#oc: frances fields

[i-love-xoxodroplets]

french boys

[elliee-doodles]

Cringey mouthwashing oc (I'm just here to have fun alright)

More about her under the cut if anyone is interested

Estar is a higher up at pony express. She's not on the tulpar, but she has worked with Curly and his crew (minus Daisuke) in the past.

She has worked very hard to get where she is, and even still doesn't get the respect she deserves in a man dominated field. Often taken for granted, most of her coworkers don't realize how much she really does. She doesn't just stand around looking pretty. After pony express goes under she's left lost- she's spent most of her years climbing the corporate ladder she has no idea what she can do now, considering herself too old to pursue childhood dreams (she's really only in her 30s, but society often tells you that's too old)

Other facts about her:

-shes from France! Hence her names spelling. She only lived there as a small child, and therefore her accent isn't terribly strong- though it comes out more when she's emotional. (It's also a secret dream of hers to go back)

-She seems really intimidating and kinda mean, she's just trained herself to seem that way to avoid unwanted attention

-Her apartment she lives in is very bare and depressing. Despite seeming like she has her life together she lives a very lonely life. Some may say she's married to her job

-Ginger is not her cat technically.. he's a stray she feeds. She can't bring him in due to her Job, but post pony express she does.

-she didn't mean to name ginger- she just called him that as a distributor.. it stuck

-She dyes her hair. Not a fan of her original color. She feels it washes her out

Bonus: concept (art from a friend)

[offorestsongs]

You have been invited to the Rose Festival! (Algy's 100 followers celebration ♡)

a/n: hello!! once again, thank you so much everyone for 100 followers!! i still can't believe there's so many people out there who would enjoy my art and my OCs, especially since i've been in the community for a relatively short time. everyone's been SO sweet and supportive along the way and i appreciate all of you so so much <3 so! as my celebration, i'm finally releasing the hometown event for my OC Rosienne. hope other people will have fun with it as well!

THE SET-UP

Amongst the Shaftlands' hills, in an isolated rural area, sourronded by deep woods and golden fields, stands an old, majestic palace commonly called the Midnight Castle. According to the legend, it is the very place where the Beautiful Princess had fallen for her cursed lover. For generations now, the Midnight Palace has been in the hands of the Minuit family - according to the legend, they're the descendants of one of the servant families. The Midnight Palace now is a tourist attraction managed by the Minuits, keeping the legend alive and helping people learn more about the surrounding history. The famous Rose Festival is held every year in commemoration of the Beautiful Princess breaking the curse, and every year, Rosienne comes back home to help his dad in running it. This year though, they seem to be short on staff. But hey, what Rosienne's schoolmates are for? Without much thinking, he grabs a few people for help, including Yuu/the Prefect and Grim who got a special mission. Since Rosienne is in the school's newspaper, he had asked (very politely, totally with a chance to say no, trust me) the Prefect to take a few photos of the festival he could later use for his article. That will surely all go fine!

THE FESTIVAL

A mix between a ren fair and those Bridgerton balls, but themed after XVIII France! The guests can get a special tour of the palace focused on the legend of the Beautiful Princess, taste local food and buy hand-made souvenirs, get a lesson on manners and the fashion of the time, watch plays made by local performers and more. At the end of the festival, in the big palace ballroom, is held a ball, usually called the Rose Ball. Everyone is allowed to enter free of charge as long as they're dressed in somewhat period appropriate attire. The staff, too, is required to wear period appropriate clothing.

RULES

✦ even tho it's my follower milestone event, anyone can join!! ✦ you can enter with any type of character - Yuusonas, OCs, canon characters other than the ones i've "officially" included are all welcome!! ✦ any type of entry is welcome as well!! cards/edits/fics, whatever your heart desires <3 ✦ no NSFW ✦ in your post please link this post, tag it with #the rose festival and tag me as well so i can see it ✦ there's no deadline

DRESS CODE

anything inspired by XVIII France (with creative liberties, of course) and Beauty and the Beast inspo:

CARD BACKGROUND

(taken from the Beauty and the Beast movie ofc, edited by me!!)

PARTICIPANTS

canon characters: Vil Schoenheit, Riddle Rosehearts, Silver

OCs:

[SSR] Rosienne Minuit - me! [SSR] Astrid Primrose - @cheerleaderman [SR] Yuya Florence - @cheerleaderman [SSR] Flori Mohn-Prinz - @bunniehunn [SSR] Yumi Yozakura - @marinahavik [SSR] Silas Sanderson - @theolivetree123 [SR] Airlea Therein - @cheerleaderman [SSR] Reyu Carrera - @mirioho [SR] Erwin Coppola - @explorer-of-art [SSR] Yuri Senjougahara - @lazyea [SSR] Kimiko Shindo - @slumberingrose-fandom

REBLOGS ENCOURAGED!

(dividers.)

[i-mybrunettelady]

HUMAN FAN GROUP: Southern Krytans

huge thanks to NOT SAFE FOR GORK server for input and name ideas! also this was hugely inspired by @ratasum and their fanlore about asura cities.

THE WHYS

So! I am the Human Girlie in this fandom, right, and it's been a hot second since I made any fanlore. I usually dabble in small, worldbuilding and culture headcanons and rarely do I make full blown things such as this. However, little things build up and I have this whole set of cohesive headcanons about Kryta and Ascalon, and there's always more human lore for me to dig my hands into.

I also happened to make a Latina-inspired oc I wanna port to gw2, but find no corresponding equivalents, even in my own extensive worldbuilding, so the world is my oyster and I decided to make new stuff.

THE WHERES

See this lil blurred piece of the map, between Kessex Hills, Gendarran Fields and Claw Island? That lil waypoint is stupidly deceiving so in my head, this is where we enter the County of Greenriver Bay, or in the local dialect, Verderio.

Ruled, of course, by a Count/Countess of Greenriver. Do keep in mind, since my Kryta is inspired by France and therefore, speaks French, this would be Comte(sse) de Rivert, but we're not working with French here.

THE WHOS and THE WHENS

Generally speaking, Krytans live in Kryta. Shocker, I know. But even in the same country, there are differences in culture and customs and dress and the manner of living; so someone from the Reach may not necessarily have 100% the same manner of dress as someone from Kessex Hills, or make cook the same way.

Even before the time Searing came to be and a lot of Ascalonian refugees came to Kryta, there were differences between the northern and southern regions. Kryta sees a lot of immigrant and refugee groups from all over Tyria (human-wise) and different peoples settled in different places and shaped the place where they settled.

So this means that Ascalonian influence on Krytan culture is mostly felt in northern Kryta, although not entirely just them, and Orrians and Elonians have influenced the south of Kryta, due to access to the sea.

Over time, Souther Krytans - which is to say, Krytans of Krytan, Orrian and Elonian ancestry combined - formed as a quasi-formal group. I say quasi-formal as they still consider themselves Krytans, belong to the country of Kryta, but in the country itself have been recognized as having their own customs and traditions distinct from those of the north.

Do note that this does not mean there are no Orrian or Elonian communities elsewhere. The Orrian community, in this view, while small, does exist in the Reach and forms around a couple of noble families that weren't present when Orr sank. There's a vibrant Elonian district, Ossan Quarter, in the Reach. This also doesn't mean that they haven't left a mark in the cultural melting pot that is Divinity's Reach and Queensdale; DR is its own beast, and I'm talking about less cosmopolitan communities here.

All this means to say is that their influence is more felt in the south, where there are genuine, authentic Orrian and Elonian communities (modified by distance and time) in Greenriver.

I may change the details on Canthan influence at a later date.

THE HOWS

So, what are Verderrians like? What sets them apart?

For one, they have their own dialect, bordering on a language. Lines are blurry, but what is certain is that you can definitely hear a highly specific way of speaking here. We're talking phonetic changes - my mind goes to vowel shifts and how different vowels are spoken, and also to digraphs that make a different sound than they would in the north - lexical changes and maybe even a different system of accentuation.

Further influences on the language include relationships with the hylek, and the Counts of Greenriver have historically maintained a good relationship with the local hylek tribes that want cooperation, but have had conflicts and skirmishes with more hostile tribes.

They have their own literature. Certain literary forms - in a real world parallel, think perhaps a lai, or a picaresque novel - thrive in Greenriver, and belong amongst its culture that emphasizes tradition without rigidity, concept of heritage, and a certain lack of courtly decorum which is present in the literature of northern Kryta (and with that, less emphasis on chivalry as a theme.) Sea and sea-faring is a common theme amongst their folk tales. 

They are a sea-faring culture that forms the bulk of Kryta’s navy. Southern Krytan navigators and admirals are highly sought after. 

They have their own architectural styles. I am not visual but hey. I trust y'all will be able to picture things.

picture things.

They practice a culture that appears different to the one seen in the Reach, as it is less influenced by Ascalonian settlement, and therefore tied to older Krytan cultural practices. Counts of Greenriver have been very vocal against the Reach’s unified humanity narrative, as they view themselves as Krytans first and foremost; they are proud of their heritage and view themselves as Krytans first, humans second. 

Counts of Greenriver have also, historically, not been huge fans of Queen Jennah and her politics as Queen. One of the key things they take issue with her for is the destruction of the Canthan district of the Reach and its rebuilding into the Crown Pavilion and have been demanding an investigation, although no real attempts have been made by the current government. 

They have their slightly different practice of worship to the Gods, carrying over Orrian rites that survive only here. They value knowledge and curiosity and make some of the most highly educated Krytans because of this.

