#oc: chiara

[ochitea]

changed my ocs' heights according to how i draw em individually (w/ lucy as the base bc he needs to stay 6'9)

everyone is shorter than i thought lol

[dearest-and-nearest]

so, here's my Shepard. She has a headcanon romance with TIM, but sadly only in my head. Half-Indian, spoiled child (thanks to Hannah "I'll-do-everything-for-my-little-girl" Shepard) and even more dangerous psycho biotic bitch than Jack

[jenchwuq]

I’ve been seeing this picrew and it looked fun so.

☢ Elena (fo) || ⚜ Chiara (sr) 🖤 Ana (vtm) || 🦇 Charlotte (vtm)

[lyrishadow]

Lvl 80 on Tam finally yesterday. Too tired to do much else but yeah. Did the other spec as merc. Because I need range play at times.

Also... I love this...

Cos he's showing off to you . [Badly edited panel.. I dont care too tired lol]

[ghouljams]

(The Day After)Halloween on the Farm (Ghost's Version) Rating: T, there's vague nudity and mentioned sex Word Count: <1k Tags: This is all fluff folks, short and sweet, Ghost x f!OC/reader, very and I mean very minor descriptions of reader, reader has a scar Summary: You spent all night last night policing other people's fun, now you can spend time relaxing in Ghost's company. If he'd come back to bed, that is.

The sheets fall off of you, the sun streaming over your stomach and creeping towards your eyes as it rises. You wake up just enough to toss an arm over your eyes. It takes you a moment of drifting for the scratching of pencil on paper to reach you. It's the only noise in the silence of the room until you groan and go to grab your blanket.

"Don't move," Simon tells you quietly. You smile to yourself and let out a breath, sinking back into the bed. 

"When did you get up?" You ask, settling in to listen to him draw. The soft drag of graphite is lulling, gentle and familiar. Simon is quiet for a long time as he works but you're patient, and you're not going anywhere.

"Hour ago," he says when his pencil stills, his fingers rub against the paper, "maybe."

You stretch a little, arch your back and twist your hips in the quiet. As long as he isn't sketching you can move, and you're quick to settle back into position. It's an attention you'll never get used to. The way you can feel his eyes drag over you, studying you with an open affection, makes you feel more beautiful than anyone ever has. He's not one to show off, but the few times you've seen his sketches they were amazing. His attention to detail is meticulous, every shadow shaping forms and adding softness, weight, to his sketches.

You wait for him to start sketching again. Each short scratch a new shadow that is rubbed soft by his fingers. You could almost doze like this. The soft light of the morning and the warmth of the house threaten to drag you back towards slumber. It's so warm in here, no wonder you barely notice the loss of your blankets. Simon must have turned up the heat after you fell asleep, easier than putting clothes on after sex you suppose. He stops sketching and you seize the opportunity.

"Can I see?" You chance the ask, he grunts and you hear the drag of his eraser.

"Sure." Your heart feels like it's going to burst. You move your arm from your eyes to check its OK to move and catch Simon staring at you. He really must have just woken up, his hair sticks in different directions, and he’s only wearing sweats. He's pulled one of the kitchen chairs to sit next to the bed, his shoulders hunched over his sketchbook. The pencil in his hands looks so small. He raises a brow, and that's good enough for you. He holds the book out to you as you push yourself up, and waits for you to take it from him. 

When you do you have to stop from pressing your fingers against the paper, you can't trace the lines of graphite as desperately as you want to. You don't want to ruin his art, but you can't believe what you're seeing is really you. You're not insecure by any stretch of the word, but the way he draws you… "Am I really this pretty?" You breathe, eyes touching on the dip of your waist, the swell of your breasts, the soft part of your lips, the scar along your stomach so adoringly detailed. 

Simon hums, and you glance at him. He’s staring at you, watching you inspect his work. His gaze is so open it almost makes you want to praise him. You think he’d like that.

“No,” He tugs the sketchbook free of your hands and starts scratching his pencil against the page, feathering the strokes along your sketched lashes, “You’re prettier in person, haven’t gotten it right yet.”

