienced. A beloved socialite and heir to a fortune, he has been surrounded by the privileged and proper his entire life. As a result of this he is incredibly charismatic, often hiding his true opinions and feelings beneath a toothy smile and flattering remark. In reality he is quite fickle, and it is rare for him to come across someone whose company he genuinely enjoys. He garners frequent attention from the Empress' Court, his looks and comportment earning him the title of 'Alluring Scion' (formerly 'Acclaimed Beauty'). Growing bored of trivial Court politics, sick of constant scrutiny, and having read one too many crime thrillers, he found himself becoming an occasional jewel thief. Said pastime is also a method to exercise his intelligence in a manner more thrilling than inconsequential academic debate against those attempting to seem smarter than they are. He has little need for extra wealth, and only commits his acts of larceny for the sake of testing himself or pettiness-- whether that be by knocking jewelers he dislikes down a peg or assessing his capabilities against museums' security. He has little knowledge of the world beyond consuming art and innumerable banquets, fêtes, and soirées, having never had any need to emerge from his sheltered life.

Miscellaneous: he has insomnia, and an insatiable love of penny-dreadfuls, much to the scorn of his peers. So, most nights he finds himself up until the wee hours of the morning reading something with a questionably designed cover and even more questionable plot, and stacks of them are a lasting presence on his nightstand. Every street vendor knows him by name.

His parents having made him learn fisticuffs throughout his entire childhood combined with his current life means he is deceptively dangerous, and that despite his mien he can be impulsive to a physical degree when it comes to matters he cares about.

His parents also sold their souls before he was born for the sake of wealth and good standing with the powerful faction of Hell.

[nanjokei]

some oc "verses" i have (verses? stories? idk)

too complicated to explain without a decade of context so i wont for now

high school detective story where everyone is stuck in a time loop. they keep repeating the same cases over and over until it gets kinda comfy, and both detectives (both girls btw, and yes there is _something_ there but watch out) are differing degrees of The Joker, but eventually the routine is broken and it becomes apparent that theres Other Stuff is going on and there are a few others who are aware of the looping to their own ends. anyway one of the detectives is actually the one who trapped them there because Reasons. tbh the setting is a bit weak bc i came up with it as a teenager but i like it too much to rework it&lt;-you can ask about this one but im shy

famous people of varying levels of noteriety are kidnapped and made to participate in a reality television show where death is on the table. three characters present are estranged childhood friends with A Past. the two above are linked to this, it shares characters and setting all the way through. most prominently several characters from the bullet point before this are involved. one of the main characters is the younger brother of someone involved also. im not sure what the endgame of this one is but theres timeloop bullshit in this one also&lt;-this ones messy but you can ask probably

everything is linked through the same metaverse (its a long story) but all together there are some stuff that are less loosely connected. also yeah due to it all being a part of the same metaverse thats why sometimes there is time loop bullshit. also um... a lot of higher beings messing with people for no reason

more fantasy premise and a little more gag. kind of? but a hero coming down from a line of chosen heroes is dispatched to the line of duty to vanquish.. some kind of evil (no one is even sure what) but right in the beginning someone sets the convent he was picking up his companion from on fire. theyre seperated and he is accompanied by a different woman instead. from then on he ends up picking up nothing but the "wrong" party members, specifically people who are actually supposed to be bosses. meanwhile the actual proper party members to be become enemies. i really like this one. &lt;-if you ask me about it i will probably tell you more

magical girl thing, idk, to be honest i made this one up when i was 16 so i dont like the concept that much, it was edgy but didnt make sense, i wanna rework it so the characters arent high schoolers anymore. its nothing objectionable just cringe in a way that isnt fun. so i dont have much to say about it, but it also exists as an arcade game in the main timeline thing so im mentioning it

mecha premise, when aliens come down to challenge earth into a fight to extinction FOR FUN, supplying them with all manner of advanced technology and blueprints to build giant mechs to level the playing field. this was kept a secret, kinda like some area 51 shit. decades later in 2011, a number of young adults (18~26) who have specific traits as outlined by the aliens are put into cryonic sleep. they were promised it'd be for 25 years, but the project stalled, and then a world war broke out, and the waiting time ended up actually being nearly a century. they wake up to a delipidated base with very few actual staff, to the point where most of them have to become bridge bunnies, and many of the things promised to them in the future turned out to not be possible (for example one of the candidates was terminally ill and was promised a cure, or even just a proper diagnosis but woke up only to be given a medicine to treat it indefinitely and with no promise of continued effectiveness). there is also a little time loop bullshit here. sorry. also the government also made their own mechs and end up poaching a few from the candidates throughout the story. later on Something secret happens sorry i wont say. &lt;-i might tell you more if you ask about this one because i like it very much also. but also because its the newest