Culture be culturing, after all.

NAMING SYSTEM

Spanish names, friends! Spanish names go here!

[lov3lybarista]

ᴄʜ. 3 ᴛʜᴇ ᴠɪꜱɪᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʜɪꜱ ꜱʜɪʀᴛ.

Wattpad:lov3lybarista Pairing: Thomas Shelby x OC Warnings: rewrite of OG plot (had to use Lizzie sorry Liz I love her I swear) Word Count: 3.2k+ (this one is longer but worth it I promise) Masterlist. ↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺ Song: Six Pieces, Op. 51 By Tchaikovsky

March 17th, 1923, Arrow House, Birmingham, United Kingdom.

He hadn't been able to focus since they last spoke. It's like he had been damned by her voice, too gentle to constantly flow through his ears the way it did behind the quiet hours of the night and the chaos of the day. He sat with her file opened in front of him. He told himself it was for security, muttered over and over again to himself that it was just precaution, a simple box to tick, that a name like Dalia Hassan didn't appear on paper without shadows behind it, and if he was going to let her near his heart—figuratively….or otherwise—then he had the right to know about her.

But Thomas Shelby had never been good at lying to himself.

He had it all couriered in a plain file, typed clearly with no emotion in its pages.

Doctor Dalia Hassan. Foreign-born in Baghdad, Iraq. In the year 1897, if the records were correct. Her parents had died young—cholera or something more tragic, more painful. She was raised by a widowed grandfather, a former physician who taught her Arabic, Latin, French, and English with the names of bones before she ever learned to ride a bicycle.

She had resided in a house tucked against water, maybe the edge of something dangerous, rivers that could dry up during the heat of the summer and tainted with the blood from the nearby military base. When war had broken through Mesopotamia, she had the hands that could soothe soldiers that passed by, gentle enough to remind them of a mother's touch yet precise enough to take over when the accompanying physicians couldn't handle stitches narrow enough.

And then she fled—by foot, by train, by boat, by sheer fucking will. With her grandfather, and two older brothers who held too much weight on their shoulders and saw too much blood before they could learn how to spell words properly.

Scholarships took her through Instanbul, then Vienna, and then Paris. France—she was there at the same time he had fought.

Fuck, he thought, too close.

She was in England by 1919, the same year he had stepped off the train into Birmingham after the war had stolen whatever soul he had left.

Too close, he thought again.

She settled quietly, already established as a surgeon when most women had to bear the weight of a life in their womb, but she had managed to break through the cycle. No one had seen a woman like her before—let alone a doctor. Pale skin, yes. But those dark eyes, that black hair, and an accent that no one could quite place? She seemed to be a threat before she could even open her mouth.

She had no public affiliations, no fascist party alliances, no gentlemen patrons, no scandals, didn't smoke, didn't drink.

The only paper trail she led was multiple charities she funded or donated to—orphanages, women's sanctuaries, veteran's protection, immigrant help.

She wasn't supposed to be here, not in this field, not in this position of unmatched quiet power, alone, unmarried, a woman. He had her entire history in front of him yet he still couldn't quite believe it.

And when the call finally came through—from a quiet maid loyal to his aunt Polly who had found a rotation in her estate, now with the Shelby pound in her pocket, he finally got his answer to the itch that had found his neck ever since she answered the last call a little too breathless and a little too intimately.

It wasn't really about the man, not completely. It was about the fact that someone else had gotten to see her like that—the Dalia who he had only seen in his dreams: undone, needy, panting.

The maid on his payroll had delivered the report quietly, clean, mundane, and so ordinary that he had to replay it in his head three times and still couldn't believe it. A single visitor, no ties, nothing political, nothing romantic. Quiet, in the early hours. Left before sunrise.

He should've felt relief, but instead, he only felt the burn of something sharp—sharp and sick and unfamiliar creeping between his ribs and leaking into his tainted heart.

Jealousy.

Jealousy so cold and viscous it came dressed like possession—and something else he didn't want to name.

Obsession.

Friday evening, Betting shop in Birmingham, United Kingdom.

The call came just as promised, sharp on the dot of when the clock had struck 6 p.m.

The sun began to dip low behind the city skyline, his office had been soaked in the glow of golden firelight, the smoke of his cigar coating the space between his eyes and the telephone as he glared at it as if it would summon her.

He answered on the first ring.

"Hello Mr. Shelby," her voice was that smooth professional tone again, not necessarily cold, but distant enough that it gave away nothing. It was like listening to silk stretch over steel, soft enough to carry the undertone of her accent through his name.

She spoke like nothing had happened, like she hadn't picked up his call wrapped in bedsheets and someone else's breath fanning on her neck just a week before.

"Are you following my instructions?"

He leaned back in his chair at her question, his hand rubbing his jaw as he stared at the ash in the tray in front of him.

"I drank the citrus water," he began, "told the chef to make the kale disappear. Took all those pills." He paused. "No strong alcohol since Monday morning."

"A miracle," she muttered, "what about your chest?" she asked, "Any pain?"

He sighed, his hand dropping to his chest like he could rub away the ache, "Only when I think."

She lets out a soft breath—maybe a smile?

"Are you still tense?"

"Wouldn't be me otherwise."

He waited through the silence that followed, watching the smoke rise and disappear.

"Your voice is steadier this week," she said softly, "Less strained. You sound better."

"You sound different." He replied.

She hesitated just enough to confirm everything he needed to know.

"I'm calling from the clinic."

It wasn't the location that mattered, it was the tone, the lack of that rasp of passion she had carried that made the ache pull tighter in his chest. No breathless distraction, no man murmuring her name behind her through the crackle of the line static.

He pinched the bridge of his nose as he leaned forward, his elbow pressed against his knee, "Why'd you answer last week?"

"You called me."

"Didn't sound like a good time." He countered.

"it wasn't," she agreed, no shame. "But I answered because I knew it was you."

That silenced him again, and it settled between them, alive and electric. He didn't know what to say so instead he asked:

"Still want me alive, then?"

"Yes," she mumbles, amused, "I wouldn't be calling if I didn't. Alive, well, better."

"You're asking for a lot," he says back, barely above a breath.

"You're worth a lot," she said it like it was the simplest truth in the world.

His chest ached again in a way that had nothing to do with stress or disease or any intoxicant.

"You'll be around next week then?" he asked, though the words sounded forced through his throat, "to check up instead of call," he added like it would make the need in his tone sound any better.

"Yes," she agrees—and then, gently, softly, like the impending night itself was listening, "would you even let me leave when I visit?"

He didn't answer because they both already knew.

The following week, Gin Factory, Birmingham, United Kingdom.

Lizzie didn't like the silence that had settled recently. Thomas was too on edge, too numbly excited for a secret doctor that no one knew about. He'd mention her in passing, a small murmur passed through the smoke of the cigarette he held between his lips but he waited for her calls like there was something worth being said between them.

And yet—when the sound of her heels came in, sharp and measured, Lizzie suddenly wished for the silence to reappear so she could scorch her out of her mind.

She glanced up and stopped cold. A woman in a deep red dress—the kind of color that made blood seem insignificant—moved down the corridor like she didn't care about how out of place she was, that the factory was a mere backdrop to her existence. The dress was long, modest enough to be long-sleeved but clung to her like it was her skin but more…sinful. Her black hair was tied back, pinned perfectly in a low bun, like a rested raven's wing against the pale nape of her neck. Gold glinted against her skin, her ears, the hollow of her throat, delicate enough to remain classy but polished enough to show that it was expensive.

And in her hand was a medical bag so elegant it could be deemed as the century's next fashion statement, buttery black leather and gold hardware.

That's her, she thought. And she hated that she knew who she was without needing to be told. Lizzie stood urgently, suddenly too aware of the wrinkle in her dress and the short chop of her hair.

"Dr. Hassan," she spoke, voice too tight to be polite.

Dalia turned her head gently, and an elegant yet bearly-there smile painted her red lips—the kind of red that didn't scream but smoldered.

"You must be Lizzie," her voice spoke out, calm, precise, unhurried.

Lizzie almost cursed out loud.

"He's expecting you," she responded, "Didn't want the trouble of going to the clinic?"

"No," Dalia replied smoothly, "Thought I'd come to him. I know men are much more honest when they're at ease."

Without waiting, she turned, her perfume lingering behind her like a curse against her very bloodline—a whisper of something dark, elegant, outright too feminine to reside in this factory. Fig, amber, something more intimate that didn't fade.

Thomas cursed under his breath when she entered. He sat behind his desk, jacket scruffed off long ago, his sleeves rolled up. The window behind him framed the city in a greyish-blue haze that made her stand out even more.

Something in him shifted. It wasn't surprise, not quite that. Not relief—no. Something far more dangerous.

She stepped into the office like it was her own, no knock, just the click of the door melting into the sound of her heels. The red of her dress glowed like a torch lit to signal danger and danger she was.

He stood instantly, his strides long and almost too quick, "You came."

"I thought your medical neglect could be delivered more successfully in person," she said, her eyebrow raising as the warmth of his large hand settled on her lower back, guiding her to the chair in front of his desk.

He said nothing, just stared down at her as she sat, his chest rising too deeply for the calm facade he tried to put up around her. There it was again, that scent that made his eyes flutter shut a second too long as he blinked down at her.

"Drink?" he asked, his voice low.

"Water please."

