#oc: johni

[grrrechka]

Oc time!!

Oc challenge cuz I need to show em sometimes

(Fun fact; all of them are women)

[ghouljams]

To be honest, I would want to be Price and Witch’s kid instead of fuck them idk why. I have mommy and daddy issues I guess lol.

Yeah I can do that, Witch adopts a lot of people and Price... also adopts strays.

"Do you want some tea darling?" The Witch asks, crouching to be on your level, "or maybe some hot chocolate? Could perk you right up."

You think for a moment before nodding your head. You're not supposed to talk to strangers, but you've seen this witch in the neighborhood and there's something comforting about her. Her concern seems genuine as she fusses with the copper pots in her kitchen. And you really can't complain about the rich dark liquid she pours neatly into a mug for you. It certainly looks, and smells, like a melted chocolate bar. Far flung from the powdered stuff you expected.

She frowns at you for a moment, plucking at the space around you with purposeful fingers. You sip your drink, and try not to watch her too closely. She may feel warm, but her movements are alien to you, and strike at your stomach with a strange primal fear. You think it's fear, you don't quite have the word for this feeling. You're sure it will come to you.

The chocolate coats your tongue, thick and viscous, you think you can taste cinnamon under the cocoa. The Witch taps her finger against her cheek, watching you, she seems ill at ease. Obviously concerned over the strange child that's made themselves comfortable in her home. She seems to come to some conclusion, holding her hand over her mouth as she whispers something. It's inaudible and yet it fills the room, dissonant whispers echoing off the walls and collecting in a swirl of smoke.

A man steps out with a roll of his shoulders, and almost as quickly as he lays eyes on you, he's looking back at the witch.

"Where'd you get the changeling?" He asks with a raise of his brow. The Witch lets out a breath.

"Oh good, knew they felt fae," She goes to the kitchen while the man takes a seat next to you, "they just showed up, I assume they're one of the neighbor's kids."

"Is that right?" The man smiles at you, it makes his eyes crinkle at the edges, you smile back with all your teeth. He seems to like that, poking his fingers against your sides to make you giggle. "Where's your mum, hm? Can't have wandered too far off."

You shrug and the fae man nods. You like when adults don't make you talk, sometimes talking is too much. The witch taps her fingers together, thinking, while the man lets smoke swirl off his fingers. It makes little shapes and animals in the air, elephants and lions dancing around your head, butterflies flying over to distract the witch. You hold your hand out for one, and watch a lion burst into a flock of penguins to waddle across your palm.

"I can run a trace, I suppose," The Witch sighs walking closer, she crouches to be at eye level with you, "Can I have a pinch of your hair darling? I promise it won't hurt a bit."

You don't know if you want to give a witch your hair. It seems dangerous, that's how witches take control of people. You look at the man for help, surely he knows how witches work and won't let this one puppet you around. He chuckles, leaning his elbow against the table to rest his head against his fist. He nods at you.

"Go on then, I'll make sure she doesn't do anything nasty." He assures you. You look back at the Witch, who's glaring at your new friend.

"Don't make me sound so wicked," She scolds him.

"Don't need my help for that sweetheart," There's something warm in his voice, something that makes the whole house light up with warmth as the Witch bites down a smile.

She's very careful with you, pressing her fingers against your scalp as she twists hair around her fingers, plucking a few stray strands before pulling away again. She's right, it doesn't hurt. You rub your head, and she turns it back towards your mug of liquid chocolate. You think that's payment enough.

You don't watch what she does with your hair, but you feel the shiver of it. It's like a little zap of electricity, a stray shock from rubbing your socks against carpet. You wrinkle your nose at the feeling, it's not unbearable, but it's unpleasant. You consider peaking at what the Witch is doing, but you catch sight of your new fae friend first, and watching him watch her is much more interesting.

His eyes spark, and you mean that literally. There's a fire behind them that traces its way around his iris each time he blinks. A spark of gold against ice blue. A shooting star in a snowstorm. His eyes smile, and even though his fingers stop you from seeing his lips you assume they're smiling at well. You glance at the witch and see her hold up a vial of black powder to the light, her eyes studying it as she tips it one way then the other. It's not anything interesting, you don't see what's worth staring at.

"Can you make a bear?" You ask the man, he hums questioningly before looking at you. "They're my favorite," You explain.

