#oc: Quill the Chosen One

[illarian-rambling]

Hopping on this tag from @happypup-kitcat24 :)

OC Assumption Tag

Share one of your characters' name and a quote from them with zero context and let your followers (or other people who stumble upon your post) make assumptions about said character. You can post about more than one character but only one quote for each one for things to stay out of context.

1) Izjik Meautammera

“My name is Izjik Meautammera and I’m not at all wanted by the wealthy Devaris family of Unity. They won’t give you money for my safe and unconscious return. What I am is End’s avatar. It speaks to me, it controls my actions when it wishes. I have killed spirits and Chosen under its command. Immortality shatters beneath the stone of my washava. I have come here to ask for your help in our ultimate endeavor; destroying the gods and all life on this planet. You, your kid, your dog—it’ll all be dead and gone. So, who, uh, who’s with me?”

2) Sepo Kaiacynthus

“I expect you to fight to the bitter end if that’s what it takes, because you might love your husband, your son, but the people on that ship are the reason I’m here today and if your impatience costs them their lives, then believe me when I say I will turn that city down there into a fiery crater when I rip this damn island out of the sky!”

3) Twenari Undetasib/Devaris

“Something to do with gravitation runes and the density of air. It’s brilliant; they combine the magical with the mechanical and get a miracle. Gods, if I could just get a peek inside one of those fans….”

4) Djek Kagura

“Look, my point is, it’s hard to trust a bleeding heart. You figure that you’re too weak for this world, too sensitive, so you get in tight with someone who knows their shit. Someone smart enough to tangle with society and come out on top. You trust them to make decisions for you because they know better. They’re harder, more practical; they don’t balk when there’s bloody work to be done.... The first step in doing good is to let go of those people. You have to learn to listen to that bleeding heart of yours. It’s not soft, it’s not weak; it makes you who you are. A good woman. One who now has the opportunity to go out and make the world better.”

5) Astra DuClaire

“Nah, but I’ve been listenin’ in on your little chat with my friend here. I know I got you real worried ’bout how I figured out how to preserve a mind and you didn’t. And you’re right to worry, which is why I said it before, but all good messages bear repeatin’, so I’ll say it again. I am better than you.”

6) Mashal Darezsho

“I don’t care! I don’t care if you think I’m nothing more than a stepping stone on your path. I don’t care if you don’t think about me at all! But you will come out here and face me, gods damn it! And I’ll make sure I’m the last thing that ever crosses your fucking mind!”

7) Ivander Montane

“I didn’t come after the Surgeon out of the goodness of my heart. I… I didn’t come here to solve your murder or bring anyone to justice. The Surgeon can strip the magic from a sorcerer. I’ve seen the bodies with my own eyes—yours included. I came here hoping he could take the godly magic from me. ...I told you, I’m a selfish man.”

8) Elsind Cavernsight

“I forgive you, too. Just by knowing you, I can tell that your father was a good man. Not a good ruler maybe, but I can honestly say that I believe both of you did the best you could within the system you inherited. Very few nobles I’ve met were ever so, well, noble.”

8) Avymere Spearsong

“We are not retreating. The longer we take to act, the longer the people of Salis—of all of Skysheer—are held in Vermir’s grasp. Every second we waste means the death of another sorcerer whom it is my duty to protect. We push on.”

I like games like these, so ima call all the homies! Consider yourselves no pressure tagged ;)

@amandacanwrite @elsie-writes @riveriafalll @kosmic-kore @kaylinalexanderbooks

@bard-coded @carrotsinnovember @patternwelded-quill @somethingclevermahogony @whatwewrotepodcast

@the-angriest-author @mk-writes-stuff @frostedlemonwriter @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @watermeezer

@leahnardo-da-veggie @mr-orion @televisionjester @ray-writes-n-shit @evilgabe29

@trippingpossum @tragedycoded @halfbakedspuds @ominous-feychild @cain-e-brookman

@wyked-ao3 @thecomfywriter

[strlingsav]

Forbidden: One

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x OC!Princess Eira of England and Wales.

— Medieval AU: The King assigns his most formidable knight, Sir Simon, to his daughter's protection.

1523 - England

A firm knock against the heavy walnut of her chamber door caught her attention. She sucked in a deep breath, already suspicious of the visitor and what exactly was to follow.

She'd heard the low mutterings of the court that followed her every footstep. Whether it be her ladies or chambermaids, the gossip passed through the palace like a wildfire. In an instant all knowledge was common and discretion was used only in her presence- though sometimes not at all.

She was used to it, to the malignity and talebearing of her father's court. For over two decades, she'd experienced the most undesirable side of belonging to her family; the loneliness.

She kept mostly to herself. Aside from her closest confidants, her ladies, all other members of court were kept at an arm's reach. She bided her time with long-lived hobbies; though she longed for connection. Someone to take away the burden of secrecy and isolation. To share in the weight that lie over her shoulders and face the scrutiny of the people with her.

Though she knew eventually she'd be forced to marry, her father had likely hastened the inevitable. She'd been stalked by rumours and whispers at every turn, quiet giggles of chambermaids and the barking laughter of the kitchen staff. Her father had, unbeknownst to her, chosen a husband for her, and it had been biting at her heels for the last week. It was only a matter of time for Eira to hear it herself.

She spun to face her visitor; a tall, sinewy woman who knew Eira well. Nearly raised Eira after her mother passed during childbirth. Her hands were clasped together over her emerald gown, eyes poring into Eira's as she smiled softly in greeting.

"The King wishes to see you," She said. "In the throne room."

Eira blinked a few times. "Thank you, Gwendolyn."

Gwendolyn could sense her apprehension- the nerves beginning to tremble in Eira's hands, the furrow of her brow that pulled her face into a frown. She neared Eira, placing a delicate hand on her shoulder.

"Don't worry," Gwendolyn smiled. "I'm sure he has good news to share."

Gwendolyn's fingers took a strand of charcoal hair between them, softly laying it over Eira's shoulder. She wished that the reassuring touch was enough to ease the discomfort in her gut, and the twitch in her muscles.

"I'm sure," Eira spoke softly, as if not entirely confident in her answer but still trying adamantly to convince herself.

"I'll wait for you in the throne room," Gwen said, moving quietly from her position.

Eira didn't respond. Her eyes peered up to find the green hills and stables across the castle courtyard. She knew disobeying her father could bring harsh consequences, though she desperately wanted to avoid the conversation for as long as possible.

Eira patiently waited for Gwen to disappear, seated at her desk, quill in hand. She'd made it a habit to document her life; entries that would bear no significance to anyone but her, and yet still, she hid it from prying eyes. It seemed that the castle walls could tell-all regardless.

She peered over her shoulder, listening for the heavy door to click shut. Her shoulders weakened, letting her posture slip as she hunched over her desk and finished her entry.

Her eyes lifted to the courtyard, and the green hills that were obscured by the stables. Spring had just arrived, rain nurturing the grass and wildflowers. The sky still hung low, grey and unexceptional as was usual for her homeland.

She pushed away from her desk, procrastinating the inevitable as she stood before the door. To her surprise, another knock resounded through her chambers.

She stepped forward, reaching out to take the brass handle as she prepared to face Gwendolyn's pitiful expression.

"I'll be right-"

Her sentence was cut short at the appearance of a tall- large, man before her. He was decorated in armour and chain mail, all but the helmet. She finally met his eyes; somber and dark, that appeared black in the dull morning sky through her windows.

He was young, likely around her age, and not of the usual appearance she expected of a Knight. Clean shaven, though he appeared disheveled with ruffled brunet hair. He had a crooked nose, hollowed cheeks and scarred lips. He looked like a fighter- like he'd seen many wars and would see a hundred more before his time was done.

"Lady Eira," A gruff voice announced.

She furrowed her brows, licking her lips before she spoke again.

"I'm sorry, I was expecting..." She trailed off, trying not to be distracted by his unwavering stare. "What is it?" She asked instead.

His presence alone was threatening. Uncomfortable and yet allured by his appearance; her face shifted to its resting state, not wanting to reveal her intrigue with the man.

His own breath caught in his throat at the sight of the Princess so close to him. He'd been assigned to meaningless posts since his knighting, though finally finding his place at the King's court meant meeting the Princess of fairytales and legends. He'd heard many things about her; some good, some bad, though he anticipated he'd find out for himself soon enough.

He hadn't expected her likeness to be so similar to that of paintings he'd seen. The black hair that curled down her back, ocean-like eyes peering up at him. She was pale; paler than most, though her cheeks reddened when she laid eyes on him.