Of course, he thought, a light smile curling his lips.

He came back with the crystal glass feeling too heavy in his hand, his pulse fluttering when the warmth of her delicate fingers took it from him. He leaned against the edge of his desk with his arms crossed, watching her as she took a small sip, the stain of her lipstick against the rim made his jaw clench.

And then—of course, it had to happen—Lizzie came in. The door sprang open with a knock too quiet to mean anything, and she stepped in without waiting for an answer.

"Sorry," she lied, her voice falsely sweet. "I didn't want to interrupt, but I need a signature on the Irish paperwork. Couldn't wait."

Thomas licked his lips slowly, "It could've." he said.

She ignored him, her eyes swiped over to Dalia who sat too poised in the chair that was too close to him, her hands folded neatly in her lap like a ballerina about to rehearse. Lizzie walked to Thomas with a smile and a sway that gave away much more than he wanted.

She touched his shoulder, smoothing down the fabric, "What do you think of his shirts?" she asked, her eyes flicking back to the doctor, "Had them custom made in London."

Dalia said nothing for a moment, a single dark perfect eyebrow raising as she took in Thomas with a look that made him pull away from Lizzie's touch. It felt like she was touching him with her eyelashes—down his torso, across his chest, his shoulders, the Adam's apple of his throat that bobbed as he tried to coat his suddenly dry vocal cords.

"It's…nice," she finally said, her voice unbothered enough to make Lizzie inhale sharply, "But I know a tailor who trained under the best in Paris. If you'd like something with a more flattering silhouette, I'll gladly pass along the name."

Thomas shifted, pausing the wince that swept across his mouth. He wanted to look away, anywhere but between them. Lizzie's smile froze, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

But what she did next stung more.

Dalia reached into her bag, uncapping a pen, and began to write. Not dramatically, just eloquently into a crisp checkbook.

"I've been meaning to speak to you," she said, her voice directed to Thomas, but clear enough for Lizzie to hear, "about your Gray-Shelby Foundation. Noble cause," she murmured, her eyes flicking up to meet his as she placed the check on the desk, "I want to donate."

She regarded him with an amused, almost lazy look like she couldn't believe she was entertaining something so petty.

"I'll leave it blank. I trust your judgment."

Her eyes went back to Lizzie who was staring at her like she wanted to stab her or just plainly shoot.

"And Lizzie, is it?" that only hardened the blow, "You can run it down to accounting to get it processed. Please and thank you."

Lizzie couldn't find the words, not immediately.

But then, Dalia spoke again, standing up as she set her medical bag on his desk, turning to Thomas:

"Well," she began, her voice deliberate, "how about we start the examination and see what ache lies under that nice shirt?"

Lizzie stood frozen in her spot, and Thomas, well, Thomas didn't breathe.

She only smiled—like the room had gone exactly how she had wanted it to.

The door slammed shut when Lizzie left, and he would have offered an apology that he rarely gave except she had only shook her head with a dismissive smile.

And so Thomas dropped it. He motioned to the leather couch in front of the fireplace mantle, a spot reserved for the meetings he wanted to keep off the books. She moved with that swanlike manner she seemed to permanently hold, and he slowly began to shed as he followed her, his eyes holding a heat much higher than whatever fire burned to keep the room warm.

He sat down next to her, and she shifted closer, her hands already seeking the bare skin of his broad chest. The stethoscope was placed in the center, her other hand steading herself—or maybe him—on his shoulder blade.

"Breathe in," she said, her breath too close to his skin, "your heartbeat is faster than it should be."

He huffed out a laugh. "I wonder why."

She didn't answer, just moved the stethoscope lower, and her hand moved now to rest flat against the center of his chest.

"Do you feel the pressure here?" she whispered.

He didn't answer right away, his hand rose slowly, and the tips of his fingers brushed against her wrist where her hand sprawled, "I feel you."

And then for the first time since she entered she froze. Just a split second, but it was enough. Enough for him.

"Behave yourself," she scolds, though her tone held no restraint.

His mouth curved, slow and dangerous, she didn't pull away her hand. The heat of her breath continued to slide down his throat as she finished the rest of the examination in silence, his eyes never straying from her porcelain face. When she finally pulled back, he gripped the edge of the couch to stop himself from dragging her into his lap.

She stood, her things collected, her hands smoothing down the dress around her hips, and she looked at him again with that same devastating composure.

"I recommend rest, though I know you won't take it."

He sat there, bare-chested and his throat dry.

"I'll order bloodwork," she said, "maybe in two weeks. Don't worry, you'll feel much worse before you feel better.

He grinned, his eyebrow raising, "That a promise, doctor?"

She paused, her hand at the door, her eyes dark as she glanced over her shoulder at him.

"No," she spoke, "that's a warning."

And then she left, the red fabric of her dress trailing behind her like a match strike.

Thomas pried himself off of the couch, his hand reaching for his shirt with a too-heavy ache settled deep in his bones. The air in the office was thick, left behind with the scent she trailed, of warm skin and something too unique to name, the same smell that lingered on his collar every time she disappeared.

He buttoned his shirt with fingers that didn't move as steadily as they always had before her. By the third button, he was already pissed. He didn't bother with the top two. Didn't reach for his vest or his jacket. He just threw the office door open and stepped out to where Lizzie sat at her desk, shuffling through papers too loudly.

"Lizzie."

She shot her eyes up at him. The tightness in his jaw had said enough, but his walk screamed louder.

"What the fuck was that earlier?" he asked, voice low enough to show he was on the edge of control.

"What do you mean?" she replied, blinking through feigned innocence.

He stopped in front of the desk, his collar unbuttoned, his skin still warm from where she had touched him just minutes ago.

"You interrupted a medical consultation to ask her opinion on my shirt."

Lizzie just shrugged too quickly, "She didn't seem to mind."

Thomas scoffed, stepping closer, "You were trying to provoke her. She didn't give, now you sit here like I've killed someone just by having her here."

Lizzie scoffed back, "Why? Because she thinks she's so untouchable? Because she walks around like she invented silk and restraint?"

Thomas's teeth ground together, barely holding himself still.

"You don't think I see it? The way you look when she talks to you like you're waiting for her to tell you how to feel?"

And when his silence said too much she huffed and let out a laugh that held no humor, "She's just a doctor, Tommy. That's all she is."

Thomas looked at her. Not cruel, not cold nor was it tender. Just final.

"She's not just anything."

And with that, he walked back into his office, sleeves still rolled up and shirt undone at his collar with the ghost of Dalia's touch still burning against his nerves.

Lizzie sat there, blinking back tears as she finally realized she had already lost a game she didn't even know they had been playing.

[hey-heigo]

oh yeah i saw your reblog of togami fun fact and i think i followed you because you chew on him so well. do you have posts of your thoughts on togami's backstory? (you can answer privately btw)

i straight up don't remember if i've ever posted in length about my byakuya backstory headcanons (if i ever did they'd be catalogued under '#my thoughts' probably, that's the tag i use for my fandom posts) but! just for you i will list a few that i have off of the top of my head

i liked the concept of the togami novel and ended up perceiving the heir struggle as like. not a necessarily organized competition (what with heir prospectives trying to assassinate each other or otherwise blackmail, threaten, or force each other out of the running) but more a survival challenge with occasional tests of cleverness, strength, etc. and byakuya managed to win by manipulation and sheer force of will, and doing things that might be considered 'underhanded' or 'shameful' (see: polaris p polanski) -> testament to ambition

byakuya says something cringe in thh like 'im perfect in every way. wits, ability, and body' which always pissed me off but as a result i ended up seeing him as like. above average in athletics, maybe good agility and reaction time? and capable of self-defense, but definitely nowhere near professional levels, and not in a way that's obvious from looking at him

re: physical ability and 'perfection', i don't think he's an 'ultimate' anything aside from 'ultimate progeny'. like he's not the ultimate stock-broker or the ultimate viola-player, but he can do both things pretty well. more of a jack-of-all-trades master-of-none kind of talent. maybe that eats at him a little, the fact that he won't ever be truly outstanding in one single field until he becomes togami head

also re: physical ability, he gets his blue eyes from his mother's side, so he's more sensitive to light. but his mild near-sightedness and need for corrective lenses is from his father's side. he doesn't know this though, so he blames his mother's genetic for all of it

he was planning to get lasik after becoming head of the family but. well. lol

he's half-french. his mother is french. i dont think ive ever posted about mamagami but ive definitely made mention of her in my fic, though at this point she's more of an oc than anything since there's like, no canon info about her at all. but she's a french sculptor who did not want a child and does not want any relation to the togami family other than having them as like. art clients. a cool lady very dedicated to her profession and could have been the ultimate sculptor, but kind of a emotionally neglectful mother ngl

there probably is some more canon info on papagami , aka kijo togami's character but i haven't really bothered looking for it. instead i made him into a sad little man who kind of hates his role as togami head and would've preferred a more mundane life (like as an architect - i actually did make a post about this somewhere), but he won his generation's heir competition because he felt like he had to, not because he necessarily wanted to. for reasons yet unsaid

byakuya spent the first part of his vulnerable youth being emotionally neglected at his mother's villa/art studio in france (hence the bilingualism hinted in the canon). when he left to join the heir competition after one too many assassination attempts he got one of his mom's business partners and former exes (a guy named 'polanski') to shelter him

byakuya's impressions of his parents: his mom sucks (fair i suppose) and his dad lacks real ambition and isn't suited to his role. or at least, he could be surpassed very easily. byakuya plans to make himself the greatest heir ever seen because of his shit parent combo

byakuya's known pennyworth the butler since birth. i have this idea that each togami kid gets just one togami family servant to help shape them into their roles. pennyworth happens to be the oldest of the roster but also the most experienced, and is kind of a shifty old man (i.e: very cunning and more loyal to the family than the child he's been assigned to, though that changes as byakuya gets older)

byakuya's also probably a girl and bisexual but he''s trying to take over the world through his shitty family's conglomerate and then survive a murder game apocalypse so she doesn't really care about that rn

[peakyswritings]

Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby x OC

CHAPTER 1

Summary: When the conflict with a powerful family threatens to bring down the Shelby Clan, Tommy takes a trip to Italy. In order to stop the disaster, two families must become one: marriage seems to be the only way to seal an alliance and bring peace. It’s Nina Ferrante, fierce and rebellious, the one who slowly makes her way into his heart, with steps so light he doesn’t even realise it. But things are not as easy as they may seem: one, Tommy is expected to marry her cousin, and two - Nina has no intention of getting married.