"Can I make a bear?" He scoffs, swirling his fingers to collect the smoke. The wisps of it draw together and burst with a spark into the silhouette of a brown bear. It plods along the table top before sitting down to look around. It's a good bear.

"I know a good story about a bear," You tell him. He raises a brow, and doesn't stop you as you chatter away telling your favorite fairy tale. In fact his smoke seems to act out the scenes for you, stopping and restarting as you try to remember details. By the time you finish there's no more sound coming from the witch's work, and you're starting to notice the "lovely princess" and "handsome prince" smoke figures look a lot like your hosts.

"I called their mum," The witch tells the man, setting a cup of tea in front of him. "She should be here soon." The fae man snaps his fingers and the smoke disperses.

"One of the neighbors?" He asks, and she hums in confirmation. He tugs at her hand, pulls her down to perch on his lap with a quiet word.

"Are you alright to go home dear?" She asks you, and you think she means it. Sometimes people ask you things but they don't really want an answer, they just want to ask. You nod after a moment's thought. She looks relieved. "If you ever get lost again, you can call me,-" she hands you a little black card with gold lettering, it looks very official, "-I'll get you back home."

You turn the card over. There's no name on it just a phone number, an address, and one word, "Witch." You're studying one of the gold stars on the corner of it when there's a knock at the door. The Witch stands to answer it, and the fae man's touch lingers on her hip before she moves away. He gives you a wink as she pulls the door open, as if his affections are a conspiracy between the two of you. You hop off your chair and he catches your arm.

"Price," He tells you quietly, it feels like an important word so you nod solemnly. He smiles, "Go on back to your mum, and don't go spreading my name around."

You hold onto your mother's hand as you wave good-bye. She thanks the Witch profusely, though she waves all of them off. You watch the gold slip off of her like water, humans are so funny like that. They never hold onto heavy ties, kind only for the sake of kindness.

"Do you know how worried I was?" Your mother scolds you, "You're lucky someone dangerous didn't find you."

[zippy-elly]

Okay I know this is a long shot but you know what I would like for my birthday next month? Art of my characters. I haven't really been able to draw anything in months because my job basically consumes every moment of my life right now, and I miss them. 🥺

Here are the ones I'd love to see art of:

Penelope is my main girl, the apple of my eye, my little Halfling popstar who's a bundle of anxiety and spunk.

Diana is all sass and spontaneity. She is head-over-heels for her patron Nimue, and would do anything Nimue asked of her.

Vivi is Penelope's best friend, and she's goofy and chaotic. She loves folklore and myths and gets a kick out of pop culture. (She's an NPC in our Fate DnD game, so our DM and I basically share her lol)

Johni is Penelope's girlfriend, who just got out of an unfair warlock contract. She's still learning to be more confident in herself and her abilities outside of the contract. (She's another NPC in our game, but this is another case where we share her lol)

Sonnet is a sweet, affectionate Tiefling with a big heart who has a wild streak a mile wide. She is able to generate flowers and plants wherever she goes, and gifts them to people she considers friends.

Hyacinth is Sonnet's mom. She's an Eladrin from the Feywild who's incredibly laid-back. She tends to have an "eh, this is fine I guess" outlook on... basically everything. She likes to sleep in trees.

(Art credits in order of appearance: @makiokuta, CR Scannell, @pianta, myself, Maki again, @judilyart, me again, @heroicn0nsense, Picrew, Maki again, The Honey Bun, Az again, Az again, @cookyys-closet, Judy again, another Picrew, Az again, Ninneko)

[maskeddiany]

Johny. No. Put that ouija down.

[lesbian-shadow]

🕸️🖤 Information Station 🖤🕸️

About Me:

name: Nyx or shadow🖤 Age: 13💜 Gender: Non-binary🖤 Pronouns: They/them/theirs 💜 Hobbies: Writing, reading, drawing, painting, and climbing trees🖤 Movie/show Fandoms: Wednesday, Nightmare Before Christmas, Beetlejuice, Corpse Bride, the school for good and evil,Harry Potter Alice in Wonderland, The owl House,Helluva boss,and stranger things.💜 Game fandoms: The Last of us, Boulder's gate,God of War, and Genshin Impact.🖤 Celebrity fandoms: Jenna Ortega, Emma Meyers, Tim Burton, Johny Depp, Helena Bonham Carter, and Melanie Martinez.💜 General information:

this blog is a safe space for me and those who may stumble upon it. I will post things like my OC's for the fandoms I'm apart of, edits of my favorite characters and people, some things I a writing just for fun and if you have suggestions for them I would love to hear them, also I might share some personal things if you ask me to. this is a sfw space so please keep it mostly pg when you are interacting. Remember to always be nice and understanding, you are loved.