"The King has requested your presence."

The deep, rough voice echoed through the room.

"I know," She replied. Her voice was far more meek than his own, and unnecessarily so.

The knight stirred for a moment, waiting awkwardly for her to finally budge from her spot.

"Why has he sent a knight to do the job of his guards?" Eira asked, tilting her head.

"I follow orders, m'Lady," He replied. "I don't question His Majesty."

Eira sighed. Her attempt at derailing the conversation had failed, and she was faced with yet another loyal subject dead-set on ensuring her arrival.

She glanced at her desk longingly, before nudging herself forward to attend her father's request. The knight kept himself at a distance, watching her as she strode through the castle.

The throne room was hardly full by the time she arrived. A few neighbouring Lords that had a vested interest in her father's court idled nearby. She approached her father, settled behind a large oak desk with men on either side of him, seemingly distracting him from the arrival of his daughter.

"Eira," He announced finally, his eyes falling to his daughter.

"Your Majesty," She curtsied, her gaze not lifting to his until she stood straight.

"You avoid me?" He asked- though he already knew the answer.

Gwen stood in the corner, her eyes studying the entire exchange with obvious discomfort.

"No, father. Forgive me," She said, bowing her head ever so slightly with a feigned look of remorse.

Her father waved his hand, dismissing the apology altogether. Standing from his desk, he gestured for an unfamiliar man to stand beside him. The two approached slowly, as if afraid to spook her into running off. Much like a wild horse waiting to be tamed.

"I ask you here with significant news," King John announced, his lips curling into a smile. He turned to the stranger, a hand on the pommel of his sword, then back to his daughter. "Lord Henry Smith of Hawick has travelled a long way to make your acquaintance."

Eira peered up at the stranger, now identified as Henry Smith. He was older, much older than herself. Ivy green eyes like that of an emerald, though he didn't attract her like a jewel would. Instead, she was uncomfortable. Wrinkles burrowed deep between his brows, a smile plagued by ill-intentions and perversion; he was spindly, without an ounce of fat to be seen.

Her brows furrowed, and her eyes shifted back to her father.

"An honour to meet you, My Lady," Henry said, bowing promptly.

"And you, m'Lord," She replied.

Henry straightened just as she did, a similar grin on his face as her father. His accent was Scottish; a land which her father had expressed interest in conquering. He'd been strategizing for years, waiting and watching for years, though the key to the land had conveniently arrived right on his doorstep.

"Lord Henry has asked for your hand in marriage, and I've agreed to his proposal."

Her heart seemingly dropped to her stomach; a wave of nausea sweeping through her. Her eyes glanced over at Henry again- his smile irrefutably smug and prideful, as though he'd won something.

"Oh," she breathed, feigning an enthusiastic smile. "How wonderful."

"I very much look forward to being your husband." He reached for her hand, bulging knuckles and clammy palms taking hold of it. "The children you bear me will usher in the prosperous future to come between our countries," Henry said, placing a kiss on her knuckles.

Eira fought the urge to pull her hand from his grip, and instead froze in her place until he'd finished. She felt sick.

"We will make arrangements for the ceremony, though it won't be for a few months. Henry must return to Scotland." Her father said, nodding in understanding with Henry.

"I look forward to your return, My Lord," Eira said, falling to a curtsy. "Is there anything more, father?" She asked, eyes brimming with tears. She swallowed harshly, blinking quickly as she urged the tears to disperse.

He dismissed her, turning his back to discuss the current state of affairs with the present company.

Eira scrambled to keep herself composed as she left the throne room, her thoughts mangled while she tried to fight the disappointment clawing at her throat. She managed to fight her way up the stone stairs, falling to her ottoman as she stepped in her room.

Gwendolyn wasn't far behind, calling out as discretely as possible for Eira as she disappeared before her. Gwendolyn finally came upon her; an emotionless expression as Eira stared ahead at her family's tapestry on the wall. The intertwining antlers and crossed swords stared back at her, with all defiance and ferocity; Eira inhaled decidedly: she would not succumb to her chosen fate.

[keto-keyes]

The Misfit Gang (Slytherin Gang ff)

This is a OC insert imagine, with multiple parts. If you don't want to use the name ive chosen, feel free to insert your own :)

Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 Part 2

After the sorting, where a certain Harry Potter had been sorted into Gryffindor, Soren sat in between Pansy and a tall, dark skinned boy named Blaise. She'd been sorted into Slytherin,  the house of the ancient De Villes  from over 50 years before. It was the same house as a certain Draco Malfoy, but anything was better than being in Hufflepuff like the 20 nameless and useless family members before her. 

Blaise didn't talk much, his eyes only on his food, but they'd exchanged a couple of words when the feast had been served and the school song finally finished. But as Soren saw it, it was better than nothing. At least she had a friend, and, by the sound of Pansy's animated conversation on her right, maybe even more. 

"Can you pass the pumpkin juice?" asked a soft voice. Blaise's voice. 

Soren glanced up from her steak, reached to grab the jug, and passed it to him, barely making noise. 

"Here," she said, just as quietly, "Do you need anything else?" 

They stared at each other for a moment, Blaise finding the words to say whatever was on his mind and Soren waiting to be answered, before he once again opened his mouth. 

"Mmh... the custard tarts? I-if you don't mind," he mumbled. 

'Not much of a talker,' Soren thought, 'But he's nice, I guess.' She passed him the plate of tarts and was about to turn back to her food when he spoke once more. 

"T-thanks... Soren." 

Soren almost jumped when he said her name, though quietly, and her head snapped to face him with a light blush. 

"Oh! Y-you're welcome, Blaise," she replied, whispering almost, in case anyone was watching, "Anytime." 

"Call me Zabini," he grunted, "'pparently it's a sign of weakness if you use first names in Slytherin. Malfoy said." 

"O-of course," she answered, shivering at the mention of Malfoy. 

She noticed he did the same when he said the blonde boy's name, and smiled hopefully up at him. He didn't return her smile, but nodded curtly instead. 

                                      -----------**-----------

In the Slytherin common room, a few days after the first years began school at Hogwarts, Soren and Blaise sat side-by-side in a dark corner. They both had homework (Pansy too but she refused to miss the girls' sleep-out), and although neither needed help and they didn't talk, the silence wasn't uncomfortable. Suddenly, Malfoy and his cronies sauntered over, smirking and laughing amongst themselves. Soren did her best not to look up at him, not to show fear. But when he stood above her and blocked out her light, she couldn't stop herself. 

"Ha! I knew you'd be over here! See boys, the nerds are studying again!" Malfoy cackled, high-fiving one of them. 

"P-please move," Soren whispered, not wanting a conflict. 

Malfoy stuck his face next to hers, sneering, and grabbed her transfiguration book. 

"What was that? Speak up when you talk to important people!" he jeered at her, flipping through pages of the book. 

Soren turned away and, raising her voice the slightest bit, said, "I said - please move." 

Malfoy laughed and dropped her book down on the table, shattering her quill's nib. 

"My father is a big, wealthy wizard. I'll tell him if you say anything," he warned her in a sneer, the two brutes cracking their knuckles. Soren flinched. 

Blaise jumped to his feet, throwing down his book and almost knocking the table over as he stood. 

"Give it a REST Malfoy!" he growled, "Your dad couldn't care less about you, and you know it! Shut up and leave her ALONE!" 

For once, Malfoy shut up and walked off.  His cronies shot Blaise dirty looks but still they, too retreated. Puffing, Blaise flopped back down onto his seat and wiped his brow. 

"Thank you, Zabini," Soren whispered, touching his arm. 

He looked at her for a second, seeing how shaken she was, then picked up his quill and held it out to her. 

"You're welcome Soren," he replied, taking her broken quill and stuffing it in his own bag. He thought for a second before adding, "And, you know, you can call me Blaise. I don't really care about strength and weakness, OR what Malfoy says anymore." 

Smiling at him and taking the quill, Soren nodded. 

"You're a good friend, Blaise," she said softly. 

[baguettes-and-biscuits]

a/n: i made two new ocs and decided to make a oneshot for them :3 yes, i may have already posted this on wattpad, but! not with a name! divider credit to @cafekitsune. also– i am aroace – i don't know how love actually works so please tell me if i need to fix anything!

warnings: dagger/sword mentions, blacking out, abduction

word count: 754

✦ 𝙸 𝙲𝚑𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚈𝚘𝚞 ✦

I sit on my fluffy bed, breathing in the salty scent of the ocean, letting my mind fill with extravagant fantasies. Pressing the tip of my quill to the paper before me, the scenes spill from my mind onto the paper, telling the story of a girl who only wishes to see the stars. 