Warnings: mentions of arranged marriage, slow-burn, small age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s), English is not my first language.

A/N: here’s the first chapter of my new series. This is set somewhere between season 1 and 2. At the end, you’ll find the translation of a couple of Italian expressions. Feedback is always appreciated🤍

SERIES MASTERLIST

SERIES MOODBOARD

Gif credit

Dividers credit

Tommy gazed out the window of the car, watching the landscape pass before his eyes. The small Sicilian village was so different from Birmingham. It was rural, peaceful, and the air was clean, he could fill his lungs without smelling the smoke and the shit. Beyond the uphill road, he could even hear the sound of the sea. Had he been in a different situation, he would’ve enjoyed that sound, along with the feeling of the sunlight on his face.

But he had to stay focused. Because he was alone, and the men in the car with him were speaking words he couldn’t understand. They could’ve easily taken him to an empty field and put a bullet in his head, and no one would’ve known. His hand went to the gun inside his coat, taking in the feeling of security brought by the contact of the cold metal against his skin.

Vincenzo Ferrante said something to the driver, then his eyes met Tommy’s through the rearview mirror. There was a strange glimpse in them, something that vaguely resembled amusement. He knew he had the upper hand.

A familiar tingling sensation crawled over the back of Tommy’s neck. It was the way of his body to tell him that danger was near, had started to get it in France, and it hadn’t left him since. His fingers forcefully pressed against the grip of the gun as his hold tightened for a few seconds. Then, slowly, he released it, his hand coming to rest on his lap. He took a deep breath, pulling himself together. He had a deal with those people, and it would go through.

Three weeks earlier

Tommy walked into the betting shop, his steps resonating over the wooden floor as he strode among the desks in the empty room. Empty, except for his aunt, who was waiting for him behind the main table.

“Here’s the information I found.” He said, tossing a folder on the wooden surface. Polly furrowed her eyebrows, grabbing it so that she could examine its content. It was full of photographs, letters and documents. God knew how Tommy had managed to get his hands on them.

“Go on.” She mumbled.

“Antonio Ferrante has two brothers, Vincenzo and Mario. They came to England when they were kids, and they were raised here. Thirty years ago, Vincenzo and Mario went back to Sicily to start their business, both legal and illegal, while Antonio stayed here to carry on their legal race tracking operation. Of course, his organisation also has two sides. Vincenzo moves between Italy and England to help him with the other side. He’s here now. He’s been helping him with the attacks.”

Three attacks. Three attacks in one week. Tommy had never seen something like that. Those Italians were sly and quick, and extremely organised. They started by blowing up two of the pubs under the Peaky Blinders’ protection, then they proceeded to find one of their warehouses, and they blew it up as well. It was a matter of time before they came for the Shelbys.

Polly sighed, putting the papers back into the folder. Just when everything seemed to be going in the right direction, another bomb was dropped upon them. Quite literally.

Tommy rubbed his eyes, taking his time before continuing. “Ferrante was cooperating with Kimber. Thanks to this alliance, the family had secured a place at the top of the betting business. By killing Billy Kimber…”

“We stepped on their toes.” Polly finished his sentence.

“And now they want revenge. Yesterday they took three of our men.” He sighed, leaning against the desk behind him. That was another thing he had to take care of. He had to write to their families, send his condolences, and open a fund for them so that they could manage to sustain themselves without their husbands, fathers and brothers to take the money home. It was unpleasant, but it had to be done.

“It’s the Italian Mafia we’re talking about.” Tommy spoke again. “They have an organisation of bigger dimensions. If Ferrante calls the rest of his relatives from Sicily, it’s over for us.”

“So what’s the plan?” She asked, taking a cigarette from the pocket of her apron before placing it between her lips.

“Antonio Ferrante only has sons,” He started to explain, taking a match to light his aunt’s cigarette. “But his brothers have daughters-”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Polly’s head shot in his direction, eyes wide with disbelief as she could already imagine what he was trying to say.

“I’m talking about marriage, Polly. I’m going to marry one of the girls.”

Tommy couldn’t even believe his words as he said them. Before Grace, marriage had never crossed his mind, and after she left for New York, he was quite sure he would never find another woman. But there he was, selling himself so that his family could survive.

Despite the initial shock, Polly quickly regained her composure. She took a long drag from her cigarette, pondering her nephew’s words. “Why would they accept your offer?”

“Because by joining our forces, we can take down Sabini.”

“Do you think they’ll go against their own?” She inquired, a hint of scepticism in her voice.

“The Italians are fighting among themselves, now. Ferrante is also at war with Sabini, and he can’t defeat him on his own. Once Sabini’s taken care of, we’ll grant the Ferrante family a good place at the top of the business, even better than the one they occupied with Kimber.”

As much as Tommy tried to sound confident, he couldn’t hide his agitation. He couldn’t estimate the odds, there were no chances, no percentages. Everything felt unpredictable and beyond his control. He turned to grab the bottle of whiskey from the desk and poured himself a glass under Polly’s stare. It felt like she could read into him, like she could see right into his brain and know each one of his thoughts. It had always been like that, since he was a kid. It bothered him, sometimes, but deep down it was a relief to know that there was someone who could understand him without needing him to speak.

He downed all the whiskey in his glass, relishing the burning sensation. It grounded him, in some way. “Today I’m meeting Antonio and Vincenzo Ferrante.” He said, placing the glass on the table with a thud. “I’ll make the terms for peace.”

“How did it go?”

Tommy heard Polly’s question before he could see her. As soon as he entered the kitchen, he was met with her expectant eyes, her gaze scanning his face, looking for an answer. She poured him a glass of whiskey as he removed his coat and placed it on a chair.

“They accepted.” He just said, grabbing the glass. Polly’s expression relaxed for a moment, and she breathed a sigh of relief, but that relief was swept away as she noticed how her nephew was avoiding her gaze.

She waited for him to continue, but her patience ran out quickly. “And?” She asked.

Tommy sat on a chair and took a sip of whiskey. “And I’m going to Sicily to meet my spouse.”

There was some kind of inflection in his voice, one that not even Polly was able to define. But there was also a small particular in what he had said, and it didn’t go unnoticed.

“You’re going to Sicily?” She inquired, raising her eyebrows.

“Yes.”

“Alone?” She emphasised, leaning with a hand on the table, not taking her eyes off of his face.

“Yes.” He repeated, keeping his eyes on the bottle in front of him, well aware of how dangerous and imprudent it sounded.

“Tommy, are you mad?” She yelled, yanking away the bottle so that he would look at her. He finally raised his eyes, and silence fell between them for a while as he tried to find the words.

“I need you here to take control of the business while I’m gone. You’re the only one who can do that.” He explained, standing up so that he could speak to her face to face. “And I can’t take John and Arthur with me, because there need to be Shelbys here in Small Heath.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed.” She spat.

Tommy placed his hands on her shoulders, the hint of a smile making its way on his face. “Think of it like this: if I don’t come back, all of this will be yours.” He pointed towards the door that opened on the betting shop. “You’ll make a good fortune.” He joked, trying to lighten the air.

However, his aunt didn’t seem amused. She just shook her head, a look of defeat in her eyes. “I could try and talk some sense into you, but you’ve already decided, haven’t you?”

Without answering, Tommy walked past her to take ahold his glass and drink the rest of his whiskey. He cleared his throat, gathering himself as best as he could. “Vincenzo Ferrante is going back to his family in three days. I’m going with him.”

Present day

The car drew to a halt. Beyond an iron gate stretched a large garden, which was divided in two halves by a gravel path that led up to two big houses. As the driver got out of the car to open the gates, Tommy couldn’t help but feel relieved. No empty field. No ditch waiting for him.

“I guess you’re hungry, Mr. Shelby. It’s been a long journey.” Vincenzo Ferrante suddenly spoke, taking him away from his thoughts. Before Tommy could answer, he continued. “Later we’re having lunch, and I’ll introduce you to the family. Communication won’t be a problem, me and Mario raised all of our children to speak both English and Italian, just like Antonio. For the sake of business.” He clarified.

Tommy just nodded, unsure about what to say. He half expected to be dead before even getting to the village, so communication had been the last of his thoughts.

Not caring much about his silence, Vincenzo pointed towards the house on the left. “That’s my house, and the other is my brother’s. You’ll be my guest. Since we’re suggesting you to marry my niece Agnese, we thought it would be improper for you to stay in the same house as her.”