You lean forward against your knees with a smile and rest your head on your folded arms to watch Simon work. He’s so gruff, so practical with everything, it never fails to surprise you that his hobby is so delicate. Maybe that isn’t the right word, careful? Meticulous you could buy, but that makes too much sense with Simon. No, you like delicate. It speaks to the care, the consideration in his art. You’ve watched him draw his own hands, so meticulous to trace every vein and scar, and yet looking at the finished product it’s almost appreciative. 

It’s definitely appreciative when he draws you. You know that much. You can see it. His eyes dart to look at you and back down to the paper, each line struck with purpose, each glance a calculation. And again you think that for all the technical parts, it’s loving. His sketchbooks are full of you, pieces of you litter every page, every inch. He’s packed full of you, just like you’re stuffed to the brim with him.

“I love you,” You tell him. He sucks in a breath, the same way he always does, almost disbelieving.

“Love you too,” He mutters, burying himself a little further in his work. 

“We should fuck when you’re done,” You mumble, closing your eyes to enjoy the warm house, the warm affection in your chest. Simon’s sketchbook snaps shut almost as quickly as the words leave your mouth. You peek up at your husband to watch him strip his pants off, and reach to push you back down against the bed.

You move with his insistent hands, and stretch out against the bed again, letting his eyes roam over you with a different sort of appreciation. He pulls your legs up around his waist as you reach for him, tugging him down to kiss him. Simon meets your lips all too eagerly, and you let out a pleased hum as you finally receive a proper good morning.

[chiaracognigniart]

The walls shielding the heart of politics crumble, and the Realm prepares for war, yet amidst the rising flames, flowers blossom and the rivers slow. But would the Mallister eagle rise above or succumb to the threat..?

Catelyn Stark and her sister Celia Mallister with their two children, Robert and Aemerie under the Heart Tree of Riverrunn

commissionated by @weirwooddreams for her fic,

The Ichor within our Pyre on Ao3

[lauritanaomystery]

I love all my next generation ocs! Yes, a crazy idea that I love!!!

In the first image on the left we have the new "Mystery Skulls gang" of my headcanon:

Chiara, Mystery, Eimi, Albert and additional Canon!

In the second image are the "little "cute" skulls":

Harmony, Takeo and Tetsuya.

And finally are the babies:

Piper and Héctor!

I will make more ideas very soon!!!🎵

[thedeadthree]

-`. OCS AS TYPES OF SUFFERING.

TAGGED BY @chuckhansen, @queennymeria, @shellibisshe, @leviiackrman, @nightbloodbix, @lavampira, @marivenah, @faerune, @socially-awkward-skeleton and @corvosattano to take this uquiz for a few dears !! ty ty!!!!!!

TAGGING: @ruinbringer, @griffin-wood, @duskfey, @jendoe, @aponibolinayen, @pinkfey, @unholymilf, @gwynbleidd, @adelaidedrubman, @carlosoliveiraa, @grapecaseschoices, @flyntz, @jackiesarch, @katsigian, @quickhacked, @full---ofstarlight, @avallachs, @risingsh0t, @dameayliins, @starforger, @vanoefucks, @yennas, @bloodofvalyria, @malefiicarum, @ravensgard, @theviridianbunny, @mrdekarios, @shadowglens, @fenharel, @nokstella, @swordcoasts, @leondaltons and you!!

-`. DESPAIR.

The tunnel never had a light. You wish for nothing because you know you'll receive nothing, and your hopes died out long ago. The only thing that keeps you going is the thrill of emptiness you feel when things don't turn out your way. It's bitter. It's proof. Proof that you don't feel this way for nothing.

-`. THE BLACKHOLE.

There's a hole where your heart used to be and nothing is filling that hollow void. You could drown in a world curated for you, and still nothing seems to fit. It eats you alive knowing you're unsure how to satiate the hunger of your soul. It's barely hunger, it's more like a blackhole.

-`. THE TAKER.

Your expectations are ones you can barely meet. You compare yourself to others, but with a hypocritical light. You'll never find what you're looking for if you're laying down half of what you receive. It stings to be given less than expectations you've set, but if they were more reasonable, do you think even then you'd be happy?

-`. YEARNING.