@nanjokei

[theboardwalkbody]

Tentatively Titled: Bear With Me Fandom: The Bear Authors Notes: Below the cut is the first half of a chapter for a The Bear fic I had started. I planned on finishing this chapter but I am feeling sick so I can't concentrate but I wanted to have this out there before s2 blows it all out of the water. It is inspired by a tiktok clip of another restaurant-based movie I can't remember the name of at the moment.

Right now it is written as 'You' and not OC but I was considering changing that to flesh them out more instead of needing to keep things vague (I dont feel it sits right to give You-characters any details if they're supposed to be for any and all readers). So yeah - this 'You' has background info and details so thinking about naming them later.

Its also general/no-pairing in this part (again, its only half a chapter) but it is intended to become a fic with a main pairing with Carmy. (Honestly it was supposed to start in the second half of this chapter but I really dont feel good and the screen hurts to look at).

So anyway, enjoy this little snippet - if anyone wants more I'll see what I can do - but s2 may make me abandon idk lol

The Original Beef underwent renovations and re-opened as The Bear. Among the changes instituted by Carmen Berzatto was the addition of a larger dining room which opened up a couple positions for servers. Having decided to go back to college you needed a part-time job in order to be able to keep up with your car payments, online streaming subscriptions, and other pesky things like groceries and rent after having to leave your full-time position due to lack of flexibility. After a month of being denied from over a dozen places you put your application in to this recently renovated restaurant across town expecting to be denied like the others, but to your surprise, you were called back within the day. So you began making the thirty-five minute commute from your place to work four times a week. The work was as expected: wait tables, clean up, help answer phones, take payments; five star customer service. What wasn't expected was the atmosphere.

You've worked customer service and retail for a decade. You thought you had beaten your social anxiety, at least enough to function at work, but it was proving difficult to manage lately. You tried lying to yourself; its just new job jitters, made worse by having been out of the customer service (at least in public) game for a couple years and instead sitting in a small cubicle reading over insurance claims. At least that's what you told them. In reality you were a vocational nurse for the last three years but you felt that if you put that on your resume you would be overlooked and you were too desperate to be without pay until someone would hire you. You knew the truth, however, behind the anxiety. It was the constant exposure to one of your worst triggers: Yelling. Specifically, men yelling. You were on edge constantly. Always wondering when the yelling would start - the kitchen staff often yelled to each other - and dreading the days when you worked the same shift as Richie. The manager was the worst offender, it was as if he only had one volume setting. Even when the yelling wasn't hostile it was still stressful. You would remain hypervigilant and tune in to hear every word from anywhere in the restaurant so you would be prepared if the yelling ever took on a aggressive tone, to be prepared if things ever became violent.

You stayed quiet for the most part. The rest of the staff started calling you "our very own kitchen mouse". That you didn't mind, you honestly thought it was pretty cute. The thing that did bother you, nearly constantly, was your damn stomach. The anxiety causing you to feel nauseous nearly every day. Add in to that feeling tired nearly all the time between classes, having work, and the fact that the anxiety on work nights would not let you sleep at all.

A month of this was taking its toll on you. You weren't sure how much longer you would be able to stay here.

It was a Friday night. It was busier than normal and there seemed to be a constant stream of incidents. A jammed receipt printer causing a customer to become short with you, a customer trying to call in to place a to-go order but the call being dropped multiple times until they eventually gave up but not before calling back one more time to blame the inconvenience on you, a customer knocking their glass off the table and you needing to clean it while not falling behind on your tables. You blamed it on the full moon.

"Order in for Table 4, Chefs," you announced, placing the order ticket in the line of others, and walking back out to check in on your other tables.

Walking back out to the dining room you were suddenly met with calls of 'hey waitress!' and snapping.

You rolled your eyes and groaned internally before turning towards the sound and plastering a smile on your face. Walking over to the table you asked, "Yes, sir, how can I help you?" "This is cold, I need you to take it off my bill," the man said.

You looked down at the plate - a pasta and meat dish that was very obviously nearly finished - and then back at the customer.