Agnese. She was said to be the oldest, and the prettiest, and the most fitted to be a wife. However, they had assured him that if he were to find someone more to his liking, he would be free to choose, he just had to make the decision before starting to court her. They wanted things to be done the proper way.

Tommy leaned back in his seat, the need for a cigarette suddenly kicking in. “It’s understandable.”

The brief ride towards the houses was silent. In that short amount of time, Tommy tried to guess what the following weeks had in store for him, how his life would look like in a month, but truth was, he really couldn’t tell. He had no idea, and that was terrifying, even for someone like him. But he had to stay calm, focused. He couldn’t allow himself to let his guard down.

When he got out of the car, he had to keep himself from breathing a sigh of relief. He was finally able to stretch his legs after being seated for what felt like ages. He thanked the driver who handed him his suitcase, then proceeded to take a look around. The two houses - even though they were separated from each other - formed some sort of angle. In the shared garden a long table had been set up, and from the numbers of chairs Tommy could tell that a great number of relatives would be joining them for lunch.

“Papà!”

A female voice echoed in the garden, and a raven-haired girl ran down the stairs that led to the front door of Vincenzo’s house. In a matter of seconds she was in the garden, and she wrapped her arms around the man’s neck.

“Ciao, amore di papà.” Ferrante said, taking her face in his hands to leave a tender kiss on her forehead. “Come stai?”

She opened her mouth to say something, but was quickly distracted by Tommy’s presence. A glimpse of confusion flickered across her dark eyes, then something really close to realisation seemed to hit her.

Ferrante took a step back, so that Tommy and that girl could be in front of each other. “Nina, this is Tommy Shelby. Mr. Shelby, this is Nina, my daughter.”

Tommy watched as she furrowed her brows, hesitating for a couple of seconds before holding out her hand. Her eyes, that a few seconds before were warm and full of affection for her father, were now cold and wary. And there was something defiant in the way she refused to be the first to break eye contact. It was something that Tommy wasn’t used to, he had grown accustomed to people lowering their heads in his presence, not daring to even look at him. This girl clearly knew who he was, and yet she refused to be intimidated. It was quite admirable.

Soon, Tommy realised that he had probably let his hand linger in hers for a bit too long. He let it fall to his side, clearing his throat. “Pleasure.”

“Nina, why don’t you show our guest his room?” Ferrante suggested, placing a hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “So you make yourself comfortable before lunch, Mr. Shelby.”

She said something in Italian, and even though Tommy couldn’t understand a single word, from the tone of her voice and her disgruntled expression he could tell that she was displeased. Nevertheless, a reproachful “Nina” uttered by her father, accompanied by a stern look, seemed to do the trick.

She glanced at Tommy one more time, before turning around and starting to walk towards the house. “Come with me.” She said, without worrying about whether he was following her or not.

Tightening his hold on the suitcase, Tommy started to walk behind her. If Nina’s cousin was half as hostile as her, he was truly fucked.

“Ciao, amore di papà”: “hi, darling” (literally - “hi, dad’s love”)

“Come stai?”: “how are you?”

NEXT CHAPTER

Tagging @zablife , cause I remember you asking me to tag you when this was out🤍

[multistandomwrites]

A Younger Temptation

Hello everyone, this is the second chapter of the series I’m doing of Ikémen Vampire x teen reader which I hope you’ll all like and support. I will try to update as much as possible. I can’t promise it’ll be everyday, but I’ll try to whenever I have time. This fic also may not fully follow everything that happens in the game, though I’ve tried to include some parts from the game, but they might also happen at different points. Enjoy.

I don’t own Ikémen Vampire, only my own oc’s. All rights reserved to Cybird.

Themes: platonic, fluff, fear/apprehension of the unknown

Chapter Two - Arrival in the Mansion

As I quickly ventured down what I hoped was the same corridor, I noticed nobody else was down there apart from a couple of artworks hanging on the wall and a few stands of armour. My footsteps slowed as I casually glanced behind me.

Was I allowed to be in this part of the building, or was it restricted access? Not that I saw any people - staff or otherwise. I squinted, trying to see if the man or anyone else was there at the end, but all I saw was a large wooden door. I walked up to it slowly, knocking before gently pushing it open. And, what I saw amazed and confused me.

Warm, bright light engulfed me as I took slow steps forward and came face to face with a long corridor that almost mirrored the one I came out of, armour standing proudly on the sides and various pieces of artwork lining the walls.

I couldn’t help but gape at the detailed lines and techniques used, but I knew that wasn’t my priority. Not anymore. I needed to know where in France I was. I turned my head back, but the creaky wooden door had shut. I swallowed. How did I even get here? Was it apart of the Louvre? Except I saw no one around and no signs leading to it from outside. Until I felt a presence close by.

“Perdon, mademoiselle?” I whirled around and saw a tall, broad shouldered man standing about a foot away from me, gazing quizzically. All I could do was stare back. There was someone here, which meant that this place could be a restricted room I wasn’t supposed to be in and he was a worker, now dealing with an estranged visitor. But, why have no one standing outside making sure this didn’t happen?

I slowly opened my mouth which failed to form words as the navy haired man stepped closer. “Who are you?” I managed to slightly whisper, unsure whether or not he had heard me, but apparently he did as he gave me a small smile.

“My name is Napoleon,” he began in a slightly accented English. “Did you come from the hall with the armour?” I slowly nodded. “Yeah, in the Louvre, where we are, right?”

I kept my voice level, not wanting the stranger to know the slight fear I felt as alarm bells sounded in my head - stranger danger! The man who claimed to be called ‘Napoleon’ looked guilty after I spoke as he audibly sighed and looked behind him. I gazed fleetingly at the paintings, lush fields filled with bright yellow sunflowers and blood red roses.

It gave me a sense of peace as I could imagine those fields in real life along with the aromatic scent they held and the sounds of bees buzzing from each one.

I was dragged out of my reverie by the hyperactive sound of a British voice, something I was used to. “Ey, Napoleon, who’s this ‘ere?” A young looking man with light blue hair and matching eyes stood beside Napoleon, bouncing eagerly on his feet, staring at me with an impish grin. I fidgeted, resting my weight on one leg, as I stared at the shiny floorboards with the lost watch still in my grasp.

“She came through the door,” the original man spoke carefully, giving the other a pointed glance, whose smirk faded. “Oh, well, why have you left the pretty girl standing out here alone?”

The mischievous grin reappeared. I was starting to get a feel for the type of person he was due to the playful attitude and grins he dished out. “Perdon my rudeness, mademoiselle,” Napoleon took over, seeming to notice my agitation which, I supposed, I was thankful for since I felt extremely awkward just standing there while the two men conversed.

“What’s your name?” he continued. “Y/N,” I replied automatically, glancing between them. I pretended not to notice the blue haired man whisper in Napoleons ear as I failed to her the words. Napoleon cleared his throat, nodding to the other. “Y/N, can you come with us? I think you may know Comte,” he spoke, gesturing to the leather watch in my hands. Comte?

Comte, as in, Count?

Chapter three coming soon. Preface

Chapter One

[e-rated-beardo]

Today marks the first time someone notices (edit: tells me they've noticed) the tiny, insignificant, sidenote, literally-one-word clue to the plot-irrelevant fact that an OC in the Second Coming fic I completed two months ago is trans - so I'm going to take the shaky pride month justification and reshare the fic and some of the artworks I made before I joined Tumblr 🏳️‍🌈

Length: 3 parts, ~117k words; complete Series rating: Explicit (but the three sections where it applies are skippable) Tags: They Are Not Talking, The Second Coming, Crowley Is A Mess, Finding Meaning, Heaven Is Terrible, Supreme Archangel Aziraphale, Protective Aziraphale, BAMF Aziraphale, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Exiled from Heaven, Temporarily Human, Memory Loss, Skippable Smut, South Downs Cottage, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Ineffable Husbands (plus about 3451325 more tags on ao3)

Summaries for the three parts + art dump below the break! ⬇️

Part 1: After The End (T; 26k words)

Summary: Aziraphale has gone back to Heaven and Crowley has gone… well, in the direction his bonnet pointed, really; it doesn't matter, as long as it's anywhere but London. His back seat full of plants and his passenger seat full of empty bottles, he starts finding that his bonnet points back towards Soho more often than not and that the music is oddly appropriate. And some of the humans—and angel—on Whickber Street seem to care, for whatever stupid reason, whether he's dead or alive.

Part 2: Is It Raining In Heaven? (T; 30k words)

Summary: "It was the lark, the herald of the morn, no nightingale... I must be gone and live, or stay and die." (Romeo and Juliet, Act III, scene 5)

The new Supreme Archangel is Struggling. He can't stop the Second Coming, the archangels barely take him seriously, and a fog of blissful joy, only controllable by incessant, stone-cold fury, seems set to make his own mind betray him. Aziraphale has never been the one with the plan, but now, he needs to prevent the next apocalypse and keep Crowley safe on Earth, all while that reckless serpent insists on meddling in Heaven's affairs. (At least the new Christ is a good kid, and the Pope has nice tea.)

Part 3: Not Single Spies (E; 61k words)

Summary: A man with pale hair turns up in Saint Peter's Square, naked and without memory, and Crowley's old sense of Aziraphale's location snaps like a twig.