She’s just about to kiss the boy of her dreams, a moment I still long for, as I look out the window at the star-speckled sky. 

It’s peaceful, a feeling I don’t get very often with my twin brothers following me around. 

I stand up to move closer to the window, smoothing the ruffles in my dress. 

I look up to the stars. It’s calming to find the constellations; it reminds me of my mother... 

SLAM! 

My door crashes to the ground, and I whip my head around, snatching the dagger I keep handy off my desk. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Princess,” a voice says. I look to see who was speaking to find a boy, seemingly around my age, holding a sword that puts my weapon to shame. A black bandanna is tied around his forehead to keep his messy jet-black hair out of his hazel eyes. Freckles dot his warm brown complexion. 

I raise an eyebrow. “Why not? You’re a pirate.” 

He rolls his eyes. “You’re a princess. And this is a kidnapping. So you can come in peace or come in pieces.” 

I don’t get a chance to respond. The world fades to black, and my mind fills with gold-flecked eyes. 

~~~ 

I wake to the constant rocking of a boat, my back and head aching. 

“Morning, Princess. Took you long enough,” a familiar voice says. I open my eyes blearily and sit up to get a better look of my surroundings. 

The pirate from before sits precariously balanced atop a flimsy-looking stool, a lopsided smirk on his face. 

“Who are you and what do you want?” I croak. 

“Why, you’ve never heard of me?” The boy’s voice takes on a hurt-sounding tone, but he’s still smiling. “You must feel so much shame.” 

“No,” I interrupt. “I really don’t. Now answer my questions.” 

“Assertive, are we? Straight to business, then. Matteo, at your service.” He dips into a bow, then smirks again. “What do I want? Well, take a guess.” 

I blink. Matteo pouts. “Aw, you’re no fun. Can’t a boy just want a friend?” 

“Can’t you get any without kidnapping?” I counter. 

“Huh. I didn’t think of th- oh, who am I kidding? I did think of that. And you know what? I disregarded it. And think about this, Princess.”  

My cheeks get hotter with every word he says. 

“Think about this,” he repeats. “I’ve traveled all over the world. I’ve seen every corner of the continent. I could’ve chosen a princess from any other kingdom. But I chose you.” 

Something about the intensity of his words makes my heart triple in speed. Matteo leans in close, so close I can feel his breath on my cheek. 

“I chose you.” 

I’m not sure if he repeated the words or if they’re bouncing around in my brain, but before I can say anything else, he orders his guards to put me in a separate room. 

As I mull over my thoughts, the boat rocks me back. And forth. Back. And forth. 

“I chose you.” 

~ One Week Later ~ 

I’m surprised. 

It barely took Matteo two days to win me over. I hadn’t liked my role as princess, and pirate seems... better fitting for me. 

“Princess!” 

And yet, nothing seems to stop this boy from calling me a princess. 

“I thought I told you,” I call back with an eyeroll, “to stop calling me Princess.” 

Matteo peeks into the hall where I stand, my back resting against the wall. His hazel eyes sparkle as he replies, “I thought you’d know by now that there’s nothing that can stop a Valentino.” 

His grin makes something flutter inside of me. 

A feeling I know all too well, thanks to my writing. 

“Well, Charlotte?” Matteo says. His use of my first name startles me. He snickers at my look and remarks, “I thought you didn’t want me to call you Princess.” 

“I don’t,” I manage to say. 

The boy’s grin turns into a smirk. “Well, Charlotte? Ready to go?” 

I tell him yes. 

He turns down the hall to walk up to the deck. 

Maybe I won’t have to long for my moment for much longer. 

©baguettes-and-biscuits | do not repost, copy, or translate on any other platform.

[heavensfallenprincess]

Hi!! I’m Emily, it’s so nice to meet you! Though you can just call me Em, or Emmy, or whatever you want really~

I was one of Heaven’s seraphim until recently when I fell and started living in Pride Castle with Lucifer. That happened right after the Hazbin Hotel had their first victory against the Exorcists. Life has been more than a little strange for me lately, having to adjust to living in Hell, but Lulu, Charlie, and Vaggie have been nothing but kind to me ever since I got here.

I’m SO looking forward to getting to know more of you sinners while I’m here, so don’t hesitate to start up a conversation with me!!! I still have a lot to learn about this place.

blog info below

Please note that I’m in no way affiliated with the plural community. This blog is purely for lighthearted roleplay purposes.

Hi, Quill (@quillandink333) speaking! I decided to try this out as a bit of a side hustle to go with the applewings fics I’ve been writing. As such, my portrayal of Emily aligns with my ongoing story taking place after the season 1 finale—in which she’s fallen from Heaven as a deliberate act of rebellion, and she’s since moved in with Lucifer and formed solid friendships with most of the hotel residents, doing all she can to support their cause while her relationship with the Devil grows both more complicated and more intimate over time. SPOILERS: Neither he or she know this yet, but my Emily is in fact the daughter of Lucifer and Sera, who were chosen pre-Eden by the Powers That Be to bear a pure-blooded, second-generation seraph for reasons divine and unknown.

Ask away! Whether you’re an RP blog (canon or OC), a regular blog, or on anon, just be respectful, don’t break the fourth wall, and try to adhere to canon as much as possible. NSFW questions are 100% allowed and encouraged, though don’t be surprised if Emily gets a bit flustered in her replies.

WARNING: This blog contains dead dove themes (the main one being father/daughter 1nc3$t)! Don’t like? Don’t interact. ALSO this blog will not be spoiler-free.

Lore can be found in #my info and fics are reblogged under #our story.

[charms-and-constellations]

PROMISES | Draco Malfoy

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x oc Words: 1.3k Summary: Draco and Cassie have come to a tipping point. Will they fall forward together or will one of them fall back, into the safety of being alone, inevitably breaking the other's heart? Warnings: relationship conflict, mention of loss of a loved one, implied arranged marriage, physical affection [just kissing]

Prompt inspo from @urfriendlywriter

“It’s a wedding, Draco. We have to say vows,” Cassie sighed, from her spot at her desk. Every time they tried to discuss wedding plans, they ended up in this argument.

“What’s the point in making promises we don’t know we’re going to keep?” he nearly groaned. He stood in front of the fireplace, one arm crossed over his chest, supporting his other arm that held his fingers pressed to the bridge of his nose.

Cassie tossed the quill down onto the parchment, on which she had been jotting the decisions they made, the nib splattering droplets of black ink on the page. “How many times do I have to tell you? I may not have chosen to marry you, but I am marrying you. I mean to keep my promises.” She left the soiled paper on the desk and crossed to him. Stopping just an arm's reach away, she could see the way the fire caused shadows to dance over the side of his face.

“You’re going to keep your promises?” he asked, his tone verging on disbelief. He dropped his fingers from his nose, tucking them into the crook of his folded arm. Cassie knew he was holding himself at a distance like she had done for so long; his body turned away from her, his arms folded over his chest.

“Yes,” she breathed.

“For better, and for worse?”

“Yes.”

“In sickness, and in health?” he asked, turning to look at her, an eyebrow raised.

“Yes, Draco,” she responded, annoyance seeping into her tone.

“To love and to cherish, until death do us part?” His eyes bore into her, searching, pleading for the answer he wanted. If she would just tip, he would follow her into that terrifying oblivion that lay below.

“Until death do us part,” she said confidently. When his expectant look didn’t falter, she lowered her eyes from his, studying the pattern on the rug.

His scoff hit her like a punch to the gut as he brushed past her, leaving her alone by the fireplace.

She covered the short distance to the small sofa before the fire and settled on it. Her elbows found her knees, and she buried her face in her hands. She rubbed at her face before dragging her hands through her hair and clasping them behind her neck, her shoulders finding the backrest of the couch.

For a moment, they were silent, but the room still buzzed with energy between them. Cassie collapsed on the couch and Draco leaning against one post of their four-poster bed.

“We’ve talked about this,” Cassie said tiredly. Even though she no longer thought she would disparage Sebastian's memory by marrying Draco, she was terrified of putting her heart on the line again when she had no guarantee that he would do the same.

How she couldn’t see it in his face, the way his eyes begged her to give him something to hold on to, hope for, he didn’t know.

“Yes, Cassie, we’ve talked about it. You’ve told me you’re not strong enough to try again,” he said, referring to their earlier conversation about her past, his dubiety evident from his inflection.

“I would if you would just ask me to!” she blustered, turning to look at his back, surprising even herself that she hoped he would turn around and do just that.

When he didn’t respond, she stood from the couch and moved to lean her forehead on the mantle of the fireplace. As they stood there, backs to each other across the room, she could see her entire future in him at that moment. A future of civility in public and anguish in private. They would be tied together with an invisible string forever, constantly pulling away from each other, only coming together in the brief moments of palliation when the memories become too much.

She turned to look at him, getting his profile now that he had turned to rest his back against the post. She waited. She hoped he would say something. She had just given him the perfect opportunity.

Cassie threw her hands up in the air, exasperated, and began pacing the front of their room, from fireplace to door to desk and back again. She chewed at the long nail of her thumb as she debated her next words. Her stomach churned as she thought about them, what the words would mean when they had no choice but to be married. Calling off the wedding wasn’t an option, and it would make for a very awkward ceremony if they couldn’t even look at each other.

Finally, she spoke as she crossed back and forth, her words coming out fast and feverish, "You were right. I'm not strong, neither am I brave. But I'm braver than you right now, because I'm ready for this to be finally over. Please stop toying with my feelings. Either kiss me, or break my hea–"