"I am sorry to hear that, sir. I can offer you a new plate, but I can not comp the meal. If it was unsatisfactory when you received it you should have let someone know, I can not take the meal off with it having been more than halfway eaten. I apologize," you explained. "What if I didn't eat it?" the man snapped. "I'm sorry, sir?" you weren't following. "I said - What if I didn't eat it? What if I am telling you that I threw the rest of it out and that is just what is left stuck to the plate." he countered. "Again, sir, I apologize but at this point I can not --"

The man began arguing. Obviously unhappy with you not giving in to his demands he started shouting and insulting you. You felt your face get hot with anxiety and your stomach was bad enough you felt like you were about to vomit. You started chewing on the inside of your cheek and your eyes stung as he called you names and belittled you. You were glued to the spot unable to muster up the courage to turn and walk away, worried it would make matters worse. The last straw was the man reaching across the table, grabbing your hand, and placing it in his dish of partially eaten food.

"Doesn't that feel cold to you? You incompetent bitch?" he yelled at you.

Trembling you pulled your hand out of the food and grabbed the dish. You picked it up and with a cracked voice replied, "sorry, sir, I'll take care of it," before turning and walking the dish back to the kitchen.

The tears stung your eyes and you tried not to blink, knowing if you did they would fall. You tried to remain professional. You were so lost in your own anxious thoughts that it was almost as if you could hear nothing as you walked to the kitchen.

'Your fault, your fault, your fault,' circled around in your head drowning out everything else.

You pushed the doors open and placed the dish down near the sink. You couldn't comp the meal, despite anything you said to the man to placate him. You figured you would pay for it yourself that way he would stop yelling and you wouldn't have to involve Carmen, who was currently acting as head chef and manager since Richie was running late. Something you had been grateful for up until now.

You were about to make your way to the restroom to wash the pasta sauce off your hands and wipe your eyes, thinking no one even noticed you come in to the kitchen at all, when you heard Carmen's voice call out,

"Why is she crying?"

You were pretty sure you were going to pass out. All eyes turned towards you now.

Manny was closest to you and now that he was paying attention he noticed how red and watery your eyes were and asked, "you okay, Mouse?" He caught a glimpse of the red sauce on your hand and mistook it for blood as he suddenly called out, "She's bleeding! Grab the first aid kit its bad!"

'Fuck,' you cursed in your head. The tears started flowing now. Being asked if you were okay was the surefire way to get the dam to burst no matter how hard you tried to keep it up.

"No! Not! I'm fine," you said, but your voice sounded anything but fine. "It's not blood!"

"What happened, mama?" Tina asked leaving her station to approach you. Her voice was sweet and caring, she gingerly took your red soaked hand in hers.

You stepped back and insisted, "It's just sauce. It's nothing, really, everything's OK, I just need a second." With that you turned to leave and pretend you were going to use the restroom but instead you wiped your hand on your dark jeans and snuck out of the restaurant and around the back to sneak back into the far end of the kitchen and sit in the freezer. The cold would help take away the burning feeling you felt and calm you down - something you learned during your several month position at a grocery store deli.

You ducked into the freezer and sat on a crate in the corner full of yet-to-be-unpacked food. You just needed a minute, you told yourself, then you would be back up and get back out there. You focused on taking deep breaths and wiped your eyes.

The freezer door opened after a few moments and you cursed yourself for hiding in here. You had no excuse for why you would need to be in here and evidently you took too long, you should have left already. You looked up and saw Carmen walk in and look around until he found what he was looking for - you. He walked up to you and crouched down across from you.

"What happened?" he asked, you could see his breath as he spoke. He crossed his arms over his chest, trying to keep off some of the cold. "I'm sorry, I just needed a second to cool down," you answered, your own breath dancing in the cold air. "That's fine, you can take as long as you need, just please tell me what's wrong," he assured. "It's so stupid," you admitted, but it made you start crying harder.

Carmen stayed quiet a moment, letting you catch your breath, but his silence allowed you to open up and explain what had happened. When you finished your retelling of the situation he stood, extended his hand which you accepted, and slowly guided you out of the freezer. Without a word he began to lead you out to the dining room as you wiped your face to dry it of the tears.

Crossing back through the kitchen you and him caught the attention of the rest of the crew. As you passed the front door Richie happened to walk in, finally making his appearance.