Material lists: Art material list Writing material list

Useful links: None yet

[jazzstarrlight]

Request by @blue-fanlady

#1- Ellie Rose × Johny Panzer = date (+ Sticksona)

#2- Blue fanlady Sticksona

I like how soft and fluffy the hair turned out!

[sadattemptofawriter]

Dual Nature (Tommy Shelby x Female OC)

Summery: Life in Birmingham is hard for every unfortunate soul that lives in it, but it is especially difficult for women. And if that woman has no man of her own and no family to call her own, then life is difficult in even more convoluted ways. If that woman is fair of face, then she has little choice to become a whore. Minerva knows this and, tired of constant unwanted attentions she, hatches a plan. A plan that if done right will ensure her an honorable job with decent wages, and if undone will most likely get her killed. But she is willing to try anything to avoid prostitution.

One day, Minerva Griffin made a point to show herself leaving her home, moving out and leaving it for someone else. So that her brother, Byron Griffin, can come and stay. Byron Griffin, who is a scrawny lad, but eager to work with a funny girlish way about him.

Note: this was originally meant to be a reader insert series, but I got carried away with choosing names. I chose Byron for the male persona, and then the rest just came poring down. But if you want to, you can read it as a reader insert. I didn't include much of any physical depictions.

 I do not consent to my work being translated, copied or posted elsewhere on this platform or any other.

Warning: Canon conforming mention of violence. Your media consumption is your own responsibility.

Chapter 1 - Muddy roads of Birmingham 

"Fuck.fuck. fuck." I mutter under my breath as I try desperately to fix the broken cabinet door. "Fuck this. Fuck this." 

Finally exhausted, I slide down and sit on the ground my head leaning against the one measly barley held together chair. "Why did I thought I could do this? Why did I thought I could do this?" 

When I sold everything I owned and moved to Birmingham, I knew my life would have been hard, I had no doubts about the hardships of the working class. But I suppose I was still very naive and optimistic if I thought I could easily adapt to it. Knowing is one thing, but actually doing it is something entirely else. 

Why I thought a young girl of previously upper middle class can survive in Birmingham is beyond me. I suppose at the time I thought it would be better than staying in London, in that empty house I could no longer afford to maintain. and much, much better than to get married just for the sake of a roof over my head. I thought my father and six brothers going off to France, leaving me and my heart broken mother had made me stronger, made a more capable woman. But I suppose I still had privileges then I didn't know how to live without. 

But I don't have any of those now. I don't have a mother to help me with cooking or sewing, no. She got remarried and moved to America with her new husband. Logically I know I can't blame her, the war took away seven of her family. Her husband that she had loved, my father, and six of her sons. I just wish I was enough reason for her to stay. Hell, I just wish I was enough that she would want to take me with her. Album she had married a younger man, and he didn't want to raise another man's child. I understood that. Maybe I shouldn't have been so understanding. 

I came to Birmingham, to get closer to him. To where he started at. To where he was. Then again, he had made it so very clear he didn't want me or any of my brothers here, in all the mud and soot and filth. I get it now. I didn't then.

Shaking my head I get up once more to have another go at the cabinet door. I had made a decision, I had made a choice. To give up being an upper middle class lady that's barley saving face and go down to my late father's roots.

He married up. I know that much. He and my mother had fallen in love at the races. He had been a working class stable boy, working for my grandfather and my mother had a prized purebred horse she would visit every day. 

Here, without a man, without a father or a brother all I am is a pretty face. If I'm not a whore now than I am considered a soon to be whore. If only I had a family member. A mother or a brother even if younger. But a lone woman? I must be one of those then. 

I pick up the tools I had borrowed and began to fiddle with the damn door again. The first few days of Birmingham's general roughness had already made my hands bleed a few times. That is not to say my hands no longer bled. As if to prove a point to me, right then my palms bled again, the tools too hard and rough for my hands. I learned to ignore them. If I wasted time over every cut I get I wouldn't be able to get anything done here. 