"Stop moving then," Draco said in a low voice, pushing off from the bedpost. He crossed the room and met her where she had stopped at his command in front of the fireplace. His long strides making quick work of the trip, Cassie barely had a second to think before she was towered over by the blonde. His hands found a home on either side of her face. His tender thumbs caressed her cheeks. His long fingers were cold on her nape. After a miniscule moment of hesitation in which Draco feared what this change would mean, feared she hadn’t meant what she said, and most of all feared she would push him away, he ultimately lowered his lips to hers. Allowing them to meet gently, he gave her the chance to change her mind, to pull her head out of his gentle grip, and when she didn’t, when instead she lifted herself onto her toes, hands braced on his chest, to push herself further into him, he melted.

His hands brushed behind her, traveling down her spine until they came to rest at her waist. Cassie’s head tilted, their mouths finding each other in a new way. She pushed her hands up his chest and let them wrap around his neck, one hand finding its way into his silky platinum hair.

He groaned against her mouth when she curled her fingers in his hair, her nails lightly scraping his scalp.

Cassie expected him to take things deeper, but instead he pushed lightly on her waist, pulling his lips from hers, resting his forehead on hers. She furrowed her brows, about to ask what she had done wrong, when he smiled, a soft laugh escaping.

Cassie gazed with wonder into his closed eyes as he spoke with anticipation. "I'm not ready for this to be over." He lazily pressed his lips to hers again. "I'm ready," and another quick kiss, "to finally be real with you, Cassie," he pulled his forehead from hers and she cursed the free space between them as he ran his knuckles down her cheek, "would you let me be?"

Cassie scoffed playfully, her arms resting on his shoulders, hand back to mussing his hair atop his head.

“Only if you promise me.”

Draco smirked, a rich laugh dying in the back of his throat as he lowered his head to hers again. Cassie felt like she might melt into a puddle on the floor, but Draco held her anchored securely with an arm looped around her waist, the other sliding into her hair from the nape of her neck. He let his fingers lightly scrape as he pushed them up further, and Cassie understood why he had groaned earlier when each graze sent a rush of tingles throughout her head. She smiled into their kiss. Being real meant a very real chance of being hurt, but as she swayed in Draco’s arms while they explored each other for the first time, it didn’t seem so scary.

[somethingclevermahogony]

OC Kiss Week Ninma Excerpt

Hello y'all, I've been seeing these posts here on tumblr about this OC Kiss Week business. Unfortunately I have next to zero artistisc ability, and so instead I have chosen to share with you a little excerpt from my WIP.

This takes place a little more than 11 years after the beginning of the book, so Ninma is around 17 when this takes place (Jani is also 17, you haven't been introduced to him and he wasn't in the poll because he doesn't appear in Part 1 of the book). I will be posting another scene (a queer one), with different characters, tomorrow for Valentine's Day! Young Love today, Queer Pirates tomorrow

Also! Shela post and new poll will be coming out either tomorrow or Wednesday!

Excerpt below the cut!

Ninma

Ninma closed her eyes and smiled. She hadn’t talked like this, with someone so openly for some time. She felt an unfamiliar tingle creep across her cheeks, her heart fluttered, invisible and intangible beings seemed to dance in her belly. She opened her mouth to speak but Jani spoke first. His tone was somber. “Thank you.” “For what?” She searched his face, and tried to ascertain what had caused the sudden shift in his mood. “For being so kind to me, for not calling me a coward.”  “Why would I?” She said softly. Jani turned to her, his cheeks tinted, whether by the chill of winter or by some deep emotion, she could not tell. She had never noticed just how pretty his eyes were, the way that little flecks of gold seemed to sparkle amongst the mahogany rings of his irises. “I...I don’t know, I suppose...I was worried. I didn’t want to disappoint y~” He had only time to take in one quick gasp of air as she pressed her lips to his, stood on her toes to reach them. She could feel his arms slowly wrap around her body, as he held her close, pulling her against his chest. How strange, she thought to herself, all the snow around her, and the breeze that nipped at her cheeks, and yet she had never felt quite so warm.

@patternwelded-quill @flaneurarbiter @skyderman @blackblooms @roach-pizza @illarian-rambling @dezerex @theocticscribe @axl-ul, @persnickety-peahen

(Sorry that y'all have sort of become my default taglist, if that is something that you'd rather I take you off of let me know! Alternatively if you want to be added to the taglist also let me know!)

[plethomacademia]

Today's warm up for my week of being annoying about my OC is @lamortwrites 's OC Labrys finally calling Maeve a cunt

Maeve does not look up when she hears heavy footsteps cross the threshold of the Chosen’s — their — room.

“My dear blood, you are late,” she says as she finishes writing her list. Their pack of murderers grows too thick and complacent. It is time for a cull, she thinks.

“I do not come when summoned,” comes the reply.

She sets down her quill then sits back in her — their — chair. Labrys is always a treat to look at, tall where she is short, thick where she is thin, and their hair, that lovely dark red hair. She thinks to herself the thing she always thinks to herself when she looks at them: they would be an absolute treat to take one day.

It’s too bad that at least one of them would likely die in the attempt.

“And yet here you are, Labrys. Summoned.” She crosses her arms. “Don’t pout over it,” she says, despite them not pouting or making any kind of face at all, but perhaps she sees a bit of annoyance at her tone and that is enough, “I only wanted to check that you were going to lead the sermon tonight.”

“I also do not need you to check in on me. I know my tasks.”

“But you don’t mind indulging me, do you?” She pushes back her — their — chair and stands.

“I indulge you by allowing you to live.”

“Yes, you could tear off my limbs,” she says, walking to stand in front of them. She has to crane her head to look up at them and she knows they relish it, being able to loom over her. “And I could melt your brain from your ears. But Father doesn’t want us to do that.” She reaches to adjust a buckle on a strap crossing their chest, knowing that it likely annoys them. But she is right: unless their Father bids it, they cannot kill each other. And they hate it when she’s right.

“You are a cunt,” Labrys says.

“Your cunt, my dear Labrys.” She pats their chest. “Whether you like it or not.”

[mjs-oc-corner]

hpma character sheet

4/??

Name: Alyssa Christine Lockwood

Nicknames: Lyss, Lyssa, Aly

Birthdate: February 5th, 2000

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius

MBTI type: ISFJ — the defender

Blood Status: pureblood

Nationality: British/Irish/American (from her father’s side)

Physical Appearance

Hair: medium/dark brown

Eyes: light blue

Skin tone: light/fair

Height: 5’1”

Weight: 112 lbs.

Body type: slim/slender

Distinguishing marks (scars, birthmarks, etc.):

from birth/childhood

feint birthmark on the back of her left arm

pierced ears (done when she was five)

acquired in adolescence/adulthood

one sizable (but not large) scar on her left thigh from falling from her broom during flying class

small black dot on left thumb from accidentally jabbing herself with a quill during class

Background

Hometown: Oxford, England

Residences: Oxford, England (birth—??)

Family

Mother

Kimberly Anne Lockwood née Donahue, second born daughter of Maureen and Paul Donahue. Ravenclaw alumni, proficient at transfiguration, muggle studies, and arithmancy. after graduating, she would find a career in the Ministry of Magic, working in the Muggle Liaison Office. Kim puts her children above all else, ensuring that they have a stable and happy home life.

Father

Eric Allen Lockwood, eldest son of Lorraine and Joel Lockwood. Ravenclaw alumni, proficient at defense against the dark arts and charms. after graduating, he would go on to find a career as an Auror in the Ministry of Magic. after the birth of the youngest Lockwood child, Eric would only continue fieldwork for another year before turning to desk work at the Ministry, ensuring that he’d get to spend the rest of his days with his children.

Siblings

Alyssa is the eldest child, with two younger siblings. her younger brother, Austin, born on August 8th, 2002, and her younger sister, Avery born on September 25th, 2005.

Hogwarts

House: Ravenclaw

Best class: charms, astronomy

Worst class: flying (she’s not awful at flying, she just prefers to not be on a broom by herself)

Clubs: Sphinx

Boggart: death, taking the form of a grim reaper standing over her family members

Riddikulus: the reaper bursts into a cloud of confetti, and her family is alive and well

Patronus: irish wolfhound

Patronus memory: after a Ravenclaw quidditch victory, when Brian had chosen to take her on a library date and stargazing date at the top of the Ravenclaw tower instead of celebrating at the house party

Mirror of Erised: herself as an accomplished writer with many published works

Amortentia (what she smells like): vanilla with a hint of citrus, books

Amortentia (what she smells): sandalwood, patchouli, broom polish, sweets, TBD

Career

Ages 11–18: hogwarts student

Ages 18–24: journalist for the Daily Prophet

Ages 24–65: writer

Ages 66–??: retirement

Personality & Attitude

Priorities: her own mental health, as well as her friends’, her friends and family, her career

Strengths: wit — empathy — compassion — generosity — individuality — humor — loyalty — resilience

Weaknesses: stubborn — hesitant at times

Stressed: during exams, when she can’t figure out a good article or story to write

Calm/Comforted: when she’s reading a good book with a cup of tea, or spending time with her loved ones

Favorites

Color: blue

Food: chicken alfredo pasta with garlic bread

Drink: tea or a vanilla latte

Weather: cloudy, cooler temperatures

Hobbies: reading and writing, cooking, volunteer work during the summer months and weekends

Fashion: Alyssa’s style is more on the comfortable side, as she wants to wear things that she can easily curl up and lounge around in while reading. she has a blue sweater that’s a staple piece in her wardrobe. into her adulthood, she takes a more professional and business oriented look, while still maintaining comfort.

Relationships