Heaven is down another Supreme Archangel—but the new Christ is already on Earth (in France, to be precise) and the Second Coming is well underway. And Crowley works for Hell now, but really, he works for the good of humanity; pulling on every friend he has to stop the end of the world.

Everything comes to a head with a delivery van, a flaming sword, a road trip, a prophecy, a wheat field and a miracle of rather significant proportions.

ping @goodomensafterdark ❤️

[quincyhorst]

Da Round-of-16 Brothers :D

(More info about the OCs below!!)

2nd Row:

Stane: Represents Slovenia, an unlikely team to reach the TOP 3 on his league group yet suceeded. The secret relies on Stane's coach/uncle Miroslav, who travelled all across europe as to learn each country's secrets. Secretly remorseful about it, Stane is willing to throw both the german/polish kids he's trained into the mud.

Cris: The portuguese captain, known as 'the navigator'. He inherited the love for the sea from his father, and he wants to include his navigation skills on tactics. Besides trying to keep his rivarly with France and Spain healthy (Which will reach its peak on the qualifier final), he also has to look over a particular pick for the team from Galicia.

"Vlad": Actually named Ladislau. He claims to be the descendant of a vampire/strigoi, but as intimidating as he tries to be he comes off as too much of a LARPer. Was meant to be Brockenborg's first FFI rival, but all his tricks were destroyed in said match. I apologize for any romanian who's reading this, I promise this is the only Dracula reference Romania's gonna get. Also if he looks familiar… It's not a coincidence (?)

Jurgen: He has been the captain of Netherlands previously, though a fierce battle with a rival team stole his win at a previous cup. He promises he won't repeat these mistakes, though he's willing to fight to become "THE lion of Europe". (You can guess who eliminated him.)

Noa: In a world where Haizaki isn't relevant, he'd be the 'devil of the field' instead. Probably the most powerful keeper in all of Europe (Besides Blasi?). He and Pierre share some history, sure, but believe it or not his true rival is Claude. The Babel and their excellent waffles started to dominate sales around Paris when the qualifiers started, becoming a menace for the Moreau baguette conglomerate. A fierce capitalist battle begins!!!

3rd Row:

Swiss guy: Sorry, I didn't came in time to give him a name, but I promise he has some relevance!!! His team is one of Brockenborg's rivals during the Euroleague group stage. The plan was also to make him Rose Griffon's 1st qualifier round rival, but midway though I replaced him with a funnier pick-

The danish and the georgian characters are just designs I had lying around in my mind, though they don't have any relevance. Both get eliminated by Slovenia and Poland respectively :( (This has ZERO correlation with current Euro events I swear. I have no idea how I predicted those....)

I had no designs for Austria and Slovakia unfortunately so I went with animals instead. The slovakian pick is the Tatra Chamois, which lives in the mountains of the same name. They're sooo cute ;_;

And Turkey... Don't ask me. Ask turkish mythology instead.

[just-another-employee]

Blog Intro!

Disclaimers:

Karline is my OC and I did draw the sprites BUT I took reference off of Rachels art style and I also used Rody as a reference as well

All credit for Dead Plate, Married In Red, art style references, banner, and assets (besides Karline) go to RachelDrawsThis!

Karline Lotta Info:

Late 20's

German, studied in Korea, ran away to France

Nervous and anxious wreck

Used to go to medical school but dropped out after the accident with Bok-su (wasn't involved directly)

Bok-su's college friend, also got along with Da-jeong but didn't talk to her much

Was forced to study in the medical field by her parents

Had a childhood, though it wasn't a good one

Insane people pleaser

NOT siblings with Rody though they are very similar

Misses Bok-su (and Da-jeong) but can't meet them

Took a service job to try and get over her social anxiety

Rules for the blog:

Asks will always be open unless said otherwise

OC's and other fandom RP blogs/asks are allowed!

flirting is allowed but strictly no suggestive or NSFW whatsoever

Please be respectful to me and other people!

Just generally be respectful and don't discriminate against anyone

Don't know much about 'Anon magic' but it is allowed!

Please be aware that Dead plate takes place in the 1960's (I headcanon that MIR takes place at the same time as DP)

Keep in mind that the mod is a minor

She/her for Karline, any pronouns for Atlair/the mod (though I recommend not using she/her for me if you're also talking about Karline)

Shipping Karline with anyone is allowed though remember that she is a closeted lesbian (ALSO NO PRO-SHIPS)

Blue for Atlair, purple for Karline, red for actions

Creeps DNI

ANYONE THAT VIOLATES THE RULES WILL BE EITHER IGNORED OR BLOCKED!!!!

Tags!

#take a seat! = on going RP

#come again soon! = finished RP

#sudden attack = anon magic

#ooc post = re-blogs and ooc posts

#for me? = fanart and fan creations

#welcome to the bistro! = anon asks

#welcome back! = registered asks

more tags will be added when I remember

[doppel-doodles]

Making a lil intro to all my lmk oc's cause I feel like it-

Note: pls ignore the inconsistent art, it's a placeholder till everyone has a proper illustration like Arthur lol-

Shui liu:

Once the heir to the fearsome koi clan, one of the celestial realms biggest enemies. Shui had betrayed her family and served the heavenly host as a high rank general who was so blood thirsty the title "the heavenly attack dog" was given to her by her fellow soldiers.

An early retirement due to foul play got her sent back to earth.

Over the centuries that ruthless personality seems to have vanished leaving behind a carefree and self assured woman, while her height and strength are intimidating it is hard to stay afraid for long when she acts like a giant,goofy teddy bear, ESPECIALLY around her twin daughters who she will become the biggest clown around just to make them smile.

Arthur Allard:

A child prodigy and now one of the most world renowned scientists in the fields of chemistry and biological engineering, Arthur had come to China along with his younger siblings to further his studies.

A quiet and aloof man who always has work on his mind and just seems to be somewhere else mentally a lot of the time. Constant exhaustion and worrying self care habits seem to be the norm for him, the same couldn't be more false for how he treats others possessing never ending fatherly care and kindness in his heart.

And behind all his mild manners hide many oddities,eccentricities maybe even just a bit of madness but he means well.

*vague mention of alcohol consume here

Adrien Allard:

A famous model in Europe but not so well known in Asia, he is Arthur's younger brother and chose to stay with him while their younger sister left to return back to France, by many claimed to be the spitting image of their father, a suave and charismatic young buisness man that can get a deal to always be in his favor.

The closer you get to him the more of his unsightly traits he reveals, a selfish,self destructive coward that has as much trust as a wounded animal and will run back to the bottle to hide from it all.

Klara Allard:

Oldest daughter of Arthur and Shui, just like her father she shows great potential in the art of science though her specialities lay in robotics and machinery, sadly though she hasn't been able to leave her home much on account of almost always being in terrible health.

Despite that struggle she is an incredibly lively and cheerful young girl. Her smile is contagious, lighting up a room in an instance as she talks and talks seeking to learn, making friends wherever she goes with curiosity and an open mind.

Her boundless energy, reckless attitude, just all around impulsiveness make her very hard to keep up with and just a tad exhausting.

Kathrin Allard:

The youngest of the family, Kathrin or better known as "Katie" is the only one of the daughters that has inherited her mothers demon genes and strength. Something she does not seem to be a fan of as she puts a lot of effort into hiding those traits.

Katie does not talk to strangers. She can't even look them in the eye, to her faces appear muddled and as if scribbled over with crayon making it even harder to get the courage to be around them.

Her own face doesn't do her any favours. On her face is always a smile, barely reacting to what happens around her, this is not by choice but it's not something she can explain so it just alienates her further from others.

[caratdeulforever]

𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐯𝐢𝐯𝐞 | 𝐚 𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐛𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

school bus graveyard x oc's

chapter one

warnings: bad writing, lowercase intended, might contain wrong grammar, none more that i can think of

author's note: i'm a first timer in the writing field so I'm not really good at it. i just wanted to try and create a version of mine of the webtoon with my own ideas. the whole plot isn't mine, the whole school bus graveyard belongs to red. i just own aidhel and frances, thanks for reading!

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it was a quiet night in the town of alto, georgia. that specific night, it was visibly different from the normal night you experience well every night. the sky was abnormally colored in a deep crimson red. the moon was shone with a warm yellow, successfully creating an eerie scenery around the place. the whole place was quiet, too quiet than normal. it was late at night, and no human was in sight. that should be normal but it really didn't felt right. the streetlights were on but the house lights weren't. you couldn't hear anything, not even the wind or the sounds of crickets.

suddenly, deep in the forest a group of eight teens dashed through to the sea of trees. they were running as fast as they could. it proved to be a hassle as they ducked and dodged the branches in the path they were taking. dusts and leaves flew in the air as they ran quickly.

leading the group was a orange headed girl, named ashlyn. her long hair was braided into two braids which was flying with the wind. her breathing was stable, but she was slowly feeling tired from running. she looked at the back of the group, her eyes scanning for someone who had a watch and was keeping track of the time.