Finally, the door is back on its rusty hinges and swinging pathetically while letting out a whine. Satisfied with myself, and I definitely am since i managed to fix a door hinge all by myself with no help, I get pack on my feet and pick up the tools to return them to my neighbor. A Mr and Mrs Harrison, an elderly couple whom I rent the room from. 

Mr. Harrison worked at one of the factories, one that made car parts. He had lent me the tool box from the there and told me to return it there once I was finished. And that was exactly I planned to do. 

I got dressed to leave. I missed the old clothes I had back on London, the silks and the furr and the soft cashmere. Not to mention the high quality lace works. But within days of my mother's departure I had to sell them all off to save money. Money for food and money for rent. Instead, I bought whatever the stores here were selling. Simple, modest working class.

"You are a working class woman now. It's not right to think yourself separate." I tell myself. Sometimes it's hard to remember. When you grow up in silk and fine cashmere and hand made leather, it's hard to suddenly see yourself in the shoes of the leather makers. 

A simple black dress, black shawl and shoes. Mourning clothes. It may have been two years or so, but is till mourned my father and brothers. I had to, for them, for their sacrifice. I grab the heavy tool box and begin to haul it along to the factory. My hands hurt, my knuckles gone white. My once polished nailes, now chipped and dirty with oil dig intoy already red palms. 

One step at a time, I tell myself. One step at a time. Keep your eyes forward to your goal. Ignore the mud that splashes on your shoes, ignore the dirt that clings to the hem of your dress. Ignore the men watching you. Ignore the lewed, filth that leaves their mouth. Ignore them. I can ignore them just as I can igore the pain I my palms and the aching I my arms.

It hadn't been long since I came to Birmingham when I learned that the men of the lower class feel no need to be gentlemanly. No societal pressure for them to be polite. If they wished to be good men, then they were because they wanted to. And if they simply wished to be crass, not even a holy Mother would stop them. 

They were not bad men. This much I could admit. But it was Birmingham itself. A pretty young girl with no one in Birmingham? She must be a whore then. It's fine. I thought, I could power through it. 

At the door to the factory, I expect to see some sort of guard or a doorman. Someone to keep track of who goes in and who comes out. I see no suck person so I enter the factory, looking around to find either Mr. Harrison or someone who could point me to Mr Harrison. But strangely enough I see no one. No one seems to be working at their stations. I wonder if today is a day off? I doubt Birmingham factories have day offs but who knows. That us until I hear the voice of a man giving a speech. 

"...or do they sit at home? Comfortable, With a full belly. While you scrape enough to find shoes for your children's feet. And what is the reward they offer you for the sacrifices you made? They fucking cut your wages! That is your reward. Raise your hands those of you who wants l to strike." A tall man standing on a staircase yells. He's surrounded by factory workers as they cheer and shout their agreement. 

"Bloody communists." I huff under my breath. Their ideals are nice, fair wages and equality of the classes. But ideals are different from reality. One shoulder abandon reality for ideals. 

I think of myself. Ideally, I should be in London, in my old home. With my latest fashion dresses and my delicate feathers. Ideally, I should be able to sit at a table with my mother and my father and my brothers. All of them alive and well. But reality is different. Reality is that I am here, without family. Standing in the mudd and soot Birmingham. Reality is that I can't find a decent job, because either it's not women's business or I'm not good at the damn thing. Reality is that I'm not originally a working woman, I don't know washing or sewing. Reality is that I am one of the full bellies these men are condemning. At least I used to be. And reality is, I need to start filling my belly and earning money. Not my head with stupid Russian ideals and strikes. "They'll stop day dreaming if they know what's good for them." 

"And what's a pretty little missy such as yourself doing here?" A voice calls out from behind me. 

He looks at me for a bit. Chewing something in his mouth. He takes off his hat and scratches the back of his head while letting out a low rumble of a laugh.

I turn to see a middle aged man behind me. Another factory worker no doubt.

I turn ony heels and show him the tool box. "I came here to return this to Mr. Harrison who lent it to me." 

"Funny." He says amused, as if I had told him a joke. "It's fine, you don't have to come up with a story to be here."