Significant Other/Love Interest: Brian Haywood-Reese (@catohphm)

Friends

TBD

Alyssa is currently open for friendships, just message me or reply to this to let me know if you want your oc to be friends with her!

Rivals

TBD

Trivia

Alyssa can perform wandless magic with ease

her first time successfully casting the patronus charm was in her sixth year

she knew that she wanted to be a writer from a young age

she has a pet cat named Star, that’s an all-white female cat with blue eyes

she suffers from “eldest daughter syndrome”

[exalted-dawn-drabbles]

happy friday! for Tal & OC (or an NPC of your choice!) ❛ i hate what i’ve become. ❜

Welp I hope you're happy XDDDDDD I went WAYYYYYYYYYYYYYY too hard in on this one ;w; Enjoy the pain Blue <3 For @dadrunkwriting Rated G: Hurt Comfort, Fantasy Racism and mentions of death, ~3.2k words

Legacy| Exalted_Dawn

Blearily, she rose to waking; stirred from sweet sleep by a quiet, but insistent knock on her door.

Talenna groaned lightly, struggling to shrug out from under Calder’s arms without rousing him. It was still dark in their room– the dimly glowing coals in the hearth the only source of light in the room to see by. It had to have been past midnight. Though her fire had died, there were no signs of dawn breaking through her window, the sky a still inky black– no hint of pale blue to taint it. Which meant that the person at her door either had entirely too much nerve, or it was an emergency. 

Talenna’s feet padded silently along the wood floor as she crossed the room, already pulling on a heavy cloak in anticipation of the Frostbacks’ relentless chill. The last thing she wanted to do was open her door to the mountain’s unforgiving winds, especially when she knew that they would chase off whatever remaining threads of drowsiness still clung to her mind, but her midnight visitor left her without any other choice. So, resolved to conclude this swiftly, she steeled herself and yanked open the door.

“Fenedhis, do you know the hour?! What-” She paused, her hushed words dying away on a breath as the sleep cleared from her eyes and her vision fell into focus. Her brows furrowed. “...Solas?” 

The elf stood just beyond the threshold, head lowered and stiff shoulders hunched in the perfect picture of apology. Well, at least he had the good grace to look sorry for the intrusion. 

“Ir abelas, lethal’lan, for disturbing you so late. I did not know who else to turn to for this.”

Talenna straightened, her ire quickly dispersed by the audible tightness in his voice. In all her experience, she’d never known Solas to be one to intrude on others unless absolutely necessary. And for him to come find her? Now? She could only think of one reason. 

Taking one quick look behind her to make sure Calder was still undisturbed, she quickly stepped out into the night and shut the door behind her. “What’s happened? Is everything okay?”

“Nobody is injured, but there is something I need your assistance with. It’s…” He stopped and sighed, frustrated. “It’s Ixchel.”

—

Ixchel crumpled the letter and tossed it amongst the growing pile, the still-wet ink further staining her fingers.

Damn them. Damn them. 

She growled and pushed aside the stack of fresh parchment in front of her, shoving her quill back into the inkwell with all the tenderness of a knife stab. She’d been at this for over two hours now, working and reworking her thoughts into something vaguely intelligible. Something that didn’t make it immediately apparent that she was one push away from sailing across the Waking Sea and letting it be explicitly known just how infuriated she was with the report she’d received just earlier that evening. 

Inquisition agents– her agents– had attacked a Dalish hunting party in the Free Marches after an attempt to convert them to Andrastianism went sour and turned violent. Of those attacked, there had only been two survivors. Five other Dalish, dead. 

‘To show them the rightful path, just as the Inquisitor had chosen,’ the report had said. Dalish elves murdered in her name. The agents involved were lucky. Were it not for an entire ocean that laid between them, they’d be getting a lot worse from her than a strongly worded letter of dismissal.

She felt disgusted. 

Swallowing a shaky breath, Ixchel shoved back from her desk and stood.

Try as she might, she knew the words still wouldn’t come, and even if they did, her hand would be shaking too much to pen out anything legible. A small break, then, and she could pick it back up again.

She just needed to breathe. 

A knock, so subtle that she might have missed it were it not the dead of night, sounded from the base of the stairwell. It was only then that she realized she was by herself in her quarters. Ixchel sighed. Solas must have left to find a more peaceful place to seek his rest then. She supposed that was probably for the better. If the mess of crushed papers littering her desk was anything to go by, it was going to be a late night, and she wouldn’t be dousing her lights any time soon. 

“Come in,” she called, collapsing into the nearby lounge chair with a groan. Every one of her muscles ached with disuse, the hours of sitting sedentary behind her desk coming after her with a vengeance. Idly, she wondered whether it’d be worth throwing a few more logs into the fire, if only for the relief the heat may bring. After all, there was little point in pretending she would be going to sleep shortly when she’d just decided otherwise.

“Lethal’lan?”

A woman’s voice. Not Solas.

She straightened slightly, pushing up in her chair despite the way her bones creaked in protest. A few moments passed before a head popped up from between the banisters; the sight of deep purple vallaslin and a single bright gold earring driving the wariness from her gut. “...Talenna? It is late. Is there something I can help you with?”

The woman was dressed in hardly more than an overcoat and a simple sleeping tunic, barefoot and her hair in disarray. It was an odd look to say the least, and she would have been worried by the unkempt appearance of the normally-composed storyteller, were it not for the warm grin on her face. 

“I actually came here to ask that very same question,” she chuckled, drawing closer. “Your vhenan woke me from my bed and told me that you were refusing to sleep. Something about a personal matter that he thought I might be able to help with. Though he didn’t say much more than that. May I sit?”

Ixchel’s throat grew thick; anger and shame swelling in spite of herself. Though she knew he meant well, Solas’ actions only served to kick at her pride. She wasn’t in need of a chaperone. In fact, bringing someone else into this mess was about the last thing she needed. She was in a foul mood– a very foul mood– and she was tired. About the only thing on her mind right now was the growing awareness of how badly she wanted to hit something, and gods-forbid she accidentally snapped at one of her own agents… “You needn't burden yourself with me, Talenna. If you’re tired, feel free to return back to bed. Knowing the hour, I could hardly blame you.”

“Well, knowing the hour, I’m more curious as to why you aren’t sleeping. And what drove Solas to show up at my door despite the Void-forsaken cold.” Seemingly unwilling to wait any longer for permission, the elven woman unceremoniously sat herself across from Ixchel, the fire in the hearth jumping back to life with an absent wave of her hand. “Fenedhis, I am unsure as to how either of you can stand it. It is freezing in here.”

“Talenna-” 

“You needn’t waste your breath on me, lethal’lan. I mean this in the most respectful way possible, but you look like halla shite. Even a blind man would be able to see that something is bothering you.” Talenna lifted an accusing brow in her direction, daring her to disagree. "Sathan, if you have grievances, share them. I am here to listen. It's part of my duty."

Ixchel’s mouth drew into a thin line, any protest she had quickly withering beneath the steady, gold-burnt gaze of the storyteller before her. Even in spite of the insults, Ixchel couldn’t help but feel guilt, cold as iron, at the thought of bothering someone– especially one of her agents– with this. “... It really isn’t anything of consequence.”

“Perfect. Then you should have no problem sharing it with me.” Talenna stared at her with a deadpan sort of airiness– the exact sort of unmoved, stone-stubbornness Istimaethoriel would wield against the more unruly da’len of the clan when they wanted their way. Against her as well– when she, too, was being unnecessarily headstrong. 

Ixchel thought, with no small amount of wry contempt, that perhaps it was something every First learned in their training to become Keeper. Talenna certainly seemed to have mastered it well enough.

Sighing heavily, Ixchel slouched into her seat, pressure surging in her sinuses as she fought to stave off the wave emotion swelling in her temple. In truth, Ixchel wasn’t even sure if she wanted to talk about it. She’d spent so much of the afternoon suppressing her anger into something semi-manageable– if she vented it now, it felt as if she would lose all control. But whether Ixchel wanted to share or not, Talenna seemed rather content on waiting around until she did. “...You’re not going to leave until you have your way, are you?”

Talenna cracked a satisfied grin and lounged back against the cushions of her chaise, content as a cat. “Glad to see the late hour hasn’t dulled your wit. Ir abelas, Ixchel, but I am a notoriously nosy woman.”

She waited in silence, contemplating her response with reluctance on the half-hope that there was any chance Talenna would still give up the game. But as she thought, and Talenna waited, Ixchel could do nothing more than prepare herself– shoring up her mental wards as one would a barricade until she felt properly braced. And only then, protected behind her wall of composure, did she finally relent. “...I received a report earlier today. There was… There was a group of agents. They-” The words escaped her as her disgust spiked again, the thought alone choking her into wordlessness. 

How could she even begin to describe the atrocities committed when all she wanted to do was scream? 

Frustrated, she stood and walked to the desk, snatching the damnable letter off of her desk before walking back to her seat. She dropped it on the table between them without any sort of carefulness, knowing that it was against protocol to share such classified documents with a foot soldier but far too done with the matter to care. At least in this, Ixchel knew that she wouldn’t need to explain– Talenna would understand.

And so she sat again, defeated, as Talenna picked up the sheet and inspected its contents, the storyteller’s eyes growing ever darker as they dipped lower along the page. The fire in the hearth began to jump and sputter, tearing at the kindling with ember teeth until it crackled. “... May Elgar’nan find them in their beds and write His vengeance with their blood,” she spat, discarding the report with icy venom. “And may He take His sweet time about it. A quick death would be too kind.”