The pain in your chest bubbles knowing that what you want may never be yours. You're lost in a fantasy world, or consumed by what you wish you were or had as opposed to what you do. It's hard to appreciate what's around you when you're appreciating the hope of what could be instead.

-`. THE GIVER.

Your energy depletes as you hand it out to anyone passing by your basket. People walk by and take, but no one ever leaves. You're constantly running on low when people keep asking you to give. You'd give your soul away for free, and then what left do you have of yourself if you can't say no?

-`. LONELINESS.

Your heart feels full of the connection you feel you lack. No matter how many people are around you, strangers or not….someone is missing. You don't know who, what, or if you'll ever find them. You're unsure if there's a person out there who'll really satisfy your life, so really what's the point of continuing to look?

[detherun]

✨Art Raffle ✨

@theguythatdraws @ameliathefatcat

[mickadamz]

going thru oc rehab

[fluffomatic]

Been working on this for a couple days and I finally got it finished! Xavier got invited to his friends "girls night" Basi a sleepover with all his girl friends! He got an exception cause he was having a rough day so they let him come over. They all took turns tickling the absolute shit out of him! Penny took the, tickling his feet approach, one of the easiest ways to tickle someone but Xavier is very VERY ticklish there so it worked out lol. Merula targeted his sides which breaks him almost immediately! Course she'd go for such a bad spot right away. Liz got to tickle his belly which she thought was very cute! Chiara tickled around his hips which he didn't even realize he was that ticklish there! She also is a mean tease~! Next up we got Ismelda, and she is vicious. She got very swept up in the tickle monster persona and absolutely destroyed the poor wizard. Eventually she let up tho! Tulip was much nicer. She took the, softly tickling his belly as a way to calm him down after Ismelda's torture lmao. Lastly, Nymphadora finished off with some more peet tickles! Thanking the lad for being such fun to play with! I think he's gonna be invited to a lot more girls nights!

(My art don't repost but please reblog)

[ochitea]

drunk times w/ lucy ft. some other ppl ig

(textless ver below cut)

[ptg-alia]

The warrior | The light

The Demon Doll(s)

Acuarelas de hace dos años (creo).

[jenchwuq]

Just thought of something terrible--a body count au featuring Chiara. She wouldn’t be finding the killer--she’d be the killer

[the-al-chemist]

The Smallest Victory

A/N: today was Artemis’ 50th birthday, and to celebrate I decided to publish the story of her 27th birthday, and someone else’s birth. It also fits the theme of @hp-12monthsofmagic: Victory! Hope you enjoy. Warnings: mentions of childbirth and war.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more bored in my life.”

Charlie looked up from the copy of Which Broomstick? that he was currently thumbing through and regarded Artemis from the corner of his eye.

“You could still go out,” he said. “Chiara or Penny might still be free.”

“Penny won’t be able to get a babysitter at this short notice, and Chiara’s working here tonight. She might even be with Fleur,” Artemis exhaled heavily, blowing a stray strand of hair away from her face. “No. I’ll stay here. I should stay here. I just didn’t think there’d be this much waiting, that’s all. Do you reckon it’ll be much longer?”

“I dunno, Artie. I’ve never had a baby before. I don’t know how long it takes.”

“Ages, apparently.”

Artemis let out another huff of air, and slumped against the back of her seat with her arms crossed, one foot tapping impatiently. Charlie closed his magazine.

“I’m sorry,” he told her.

“Why? You’re not the one having a baby.”

“I know, but this wasn’t how you wanted to spend your birthday.”

That was true. Artemis had intended to spend her birthday at Bill and Fleur Weasley’s cottage in Cornwall, with sand and sea and a crackling bonfire. Unfortunately, her best laid plans had been scuppered earlier that evening by the arrival of a lion-shape Patronus, which had spoken with Bill’s voice and informed her that his wife had gone into labour, and that the pair of them were about to go to the hospital. Both she and Charlie had also gone straight to St Mungo’s hospital, where they had taken seats in the waiting room and waited. And waited. And were still waiting, even now.

“It’s fine, Charlie,” she said. “I mean, I’ve had worse birthdays.”