"time?!" she called out loudly behind her before focusing back to the path ahead of her. a bespectacled boy with sandy blonde hair named logan, looked down quickly at his watch. his eyes couldn't focus a bit due to his running but nonetheless successfully determined the numbers on the device. "eight minutes!" he called out to everyone around him. he had a rifle in his other arm that he had leaned on his shoulder to keep it upright. being the ace of shooting that he is, the group had all mutually decided that he take the rifle since he's the only one who is good at using it. although they hoped that no situation comes where he would actually use it.

at the back of the group was brunette twins, named tyler and taylor, who both shared the same features and the same worried but scared expression. they gripped a weapon of their own, and kept a look out on the back. there were also a blonde headed duo with them, sharing the same features but not twins like them. the blonde headed girl was named aidhel, and she was gripping on a knife on her hand. in a hurry, she had grabbed it with no thought whatsoever from their kitchen to use for self-defense. beside her was her brother with the same bleached blonde hair, named aiden who despite of their current situation was smiling wildly through it all.

with them were two brunettes, but both in a much darker color than the twins and are not related whatsoever with each other. ben is a cousin of the blonde headed duo and in contrast to his cousin, he had a petrified look on his face while keeping a stable running pace. the other dark-haired person was a girl named frances, and she was holding a stick for her weapon. small but terrible was how we can all describe her choice of weapon as she had already managed to stab something out of it.

continuing on, ashlyn sighed in relief when she heard the time that logan had just claimed. 'just a bit longer!' she thought to herself as encouragement. and as if on cue, after all the running they had done, up front as the trees slowly parted was a secluded area. the area at the end of the forest was packed with used buses and the graffitis were clear from a mile away. with hopeful looks, they all had thought the same thing.

'the graveyard!'

as they finally saw their destination, they all quickly fasten their pace. even though their legs burned with exhaustion, they pushed through to find safety. from what you ask? ashlyn glanced at the back worriedly, her ears twitching as she heard the rustles not so far from behind them. a pair of black skinned almost human legs chased after them. it grinned creepily when it felt itself getting closer to the group of teens.

they all had finally managed to ran out of the forest. they all sprinted in the same direction and ultimately avoided the obstacles of scattered junks on their way. the graveyard neared with an open gate, giving them view of the yellow school vehicles inside. ashlyn was the one to enter first, skidding to the side as her hand hovered above the big red button. her eyes followed the figures of her friends entering before flickering to the inhumane black figure that popped up from the forest just after them.

it was tall, and very human like. except its skin was completely black and no hair was in sight. its eyes were very uncanny and it smiled very sinisterly. it was a monster, and that's what they were running away from. it had managed to catch up and was grinning widely when it finally saw them. it sped up and ashlyn nervously looked at her friends to make sure they were all in.

"CLOSE THE GATE! CLOSE THE GATE!" tyler screamed with urgency as he ran inside with aidhel following close. they were the last of the teenagers to enter and ashlyn immediately slammed her palm to the big red button. the gate whirred loudly, and started to close in. all of them moved to a fighting stance and held up their weapons in front of them. the gate was near close but the monster on the other side was getting close too. they eyed the monster closely, body prepared to charge if it manages to slip inside.

with just a tiny gap, the monster reached to claw at them with a loud screech. creating a cinematic horror scene, they all seemed to tense up looking at it. finally, the gate snapped close and the monster hadn't manage to enter inside. for a second they all kept their fighting stance before finally letting out a breathe of relief.

aidhel dropped to the ground with an exhausted groan. tyler had crouched, and placed his hand on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. taylor on the other hand lessened her grip to her weapon and stuck her tongue out on the gate. frances laughed beside her but nonetheless did the same. the both of them thought it was childish but they felt safe in being inside the safety of the graveyard that they felt the need to mock the monster outside. logan had wailed dramatically as he felt relief course through his body. aiden just patted his sister's back and chuckled, he was already planning to tease her later to exercise more. ben just stood there and regulated his breathing before looking at everyone, making sure they were all unscathed from earlier.

ashlyn clenched her eyes shut and breathed deeply before opening them again. she took a good look at every one before speaking. "alright, let's head to the bus." she said loudly for everyone to hear. one by one, they all straightened up and walked to one of the school buses. as each of them entered, they all placed their weapons inside a wooden crate by the driver's seat.

aidhel plopped herself on the seats by the back tiredly and yawned, "goodness i'm tired." she muttered out loud. frances rolled her eyes before looking away from the girl as she sat on the back. logan sat in front of frances and leaned his head back to the window, wanting nothing more but to sleep in his room. aiden and ben sat together, while ben seemed like aidhel and was ready to sleep again- aiden was a different case beside him.

"ugh.." tyler groaned out loud as he sat beside his twin sister. taylor leaned her head on the window and closed her eyes tiredly. tyler closed his eyes as well, head thrown back on the seat as he sighed. "that sucked." he continued gruffly.

"that's an understatement." frances commented making logan chuckle in front of her. ashlyn just kept quiet and slowly took her boot off. her socks had already been torn off and blood seeped through the fabric. she groaned softly and closed her eyes, her hands massaging the sore spot on her foot.

suddenly, the noise from afar disappeared as they slowly got comfortable on the bus. ashlyn raised a brow and opened her eyes, "the banging stopped." she said out loud before slowly putting her boot back on.

aidhel slowly sat up and frowned, indeed it got quiet. tyler swatted his hand to brush it off, "it probably gave up.." tyler said but paused when he heard something. "or something?" he drawled out slowly. ashlyn froze before suddenly sitting up when her ears heard something.

the others had also perked up getting alarmed, if ashlyn reacts like that, it is not a good sign. suddenly, the bus shook as if someone had gotten on. they all froze because that could only mean one thing and they turned to the entrance with matching petrified looks.

entering the bus was the black monster from earlier. it seemed to grin when it saw the scared looks on their faces. taylor widened her eyes, "how?!" she exclaimed in pure shock as she stared at the monster. tyler immediately moved out of the seat and pulled her behind him. they all quickly moved out of their seats and huddled close together. frances gripped logan's hand and stood close to him. aidhel was now encaged behind aiden and ben while ashlyn was at front.

with every step forward the monster took is one step backward they did. until logan's back slowly hit the back of the bus. aidhel squirmed in between aiden and ben to hold ashlyn's hand. she knew that the girl was petrified right now and wanted nothing more but to comfort her. aiden looked down at his sister and put his arm out in front of her and used his other hand to hold ashlyn's arm.

"can we open the back door??" ashlyn called out, glancing at the back worriedly. sweat trickled down the side of her face, and her hands was slowly getting clammy but aidhel paid no mind. logan quickly turned to try and open the back door like ashlyn had said so but failed. seems like something was pressed up against the back of the bus. "its blocked!" he called back up to her.

frances frowned and crept closer to logan, sharing worried glances with the spectacled boy. "what do we do??" she asked out loud, her eyes darting back and forth to everyone that was infront of her. their crate of weapons was too far for them to reach. the monster was already too close to them, even if they attempt to distract it while someone else go for the crate, the situation is not sure to be harmless. its a risk they are not going to take.

"die?" aiden said bluntly as he stared at the monster with a nervous smile. aidhel turned her head at his brother and hit his shoulder, "aiden!" they all chorused out not liking his unserious answer one bit.

the monster seemingly tired of their antics, sprinted towards them with its claws high up in the air. they all let out high pitched screams and pressed on each other in fright. aiden clutched ashlyn and aidhel close to him. ashlyn just clenched her eyes shut and gripped onto aidhel's hand. ben held frances and logan closer to the group much like tyler did on the other side with aidhel and taylor, who hid in between the space of her brother and aidhel.

was this it? is this how they'll die?

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[freakyfishyfreakshow]

welcome freaks

hi im fish or fishy. and The Festering Mold

he/mold/it

i draw a little bit

#my art / #oc art

cw / tw

blood, gore, nudity, teenage boy jokes, suggestive content, sexual references, insects, arachnids, horror

viewing and interacting age recommended 16+

im a queer trans man. im a dragon 🐲, beast 🐺, a creature and a monster 🐟. And The Mold 🦠 . Of course

i have autism and adhd, leave the hyper. i might have depression.

🖤things i like / inspire me

bloodborne / elden ring / d&d / rdr / robots / music / dragons / animal jam / knights / eldritch horror / roblox…

fav music artists

the paper chase / fields of the nephilim / seraphim shock / type o negative / static x / london after midnight

📚fictional worlds my ocs belong to

good god theres so many of these little fuckers

#lemuria / #viarix Lemurion - Lemuria and Viarix. A world of plague, blight and Old Gods. Viarix belongs to 🦇.

#derelicterra Derelicterra - A dangerous, hopeless world where abominations roam and the astral plane forsakes those it deems unworthy. A group project co-authored by me, ⚜️, and 🌌.

#judicium Judicium, France - A city run by a blood cult. Authored by 🦇

#riddlewood / #hell woods Riddlewood/Hell Woods - A defunct asylum that is a portal to Hell. Authored by 🦇, Hell Woods is my contribution.

Nexus Solutions - A company practically running the USA. They have a robot for everything. Authored by 🦇 and me.