A sentiment that the darker part of her wished she could endorse. 

Ixchel’s nails carved bloody moons into palms as she held back stinging tears, fists clenched tight as she clung to her dwindling restraint. She breathed deep, trying and failing to fight off the tremble in her bones. “They did that in my name. Those hunters died thinking I allowed this.”

Supported this. Encouraged this. 

And so had the people who wielded the swords. 

She crumpled in on herself. “...Is this the symbol I have become?”

“Of course not.” 

The response from Talenna was so quick and vicious, so full of utter vitriol and disgusted, that Ixchel could have sworn it was spoken as a curse. 

Fingers, featherlight and cool to the touch, brushed against her forehead; pushing the bangs back from her face and beckoning Ixchel’s attention upwards. Talenna was staring down at her, a storm of emotion brewing in her eyes. Sadness, anger, hurt, understanding, confusion– each flashing in quick succession, set against a stark and unbending resolve. She knelt without word, stooping to one knee in front of Ixchel so that they were both eye level, gaze unwavering. “Of course not,” she repeated, firm. “This is not what you are, lethal’lan. Nor will it ever be– I promise you.”

“You can’t know that…” She knew well enough the frailty of legacy. She knew how easily good intent could be twisted into uglier things. Things that killed and things that stained. They were still dealing with the aftermath of Solas’ past and the poison born from his rebellion, noble or otherwise. He had only meant to free his people and in turn he had been branded ‘Traitor’ and ‘Dread Wolf’ for a thousand years. Though averted now, people had been willing to burn down the world in the name of that cause. Who was she for wicked Time to make exceptions? She was no one.

“I can, and I do,” Talenna pressed. Slender hands, unmarred by war, held her own, unwavering and steadfast. It was almost funny– Ixchel knew Talenna could barely manage opening a stubborn jar by her own power, but in that moment, she could believe that they were strong. “You are Ixchel Lavellan, chooser of your own name and forger of your own path. You are champion of the People and all people. You are a proud Dalish, with an unyielding heart and spirit to match. But more than that, you are my friend, Ixchel. That is why I know.”

Her… friend?

Ixchel blinked past the veil of fear and despair to the person before her. To Talenna.

Though withered and tinged with bitter sympathy, Talenna was smiling up at her in earnest and honest conviction. A stranger and a subordinate, but also her agent and her friend. When had that happened, she wondered? 

Talenna continued. “You may be Inquisitor, lethal’lan, but remember that I am the Inquisition’s official skald. Whereas history may not heed your wishes, it will heed mine. And I swear to you, as your storyteller and your friend, that I will personally see to it that it is ‘Ixchel Lavellan’ who is remembered. That it is her story– her message– which is honored and championed. Not that of their Herald of Andraste.” 

“I-” Ixchel stumbled, thrown from herself by Talenna’s unerring confidence. Or perhaps it was ‘hubris’, claiming to be able to shape the very course of time beyond either of them. But even so, Talenna was so sure, and the weight of that feeling was bearing down on Ixchel’s mind as though it were made of mountain stone. Try as she might, she couldn’t push it out, and it flooded her with its refusal to be ignored. 

Something struck her then. It was a small thought, clinging to the tailcoat of louder and more invasive things that regularly took root in her mind, but like Talenna, there was something about it that refused to be ignored. 

“You would do that for me? Why?” 

What made her so sure? Why was she so sure?

Talenna froze, her head tilted curiously as probing eyes flicked over Ixchel’s face, assessing as though she didn’t quite understand. 

Ixchel tried again. “You said you would make sure my message was the one to be remembered. But why? What makes you so sure that my path is the right one? One worthy of being preserved?” This incident was a tragedy and a horror– one she could never endorse– but what would happen if the next time something horrible done in her name was something she approved of? Would she be able to so easily condemn such actions? What gave her the right to choose what was ‘just’? “You claim I am all these things but I am just me. I’m not more special or competent than anyone else. I’m mortal– capable of fault and wrongdoing.”

Talenna frowned. “I know.”

But did she really?

Ixchel shook her head, pain sharp in her temples. “So then-”

“You haven’t yet realized why Solas called me here tonight, have you?” 

The question speared her to silence, just as soon as it left Talenna’s mouth. The storyteller grinned, as if suddenly she suddenly just realized the answer, but to Ixchel it was about as clear as the ink black outside. She was simply too tired to play mind games tonight. She shook her head again, a signal to continue.

And so she did. “You asked me ‘how I know’ that your choices are the correct ones. That is a good question, and unfortunately one I don’t have an answer for,” she hummed, her eyes flicking downward to study their interlocked hands for the briefest of moments. “Simply put, I have faith in you, Ixchel. All your agents– whether it be for sanctuary, glory, or a chance at something better, we all believe that your path is the best one for us to follow. But that’s all it is. A leap of faith.”

Faith.

The fear must have shown on her face, because before she was even allowed a response, Talenna continued. “It is an uncomfortable thought, isn’t it? That all of us are following you based on a guess, motivated by our own desires. I imagine, given what called me here tonight, that my answer probably doesn’t offer you much comfort. But it is the truth.” She turned her attention back to the fire, watching as its light lept and wavered. “You fear that your legacy will become something you don’t recognize. That your choices will lead others astray. And today, you were proven correct– that there are people out there who will follow you for reasons that are not your own and do wrong by that. But just as those people exist, there are also those who will change the world for the better. All because they have faith in you and the Inquisition. I only ask that you afford us a bit of that same faith in return.”

The breath in Ixchel’s throat had tightened to a choke point, strangled in her chest by the weight of everything laid before her. Talenna was right. She was scared. She was terrified, and honored, and overwhelmed. She never meant to bear the yoke of leadership– never asked for that amount of trust to be laid on her shoulders. She had never asked for a legacy.

“I’m not sure if I know how to do that…” It was an honest answer, at least; even as she fought to keep the tears at bay. Ixchel had her strengths as Inquisitor, as well as her weaknesses– but Talenna had asked of her the one thing she feared most. Letting go. “It’s my responsibility to minimize the damage done in my name… How can I be sure something like this won’t happen again?”

The answer came simply, and without hesitation.

“You can’t, but that’s what we’re all here for, lethal’lan. This Inquisition– it’s not just your legacy. All of us here are walking towards the same place. The same goals. You’re just the one at the front of the line.” Warm arms wrapped around her shoulders as, almost surprisingly, Talenna pulled her into an embrace. Ixchel shuddered and sucked back a broken breath, but Talenna just pulled her in tighter. “Trust us, Ixchel. We have your back.”

[paigelts05]

Oxana Olwen - FNAF world OC

https://www.deviantart.com/paigelts05/art/Oxana-Olwen-FNAF-world-OC-878233164

Published: May 2, 2021

For a monthly challenge's microchallenge on the FNAF amino, I had an idea for what I wanted to do. It was a novelist. But how would I make her an animatronic? Owl. Easy. But picking a type of owl was tough, but I settled on the southern white faced owl. The outfit is somewhat inspired by the outfit that Luca Balsa from IDV wears in his character trailer, and the hair was inspired by Reina Ooe from NG. When I was designing her, I originally conceptualised her as being human, but then made her an owl mid-sketch so that she'd fit the world of 'FNAF World' better. This fact that I planned for her to be human but then changed to owl is evident in how the clothes on her body have creases, like how I draw creases on regular clothes. She was also originally going to have shoes, but those were quickly turned into talons. Please note that when I say "Originally conceptualised", this conceptualisation occured as I was reading the challenge description for the second time to try and make sure I knew what it wanted. As she is an owl, and as the only cannon owl is Security, I wanted her to seem antagonistic, almost suspicious even. Her specific tolerances of other player characters are defined by 'maturity' and wether they spark inspiration for her next novel. Her two unique attacks are based around her career as the novelist, and her one attack from the already existing move pool was chosen as it fits her aesthetic and gives her some mid/late game viability. 🌹 Written Description 🌹 🦉Personality🦉 Oxana Olwen is a self proclaimed author who prefers to be left alone and has a particular distaste of loud noises, which is why she secluded herself so. She resides in the pink roofed house in Fazbear hills (the first area of the game). Whilst it may be close to the initial ruckus, the walls are thick enough. Being the mysterious sort, she keeps a lot of herself hidden, giving little about herself away, but she is far from quiet. She speaks a lot, but about her works as opposed to anything that would tell you more about her than an individual needs to know. Her mannerisms are blunt, standoffish, and purposeful. Whilst she isn't too fond of the rest of the cast, she seems to tolerate the Shadow animatronics more than the others. Perhaps her mentions of "other worlds" and constant ramblings about redbear and white rabbit may have something to do with this. She also tolerates Springtrap, and some of the phantoms, but nobody knows why. As a novelist, she spends a lot of time writing and is never seen without her notebook and pen, and when inspiration finally hits once again, nothing will stop her from planning out her next masterpiece. 