Another truth, albeit an unpleasant one. The previous two years, her birthday had been overshadowed by the battle that had taken so many lives, including those of her friend Tonks and Bill and Charlie’s younger brother Fred. The battle had broken out in the evening of her twenty-fifth birthday, and her twenty-sixth then became the first anniversary of the event.

This year, though she would turn twenty-seven on the eve of the victory and memorial, the fact seemed to linger less heavily on her mind now that yet another year had passed. Still, at her words, Charlie’s jaw tensed slightly. Artemis shook her head and unfolded her arms, guilty that she had accidentally caused harm.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t…”

Before Artemis could continue further, the doors of the waiting room swung open, revealing a middle-aged couple, a tall wizard with glasses and a plump witch in a knitted poncho, both with red hair; Bill and Charlie’s parents. Behind them trailed a much younger witch with a face almost as freckled as Charlie’s and her hair - also red - pulled up into a messy bun: their youngest child and Charlie’s only sister, Ginny.

“Oh, you’re here already,” said Charlie’s mother, her cheeks flushed pink with excitement. “Any news?”

“None yet.”

“Oh, well. These things can take time.”

“Don’t we know it,” Artemis muttered. Mrs Weasley turned to her, beaming.

“And happy birthday, Artemis, dear,” she said. She removed her bag from her shoulder and pulled out a box of small triangular sandwiches. “Your present is at home, but I thought there was no point in the party food going to waste. Unless you had dinner before you came here?”

Artemis took the box of sandwiches from Mrs Weasley’s hands and wrenched it open. “No, I’m starving. Thanks.”

“Neither of us had time to eat anything,” Charlie explained, also helping himself to a sandwich. “We both came straight here after Bill sent his Patronus.”

“Really? But that was almost three hours ago!” Mrs Weasley shook her head. “I don’t know why you rushed. The baby was unlikely to arrive before now.”

“But it should come soon now that you’re here, right?”

“Maybe. Could be in the next half an hour-”

“Thank Godric,” said Artemis.

“- or it might be another three hours.”

“What?”

“Or longer, who knows?” Apparently oblivious to the look on Artemis’ face, Mrs Weasley clapped her hands together. “Oh, it’s so exciting, isn’t it? Now, where did they take Bill and Fleur? We should make sure they have eaten something, the food here is terrible, after all.”

Once she had been told where to go, Mrs Weasley and her set off to deliver refeshments - presumably more sandwiches - to their eldest son and his wife. Ginny Weasley remained in the waiting room, flumping herself down in the chair on the other side of Charlie, who had returned his attention to his magazine. Ginny leaned forward to talk across him.

“Do you think she’s done it on purpose?” she asked Artemis, who frowned.

“What? Who?”

“Fleur, obviously,” Ginny shrugged and raised her eyebrows. “I mean the baby wasn’t meant to be here for another two weeks, and now it’s coming on your birthday, when she was supposed to be having everyone over.”

“So, you think she’s having a baby to get out of having people over for dinner?” Artemis asked. Beside her, Charlie gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, still looking determinedly at his open magazine.

“Maybe,” said Ginny. “And it’s just the sort of thing she’d do, isn’t it? Steal your thunder by having a baby on your birthday.”

“No, she wouldn’t… She… I mean, could she?”

Artemis directed her question at Charlie, who did not even lift his head to look at her as he answered:

“I really don’t think that’s how it works.”

Ginny clearly thought otherwise, for she mouthed ‘I bet she did’ at Artemis before leaning back in her seat so that she was out of sight. As Mr and Mrs Weasley returned from seeing Bill and Fleur, Artemis returned to her sandwiches. She was still bored, but now that she was being fed, she at least felt less annoyed.

But, as eight o’clock became nine, and nine became ten, then eleven, both the sandwiches and Artemis’ patience dwindled. Beside her, Charlie had managed to drift off into a slumber, but she was only growing increasingly restless. After her fidgeting reached the point that it had roused Charlie from his sleep, the two of them decided to find some sort of entertainment, and roamed the hospital corridors in search of somewhere where they might do just that.

When they returned to the waiting room, they found it completely and eerily empty, void of any people or noise. The flickering light of a candelabra on the wall was the only movement to be seen.

“Where did everyone go?”