"Excuse me?" I ask. 

"How much?" He bluntly asks. 

"I don't understand. How much what?" I did understand. And I hated that it happened so often that I did instantly understood. But it helped to play dumb. It helped me buy some time. 

"I get it, I get it. Works been hard. It's been hard for everyone. You can't just waite for the clients to come to you, you have to come here to them. Good business plan sweetheart. Now I'm here. How much? " he snickers as he steps closer to me. 

"Leave her alone Mac. Eh. Leave her the fuck alone. Scurry off to yer job if ye want to keep it, eh." Comes another man, much older than the twat before me, with a leather apron and a limp. 

I recognize him immediately. It's Mr. Harrison. I smile at the elder man and bow my head for him. "Hello Mr. Harrison. I came to return the tool box."

"Ai. I've got eyes lassy. I can tell." He gives a crooked smile and walked closer with his limp. "Give me that." He takes the tool box from my hands and shoves it to the other man. Mac he had been called. 

"Take this." He grunted. "And I'm telling you now Mac, she's no whore. She's renting Mary's room. Alright. You leave the girl alone."

"Got it, got it." Mac says, still laughing with amusement. He shakes his head walks away. Despite the conversation that happened, I can't help but just to focus on the fact that, that man can so easily pick up the tool box I hauled pathetically behind me. 

"Come on lassy. I'll walk you back home. This no place for a young woman like yourself to be walking around. Factory's are dangerous. Full of sparks. I say this 'cus you remind me of me daughter." 

"Thank you Mr. Harrison but I don't want to disturb you while you're working." I try to keep my voice neutral. It won't do any good if I break down crying over a small conversation I wasn't even a part of. 

But damn it. I wasn't part of that damn conversation. It was about me. And I had no say in it. This Mac person thought I was a whore and it took another man to tell him off. Dammit. I'll never get used to this. Never.  

It's like being a woman has turned from beingy little blessing to my curse over night. I move from London to fucking Small Heath and suddenly my status from a young miss changes to whore. And I don't even get a say in it. Fuck. 

"Nonsense.i can't let you walk home alone. The sun's setting as well. Come. Come." He ushers me to the door and we both walk out. 

We walked home in relative silence. there was soot and ash in the air and my black hat had turned pale gray. I look around as we walked, bored of the silence but also resigned to my fate. 

The sun is setting and the streets are dark, the men are hitting the pubs and there are already a few drunk out of their minds. And yet, still I see boys playing out and about. Children as young as five, all boys, running and shouting.

"There are kids playing outside still." I note. 

"Yes.well. young boys need to be out and play. What are we going to do? Keep them inside? They'll break everything." Mr. Harrison laughed. 

"I suppose." I couldn't help the resentment and annoyance I felt. Here is was, a grown ass woman of twenty-five, being walked home by my neighbor because it's too late and dark and dangerous for a woman be walking home alone but kids as young as five are fine to running around on the account of being a boy. Once again I felt like being a woman was stuck to me more like a curse than anything nowadays. Like a stain I couldn't clean or a stench I couldn't get rid off.

I wonder, if it would have been easier if I was a man? Mom would have still remarried and left. Her new husband now would have wanted me even less. My father and brothers would have still gone to France. But at least, maybe then, maybe I could have gone with them. Been with them.

At least I know one thing for certain. If I were a man, I could have carried that tool box easily, would have known how to fix things. Would have been able to find work easier. And by God know one would have thought I was a whore. I wouldn't need to be escorted home. Hell, I would have been allowed in a pub then. 

I shake my head to get a clear head. To shake off the resentment and the annoyance. That's wheny eyes fall on a corner where a commotion is. It doesn't seem like men getting drunk, nor does it seem like a fight. 

Trying to distract myself from all the dark thoughts circling my head, I ask. "What's going on over there?"

Mr. Harrison, who was lighting his probably tenth cigarette by know took q glance over at the commotion. "Nothing of concern lassy." 

I glance at him and wait for him to continue. He clearly didn't want to but silently asked for more information. That was one of the good things of being a woman that still worked for me. The moment a man sees you as their daughter or sister figure, you can ask them anything and they can't resist it. 