🦉 Attire🦉 She is a southern white faced owl animatronic. Her eyes are orange, and her beak and feet are a light brown. Her suit is made to look like a deep red tailcoat and black trousers. Black hair covers her head, and is pulled back in a ponytail. She always caries around a quill pen and notebook. It appears as though this suit if from a discontinued line where the suits had to use wigs to cover up the the imperfections of the suits due to being smaller than normal. 🦉Backstory🦉 She has never told a soul where she is from. Roumors say she has always been in the house, others say she has only been here for a while. All anyone knows is that one day, she started wandering around, trying to find inspiration for her next novel, only to hide away once again when the flip side begun to corrupt. Some say Oxana was once human and retreated to this plane after she died. Others say she's still alive and is simply here because she wished to move her 'soul' somewhere safer. Others even go as far to claim that she has always been on this plane. One thing that is certain, however, is that she is an adult, only seeing specific other animatronics as being "fellow adults". Regardless, many even see her existence as a rumour, something passed around on the wind and ever changing. But even so, aren't rumours where stories begin? 🌹Moveset🌹 She has two new moves unique to her, and one move from the standard pool. She is a mid/late game character whose ability to use mimic ball and a powerful damage over time move keeps her at least somewhat viable, especially to those who can't for the life of them find the permanent mimic ball chip. She's a support character with some attacking capabilities. Novelas is her most dangerous move when combined with mimic ball, as it lets her apply massive damage over an extended period of time. Combined with Rough draft, she can last a while and eliminate opponents by means of endurance. Novelas A far more powerful version of muncheies with a new sprite shaped like a book with teeth. Damage over time move, each bite deals a lot of damage, and the Novelas last twice as long as munchies Rough Draft A mid-game version of neon wall reskined to look like a wall of paper. It halves any damage taken by the party for a while. Can stack with other defensive moves. Mimic ball Base game move. 🌹Unlocking Oxana 🌹 You must have shadow Freddy and Shadow Bonnie at the front of party 1 and 2 respectively and have unlocked pinwheel circus. Then, in area 1, you must go to the pink house and walk up to the door, and keep walking into the door. After a while, this will start a cutscene where a voice without a sprite will say "Oh, it's you? Fine. Come on in." You are unable to alter your party composition whilst in the house and only the first two members of each party will be usable, so make sure Shadow Freddy and Shadow Bonnie are leveled up before you start this. Whilst in the house, your overworld sprite is switched to Shadow Freddy. It's recommended you take Springtrap as one slot 2, and one of the three phantoms, Freddy, Foxy, and marionette, as your other slot 2. This will make her use her moves less frequently. To reiterate, Slots 3 and 4 are not available for use in battle whilst in her house. It is recommended you take all healthpack bytes so you can heal. After navigating through the house, you make it to the study where another cutscene starts. This time, it actually shows Oxana, and she says "If you want me to join you, you'll have to prove its worth my time." Then the "challenger approaching" banner appears on screen and you fight as you would any other playable character, unlocking her after the fight. She isn't too hard to beat, due to the player only being able to bring the two shadow animatronics and two other characters, but she should be a challenge. After the fight you are taken back to area 1, and she is now playable.

[illarian-rambling]

Hey, I had a silly goofy little idea for a tag game, so maybe we give it a whirl?

OC Interaction Tag

Rules: Provide a short description of your oc, then using the description given by the person who tagged you, describe how you think the two of them would interact

Here's an example below

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Tagger's OC: Silvield is a gnomish woman with black hair and a trench coat. She sells snake oil remedies and also drugs for a living, hoping to someday strike it rich. She's a little rough around the edges, but enjoys the finer things in life, even if she's still got a backwoods air about her. She's not very polite.

My OC: Daedryn is a lady knight with one eye and red hair. She's the divine Chosen of Loqang, god of rivers and loyalty. Due to this, she is fiercely loyal to whatever person or organization she has promised herself to, to the point of following orders for orders sake. Outside of battle, where she is a force to be reckoned with, she's very sweet, a little awkward, and loves to talk about her god, who she sees as her best friend.

How they'd interact: Daedryn would see Silvield as a sinner to be saved. She would probably destest the false remedies the gnome peddles, though she would be intrigued by her methods. She would probably sympathize with Silvield's desire for wealth, however, she'd go about trying to help in a very preachy way. From what I'm getting from Silvield, she'd probably get sick of Daedryn's shit real quick.

.

Now anyone tagged can take Daedryn's quick description and write a blurb on how your OC would interact with her. The people you tag will take the description of your OC and write a blurb on how their OC would interact with them. Lmk if this is incomprehensible or something, it came to me in a dream. Hopefully it's fun for y'all!

I'll tag all the homies on this one :)

@amandacanwrite @elsie-writes @riveriafalll @kosmic-kore @kaylinalexanderbooks @bard-coded @carrotsinnovember @patternwelded-quill @somethingclevermahogony @whatwewrotepodcast @goldxdarkness @the-angriest-author @mk-writes-stuff @vyuntspakhkite-l-darling @thebejeweledwatercat @tildeathiwillwrite @halfbakedspuds and anyone else who wants to give this a try :)

[tacogoats]

more Dark Urge oc thoughts. I have two of them: Veren and Ilryn : )

Veren is very much the favourite child of the two because he's the 'redeemed' run (after FFXIV I need a good ending fix okay) whereas Ilryn is the 'I'm a special little Bhaal boy so I'm gonna deliver a dead world to dear old dad because I'm Soooo special teehee' run but

what they have in common is that they are viciously defensive of their loved ones - Veren adores the entire crew, and while his favourite is Astarion as his lover, Ilryn's favourite is Gale and basically only Gale.

Veren has the entire crew you can get ingame minus Minthara for 'good run' reasons, whereas Ilryn does not have Halsin, Jaheira and won't have Minsc either. He has Minthara, though.

Ilryn didn't side with the goblin camp - he in fact does not side with either party and simply leaves because his priority is himself (and later Gale). He is not being evil at this point, it's simply about survival and he doesn't care about a bunch of random Tieflings making it to Baldur's Gate. They probably won't get there anyway if several Mind Flayers are born nextdoor, too.

Veren on the other hand has a golden retriever personality sometimes and also figures that if his brain is hissing and spitting like a vicious baby kitten at the idea of Helping People then he is in fact doing a Good Thing and Should Do It (also if Astarion whines - he likes Astarion but he's an ass) so he stays to help to the best of his ability. Surely he should be helping because he's Strong and they aren't, right? That's what the Strong should do! (this also pisses Astarion off therefore it must be Correct)

Both of them also want what's best for their respective lovers, but Ilryn's idea of 'best' is making Gale into a God. In his mind, this is the only way he can keep Gale to himself without upsetting Bhaal. If Gale ascends to Godhood, Bhaal can't touch him, and he can deliver what was promised once. Gale is strong, smart, and he was once an Archmage and fellow Chosen - he's the *perfect* partner to Ilryn.

Obviously this is tricky so I have to iron out details but like Ilryn wants to be selfish for this one thing so badly just as Dark Urge was with Gortash in some ways; minus Ilryn actually giving a shit about Gortash. He actually was not romantically involved with the man at all but respected him to a degree - but was totally just playing along with the plan to use him.

Veren was totally head over heels for the guy and was Very Close to chucking it all away to protect Gortash but obviously it never happens because of Orin and the lobotomy.

Ilryn is very pro like, using people to further goals whereas Veren is apprehensive for the most part unless they Really Need To Die. Like he is in no way ever going to take pity on Some people and Will indulge his Urges from time to time - Ilryn however will almost always try to shove them down because he is killing for Himself and Himself only unless it furthers the plan for Bhaal.

Bhaal can wait for the glorious dead world; he'll deliver them all when it's time, and he wants and needs total control of himself for that to happen, it's too delicate a task. Veren cries when he kills Quill. :) (Fun fact I actually failed the rolls not to Urge Astarion my first run and let that play out and while I adore that stupid knife cat smile the fucker does after the camp wakes up, it wasn't planned for at all so I reloaded lmao.)

Veren also desperately longs for his old memories even though he knows it will disgust him, and has talked at length with Astarion that even though he rejects who he used to be, he still feels very empty knowing that there's a whole life locked away to him that he'll never be able to retrieve. For obvious reasons, Astarion can sympathize - and part of that sympathy extended to Veren befriending Gortash again. (Well, trying to. I am staring directly at Larian for spoiler related reasons that was COWARDLY!!!)

Ilryn completely rejects it because it's not relevant anymore. He has a problem ahead of him Now and that's more important, and so is Gale's problem. (Oh also he totally intends to let Astarion ascend even after learning the cost because SHRUGS, one more powerful ally for him! Neat.)

Basically what I'm getting at here is Ilryn is Bhaal's favourite but Veren is my favourite DAGNJKSGDF

I just am glad I made two of them because Ilryn was originally going to just be an evil run for Veren but he kind of evolved into his own shitty little character, oops.

More thoughts another day I need to write fic

[ultimate-redheads-championship]

Okay so this is the Ultimate Redheads Championship! First up we are having character submissions :)

I'll edit this post as submissions come in (via askbox) and once we reach ??? or deadline ??? the championship will start! inspired by a bunch of different ones

If you want to co-host this just send in an ask and we can chat.

sincerely,

your local redheaded mod xD