Before Artemis’ question could be answered - or indeed, in answer to her question - Bill appeared from the direction of the wards. His face was pale and tired looking, but his eyes were bright and his smile was broad. He strode straight across the waiting room towards them and pulled each of them into a hug.

“There you are! Where did you go?” He did not even wait for them to reply before continuing, “Never mind, you’re here now. And so is she. The baby.”

“That’s great, mate,” said Charlie, hugging his brother again. “Is Fleur alright? Is she-”

“Fleur’s fine, so is the baby, she’s… She’s perfect. Come and see.”

Bill beckoned them through to the wards, where the entire Weasley family, Fleur’s parents and sister, and Artemis’ Healer friend Chiara were gathered around a hospital bed. Lying in the bed was an exhausted looking but still irritatingly beautiful Fleur, a small bundle of cloth in her arms. Bill sat on the bed and took the bundle from her, and everyone leaned in to see the pink, wrinkly, and slightly crusty baby inside.

“We haven’t decided on a name yet,” Bill said, his voice gentler than Artemis had ever heard it before. “We thought we still had a couple of weeks left to make up our minds, but this little one had other ideas.” He looked up at Artemis. “Sorry about your birthday.”

“If it’s any consolation, I enjoyed it less than you did,” muttered Fleur wryly, a comment that was met with a few quiet chuckles.

“And what better gift is there than the gift of life?”

“I dunno, Molly,” Artemis shrugged at Bill’s mother. “I asked for a new camera.”

There was another round of soft chuckles, but Bill merely shook his head.

“Well, you’ll have to make do with a goddaughter instead,” he told Artemis, whose jaw dropped open.

“Goddaughter? Really?”

“Yeah. Sure,” Bill shared a glance with his wife. “Why not?”

Artemis turned to Charlie. “You owe me a Sickle.”

“No, he doesn’t. You’re both godparents.”

“That’s fine, I don’t mind sharing,” said Artemis, as much to Charlie as to their goddaughter’s parents. “I’m going to have to get used to sharing my birthday anyway.”

“Actually,” Chiara looked up from the clipboard she held in her hands, “she was born just after midnight, so her birthday is the second of May, not the first.”

The clock on the wall confirmed Chiara’s words. It was past midnight. It was exactly two years after the battle that had ended the war. The entire family was still, silent, and solemn.

“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I think it’s rather lovely,” Chiara said softly. “The idea that this day will be one of happiness in the future, rather than one filled with bad memories. It’s a small victory, but…”

“It is a victory, just the same.” Bill’s father nodded slowly. “Perhaps you should name her something to reflect that?”

“You could call her Joy!”

“That’s so old-fashioned, Mum,” said Ginny, with a noise of derision. “How about Hope?”

“Or Victoria?”

“Well,” Bill looked from his wife to his in-laws and back, “we were hoping for something French…”

“Victoire.”

“Sorry?”

“Victoire,” Fleur repeated. “It is the French for Victoria. It means victory.”

“It’s pretty,” her husband said. He looked down at the baby in his arms. “It suits her, don’t you think?”

“I do, yes.”

“Then that’s settled,” said Mr Weasley. He pointed his wand at a carton of pumpkin juice on the nightstand, which turned into a large bottle of champagne. Chiara frowned.

“Um, you can’t actually drink alcohol in here,” she said, but her voice tailed off as Mr Weasley continued to conjure fluted glasses from thin air. She sighed. “Oh, never mind.”

Once the glasses had been distributed, Mr Weasley raised his in a toast.

“To our own very small victory.”

“To the smallest of victories,” his son George chipped in, smiling at his tiny niece. Mr Weasley inclined his head.

“To Victoire.”

One by one, the others raised their glasses.

“To Victoire.”

[fanny-passerine]

You're such a fugitive but you don't know what you're running from / You can't kid us and you couldn't trick anyone

Here's a fanart for the interactive fiction Skin and Scales by @skinandscales-if ! It's my own interpretation of a small moment in the first chapter, moment living rent free in my mind, featuring my mc, Chiara (the girl with purple hair) and Atlas ! It's such a heavy scene and I loved drawing it :D can't wait for chapter 2, give it a read !