"Yo, Cuz, what's happening?" he asked, his voice already above casual speaking volume. Carmen ignored him and kept leading you.

Stopping at the edge of the dining room he dropped your hand. "Who?" he asked. "Please, forget it, Chef, I took care of it." you insisted. "Who?" he repeated. You could tell by the tone of his voice he wasn't in the mood to ask again so you pointed to the customer in question.

You watched as Carmen approached the customer who berated you. He pulled a chair over from the next table over and sat at the table where the aggressive customer was sitting with a group of other men, and began talking to him. You couldn't hear their conversation over the noise of a full dining room but you could tell that neither of the men were enjoying their conversation. Noticing the scene unfolding many other customers stopped in their conversations and turned their attention towards Carmen and the other man. The volume in the room dying down enough that you could now make out what was being said by Carmen. He stood now, and his voice raised to assert himself.

"Apologize to her." he said. The man at the table laughed heartily. "No, I have nothing to apologize for."

Carmen, unsatisfied with the man's response, gathered up the tablecloth until all the dishes and drinks were bundled up in a pile of cloth in the center of the table. "You can see yourself out." "Who do you think you are?" the man shouted, "go get me your manager." "I'm the fucking owner. Get out." Carmen asserted.

The man huffed but at the encouragement of his bewildered companions he rose, grabbed his suit jacket, and left. The dining room erupted in applause. Carmen turned back to look at you, and you, embarrassed but also very impressed by his actions, turned away from him. You saw Richie behind you, having watched the scene play out, and you could see the crew peaking their heads out from the kitchen as well. Carmen came up to you and said, "can you meet me in the office?"

Doing as he asked you walked away. You just barely caught him barking orders at the others, Richie to cover your tables, Sydney to take charge for a bit, and the others to get back to their stations.

[sansloii]

@lured-into-wonderland | send me a number

4. multiple people threads

when i get to a point where i can shove more than one of my muses in a thread, i take that opportunity. because the reality of this blog is that they all kinda sorta know each other in some regard.

interact with Mikah long enough, they'll start mentioning Evan and he might appear here and there eventually because the two of them are like best friends. talk to Evan long enough and he'll either mention Mikah or talk about the last time he made Penny mad. Talk to Penny long enough and she'll start talking about Wynn. Wynn doesn't talk much but he'll speak about the three above at some point.

the same goes for Joseph and Dakota; in that they come as a pair and where you have one, you most certainly have the other waiting in the wings nearby. interaction is almost inevitable

of course, it's much easier to interact with one muse at a time and slowly introduce the others over time because it can be a lot. interacting with one muse is one thing but interacting with two or more is a lot and mentally having to switch between them can become very stressful if you only have muse for on.

i also like threads between multiple blogs but i feel like any more than 3 would require a lot of planning and a set method to keep track of whose turn it is on tumblr. on discord, it's a little easier because you can just plop yourself and a group of people in a server, set up channels for rping and just go wild and have fun.

28. your first muse

on this site? girl...

i'm getting first, second and third-hand embarrassment already but given that this was literally when i was in high school ( so over a decade ago at this point ) and i don't think i have ever spoken about it to anyone in my previous fandom or this one so y'all get a little treat... that will be going under a readmore because i can't y'all

so.... does anyone remember h.omestuck. remember when that entire thing had small children and teens in a chokehold? i was one such teen... as were my friends. and a couple of my friends were jjust like "hey, there's thing on tumblr called f.andomstuck where it's like h.omestuck but instead of the typical characters and ocs, your favorite fandom is your character." and i thought that was the coolest shit ever. I made a tumblr in like 2012-ish, jumped on that hellwagon, and stayed there for two whole years before switching to f.ire emblem.

the fandom i chose was final fantasy.... but not the entire final fantasy franchise--just final fantasy 13 because it was the only final fantasy game i owned and i fell in love with it ( and i'll still beat someone's ass for complaining about it because it's still my favorite ). my character's name was Fifa intially. because Final Fantasy. i eventually changed it to something less embarrassing but god i let that one stick for a while. she was essentially a carbon copy of Claire Farron ( Lightning ) so anything she did, this character could do. anything she couldn't, this character couldn't... unless it didn't suit me :)

the only good thing out of that whole thing is that amalgamation and her eventual sister ( that i got as a gift and no, i will not explain what that means ) served as personality blueprints for two newer muses that i currently adore so... that's one good thing out of the cringe.