~~~

How this will work

Once submissions are closed, the first round will commence, the family elimination round. I'll tag it #family elimination. Depending on the traction/interest this has received I'll either set the polls for a day or a week, and will be to eliminate family or closely connected characters from competing against each other. The only two families I know of currently in this round are the Blythes (Anne of Green Gables) and the Weasleys (Harry Potter). If you're submitting characters where there are multiple redheads in the family, please make a note of this in the submission. I may also eliminate multiples in the same fandom depending on how many submissions we have, also in this round. (e.g. there are two DC characters currently listed).

After that, I'll set up the brackets and whatnot and the ultimate redhead will, by process of elimination, be chosen!

After it's over, there will also be a redheaded OCs round (can be fandom OCs or from original stories). Feel free to submit your interest at any time and I'll keep the ask in my inbox until we get to handling the OC round with a proper template for information about them. If you submit OCs to the main bracket without clarification they will be deleted or put in the main bracket.

~~~

Character list under the cut! The [] indicates this character and their related family members will participate in the family elimination round.

| Book/comic characters |

Sophie Hatter Howl's Moving Castle

[Anne] Shirley Anne of Green Gables

[Ron] Weasley Harry Potter

Aerin The Hero and the Crown

Barbara Gordon aka Batgirl/Oracle DC

StarFire DC

Wally West DC

Roy Harper DC

Quill Kipps Lockwood & Co

Maedhros The Silmarillion

Mary Jane Watson Marvel

Mrs Frizzle The Magic School Bus

Pippi Longstocking Pippi Longstocking

| Film/TV/anime characters |

Nausicaä Nausicaä of the Valley of the Wind

Stoick How To Train Your Dragon

Dana Scully The X Files

Mara Jade Star Wars EU

Obi-Wan Kenobi Star Wars

Bo Katan Star Wars

Lydia Martin Teen Wolf

Kim Possible Kim Possible

Kyo Sohma Fruits Basket

Ichigo Kurosaki Bleach

Phineas Phineas and Ferb

Merida Brave

Ariel The Little Mermaid

Poison Ivy DC

Black Widow Marvel

Daphne Scooby-Doo

Sansa Game of Thrones

Anastasia Anastasia

Anna Frozen

Jessica Rabbit Jessica Rabbit (?)

Fiona Shrek

Annie Annie

Giselle Enchanted

Jessie Toy Story

| Unknown |

(please provide clarification if you know)

none right now

[sswitchblade03]

Pirate time

[juliaswickcrs]

oops another oc :: arianwen of rivendell ↳ glitter & gold

Once there had existed an alliance between elves and men.

Not just when it came to war, but with unions as well. The story of Beren and Luthien was well known to all, having produced a line of half-elves that took home in the Valley of Imladris. The line of Elrond and his sister Elowen were a product of that union, and so were all who came after. 

But while Elrond had chosen to live the life of most of his kin, his sister had chosen the opposite. For Elowen had fallen in love with a mortal man and chosen a mortal life, leaving her daughter in the care of Elrond himself, promising she would return one day. 

But she never did. And Elrond was tasked to look after the last reminder of his sister he had left. 

Arianwen was headstrong and powerful, more powerful than any of them knew, and she had spent her entire life behind the mountains and walls of Rivendell, kept safe and hidden from the world around her. 

But then a pack of orcs moves closer to their borders, and Arianwen is suddenly playing host to company of thirteen dwarves, a hobbit from the Shire, and her father’s old friend Gandalf the Grey.  But it is their quest that keeps her intrigued, and it is their quest she sacrifices everything for to join.

She’s heard the whispers between the ring bearers, the worry in Gandalf’s voice when he approaches her uncle for help, and she sees the determination in the Dwarf King’s eyes. 

Something is coming, and Arianwen refuses to stay hidden any longer.

tag list:@honeyandsunflowers @foxesandmagic @booty-boggins @iron-parkr @jvstjewels @camiemendes @a-song-of-quill-and-feather @arrthurpendragon @villain-connoisseur @starcrossedjedis @drbobbimorse @noratilney @stanshollaand @bubblegum-barbie  @elmunson @darth-caillic​ @mystic-scripture