The wastes of Ethur - A barren wasteland with scattered cities full of homicidal maniacs. Authored by 🦇

#batesville batesville - fuckass fictional town in kentucky that has like 5 billion slashers

misc worlds - ocs that belong to an underdeveloped world or none at all

thats all. if you wanna ask about me or my ocs or anything in general just ask. i dont bite. ℐ 𝓁𝒾𝒸𝓀．👅

icon and banner: https://www.tumblr.com/festeringgmoldd/786089809904025600/header-a-moonlit-cove-by-sebastian-pether-icon?source=share

[d-esmond]

; OC MASTERLIST FOR QUICK REF

ASSASSIN’S CREED

verse: crypsis—

mido dumoulin-aziz: b. 1985. cairo, egypt. field agent to assassin brotherhood. descendant of altaïr ibn-la’ahad and arno dorian. / ♡ jules gonzalez || FC: tamino amir || OTHER VERSES: vtmb, dune.

jules gonzalez: b. 1985. banyoles, spain. apprentice to the assassin brotherhood. missing in action. / ♡ mido dumoulin-aziz || FC: dakota johnson

aileen walsh: b. 1770. lexington. ally to the assassin brotherhood. occasional crossdresser. born to herd sheep. ancestor of mido dumoulin-aziz. / ♡ arno dorian || FC: lily james

finley walsh: b. 1745. new york. templar to the colonial rite. second in command on the morrigan. ancestor of mido dumoulin-aziz. / ♡ emily burke || FC: césar domboy

hesham el-sayed: b. 1963. cairo, egypt. current leader to the egyptian assassin cell. godfather of mido dumoulin-aziz. / ♡ gabriele de luca || FC: nour el-nabawy (past) & khaled el-nabawy (present)

gabriele de luca: b. 1965. florence, italy. anarchist & roadie. apprentice to the assassin brotherhood. / ♡ hesham el-sayed || FC: damiano david

rashid aziz: b. 1960. port said, egypt. mentor to the egyptian brotherhood until being killed in the great purge of 2000. / ♡ eloise dumoulin || FC: ahmed hossam

eloise dumoulin: b. 1961. paris, france. field agent to french brotherhood. keeper of one of three keys to a precursor vault in egypt. killed in the great purge of 2000. / ♡ rashid aziz || FC: audrey tautou

verse: yuva—

asha pandith: b. 1846. london, uk. assassin to the indian brotherhood. resident pyromaniac. grandmother to lydia frye. / ♡ jacob frye || FC: alia bhatt

daniyal pandith. b. 1850. bombay, india + london, uk. assassin to the indian brotherhood. doctor and scientist. father to sage naveen pandith. / ♡ cordelia moore || FC: dev patel

cordelia moore. b. 1848. london, uk. rook. mother to sage naveen pandith. / ♡ daniyal pandith || FC: saoirse ronan

ORIGINAL

douglas avery: b. 1903. los angeles, CA. stunt man. undercover horse girl. father to flora and twins tommy & alfie. / ♡ cathy davis || FC: tim holt

catherine davis: b. 1900. los angeles, CA. cook + caterer. mother to flora and twins tommy & alfie. / ♡ douglas avery || FC: marion davies

flora avery: b. 1928. los angeles, CA. film student at ucla. aspiring director. || FC: debbie reynolds

thomas “tommy” avery: b. 1931. los angeles, CA. motorcycle fanatic. greaser. || FC: farley granger

alfie avery: b. 1931. los angeles, CA. writer. traveler. college dropout. || FC: guy madison

OTHER FANDOM OCS

the witcher—

rhona aep deilyth: b. 1034. dol blathanna. aen seidhe. sorceress. advisor to francesca findabair. / ♡ philippa eilhart || FC: rebecca longendyke

vtmb—

dawn elliott: b. 1890. los angeles, CA. brujah. / ♡ mido dumoulin-aziz || FC: dove cameron

mido dumoulin-aziz: b. 1980. paris, france. brujah. embraced by dawn elliott.

joanne fisher: b. 1980. los angeles, CA. toreador. mean girl gone wrong. || FC: claire holt

dune—

jada ashyaar: b. 10164. sietch tabr, arrakis. fedaykin. eldest daughter of stilgar. / ♡ mido jahira'teyr || FC: aurora perrineau

mido jahira’teyr: b. 10163. sietch tabr, arrakis. fedaykin. childhood friend of jada. southern born fundamentalist.

a song of ice and fire—

jaena celtigar: b. 277 AC. claw isle, westeros. youngest member of house celtigar. / ♡ ronan waters || FC: holliday grainger

ronan waters: b. 273 AC. claw isle, westeros. sellsword. childhood friend of jaena. / ♡ jaena celtigar|| FC: donál finn

uncharted—

lexie ridgeway: b. 1980. york, uk. art dealer + collector. / ♡ sam drake || FC: taylor lashae

[violntfemme]

Redcoat OC lore dump!!

By no means is this EVERYTHING about these guys, just the base layers. I also dont go into specifics for a lot of these just because if i did it probably wouldnt line up so..yeah!

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Right, starting off with Charles Gray! He was born in Maryland on April 14, 1753 to Eleanor Gray and John Gray with three sisters - Mary Gray(last name changed to Fields when she gets married), Eleanor Gray Jr, and Frances Gray. His family was originally from London but they moved to the colonies in 1750, 3 years before he was born. His parents were devout loyalists, so he and his siblings quickly picked up on their beliefs. He primarily lived on his parents' plantation, so he was pretty well off financially and he had no struggle with money his entire life. Come 1773 when Charles is 19, his sister Frances dies and they were pretty close, he struggles to cope with her desth while being in the area she died so, he decides to move out to Pennsylvania where he instead meets Henry and William who become his closest friends and help him through all of that.

Soon enough, April of 1774 comes around and he meets Charlotte Brewer(new character alert~!), who he begins courting soon after. In august of 1774 they begin dating, and in April of 1776 he gets married!! Yeah, he doesnt get happily ever after though. He joins the british army with William and Henry not but a few months later, leaving his newly wed wife behind and hes extra guilty about it. When they meet Hamilton though, he takes an instant liking towards him and tries to make him feel welcome to distract himself from the guilt he feels. Problem is, he never actually told Ham hes married. So, whoops. The rest of the story is whats already written so ah, Hamilton still doesnt know he's married.

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Okayyy, William Fletcher! William was born in Newcastle on August 12, 1754 to George & Mary Fletcher. He has 6 siblings(im not writing out names.) Though 2 die before William even reaches the age of 1. This hasnt been brought up in the story, but he also can't remember most of his childhood other than the fact his father was shit. It wasnt anything too out of the ordinary for the time period, but it was a borderline abusive dynamic that sparked fights and fucked up his trust, making it really hard to keep stable relationships with anyone in the future. Ever wonder why he 'dislikes' Hamilton so much? Yeah thats why.

Anyway, his family moved to New York in August of 1765, and to Pennsylvania just a few months later. Life is pretty uninteresting for a few years until 1770 comes up(William is 16) and he meets Henry Reed!! Its almost instantaneous how fast they become friends, and in the future William HEAVILY cherishes their friendship because of how rare it was for him to open up to people, moreso with the gender norms in their time period. They bond a lot while theyre in Pennsylvania together and honestly fuck around and get into trouble like normal teenagers until, come 1773, they meet Charles!! He keeps them in check kind of, and they create this little trio. For william, it takes a lot longer to consider him a friend but it does happen, in which he also helps Charles court Charlotte in 1774!!

William is the one who encouraged them all to join the army, and Henry was quick to follow his word. When Hamilton came along in 1777, William really disliked him. He did warm up to him, and they were friends, but then ah..the whole Laurens thing..That trust was INSTANTLY broken and so that leaves us with William as we have it in modern chapters where he comes off as bitchy and rude. Yes, he is bitchy to Hamilton, but thats not his whole character and there is genuine reasons he acts so cold towards Hamilton, and sometimes even Charles. Charles less so because he's known him for longer, but Hamilton is someone he deemed as 'untrustworthy,' and therefore he sets up walls around him.

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Right! Henry Reed! Out of the group, he's the most tragic. He was Born in South Carolina on January 5, 1757 to Oliver & Molly Reed. He was also raised with two siblings though one died during his childhood and the other was almost an adult when he was born, so he has little recollection of them. His family had originally been from Norwich, but they moved to the colonies in 1745. They moved again however when he was 6 to Pennsylvania, where his mother left him and his father when he was 12. His childhood is kind of shitty overall, and most of his recollection is working in a trading company with his father to support them both after his mother had left. Even before she had left she was emotionally absent though his father had done his best to make up for that loss to little avail.

After his mother had left, Henry and his father did their best to keep afloat and it worked pretty well, though Henry felt somewhat responsible for the reason his mother left. He met William when he was 13, and like i said, they became very close very fast during some of the worst years of their life. Henry became quickly attached not only because of their friendship itself, but because he looked up to William in a sense? Like i said william was 16 when they met and often did things himself and was overly confident, Henry stayed on the sidelines and tried to hide as often as possible.

Anyway, when Charles came along Henry almost saw him as a sort of 'big brother,' and also became attached to him though not nearly as quickly or as hard as he did with william. During the whole Charles-Charlotte thing he kind of stayed off to the side and watched it all happen. He didnt like getting involved with ladies and honestly, he thinks charlotte looked too similar to his own mother. I might as well add on that he ws also extremely jealous of Charles for 'taking williams attention,' but thats not too important other than the fact that he has unresolved attachment issues.

The reason he wants to join the army is mostly because life is boring and he wants purpose, but also he wouldnt have done it if william didnt offer to join first. When he meets hamilton he doesnt mind him, theyre buddies kind of. Though a small disdain grows when he realizes william doesnt like him, and again, he looks up to william so he usually listens to his judgement. This dislike only grows during the laurens fiasco, but like charles, he doesnt HATE hamilton.

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I could rant about william and henrys whole dynamic if i really wanted to, but in short theyre two guys with similar traumas who found comfort in talking to each other !!! Their friendship in general isnt the healthiest, they both are overly dependent on one another with william having unresolved trust issues and henry with unresolved attachment issues but for the most part they arent miserable so thats what matters the most ig?