"That's Charlie Strong's yard. It's also where the Shelby's keep their race horses. News been around the last stable boy they had around to help, hurt one of the horses. Curly, he's the big man over there, " he gestired to a man who was frantically arguing with another older man, Charlie Strong I assumed. He was waving his hands around and shaking his head.

"Yes, that's Curly. He's in charge of the stable and is very particular about the horses. They fired the boy a month ago. But since then they haven't found anyone to take his place." Mr. Harrison said. 

"Why not? Are there not many who know about horses? I doubt that." I pry in a little more. The gears in my head turning as a little plan hatches slowly. 

"Like I said,he's particular about the horses. Loves them to death. No one seems to be good enough to work there. But he's trusted by the Shelby's so what he says goes." 

"I see." 

Mr. Harrison turns to me, eyes squinted and flicking his tongue over his dry lips. It's almost as if he can see the gears in my head turning or he can see the evil grin I'm trying to hide. 

"Now you listen to me lassy, you stay away from Charlie Strong's yard. Ye hear me? It's where them Peaky devils hang and nothing good cones out of them noticing ye." He warned me, flicking his finger at me. Mr. Harrison reminds me of my father with the way he warns and wards off people from bad life choices. My father was a wise man. 

My father was a wise man and if he knew what I planned to do, he would have a heart attack. I can almost hear him say it. "Nothing good comes out of you going to a stable." Or "nothing good will come out of you being so rowdy. Yer a girl. Be like one." 

For a split second I close my eyes and send a prayer to my father and brothers. It was an incomplete plan, but what I had for now was good enough. The rest I will think of when I get to it. 

"Oh no, Mr Harrison. Not me. You see, I received a letter from a cousin of mine. I'm going to the country to stay there." I lie through my teeth, still observing the man named Curly. 

"You leaving lassy?" Mr Harrison seemed surprised. He spat his cigarette on the ground and stopped it. It was his way of giving me all of his unwavering attention. 

"Yes, I'm going to the country to live there with my relatives. A cousin of mine,however will be coming to work in Birmingham. He...hes good with horses. He would love to work with them here as well." Well. Not a lie. Not entirely. I am absolutely not going to be living with relatives since both my parents had been disowned. My father's side were members of the IRA and didn't like that he went to fight for the crown and my mother, well, she was an upperiddle class lady who left a wealthy land owner at the altar to  elope with an Irish horse trainer. Their love story used to be like a fairytale to me. But it is true, father may have tried his best to keepy lady hands clean and soft but... I grew up watching him train horses. It was bound for me to find the tame creatures better company.

"I see." Was all Mr. Harrison said. However his face seemed to say that he was pleased to hear that I was leaving. I suppose any man would prefer their daughters to not live in such a place. Perhaps Mr. Harrison thought the fair air of country would do me well. Let him think that.

"May I go and ask about the job?" I asked. I really didn't need to ask but somehow, the feel these men had about them didn't allow me to just casually walk up to them. 

"Hen. fine. But I'll be coming with ye. I'll talk, it's men's place this yard." He grunts in his usual sour and fatherly way and limps away towards the meb and I follow suit, trying to walk in a way that us both confident and yet respectful. 

Mr Harrison's steps were bigger he reached them men sooner. He took his hat off and with an air of respect and submission began talking to them. He had his head bowed and his shoulders hunched. It made me wonder the weight they carried. He was an elderly man and I know he had been to France. His sons hadn't returned, much like my brothers and his daughter had married away, moved to Glassgaw with her husband. I almost felt sorry for using him like this. In his mind he was helping me, doing a young gurl a favor. But I had made my resolve. Reality is different than fantasy, different than ideals. I need to be more cutthroat, more ruthless, more.... morally gray to be able to survive here. this small town wasn’t a place for a lady than i shouldn’t have to other being like one. I should only think of my own good first. that’s reality. the sooner I get over it, the sooer I can get to actually living.

I refuse my fate to be either marriage or prostitution. If I've got no man, than by the devil I swear I'll be my own man. 

"Gentlemen." I greet them all. 

"Harrison here tells me, you've got a cousin coming here for a job." Mr. Strong says as he looks me up and down. It's not a bad stare not something to make me uncomfortable but, it's just a quizzical look. Like he wants to see if I'm worth beting on. 

"Yes Mr. String. I'll... I'll be leaving around tomorrow morning and if timing is right, hell be here the day after." It's risky, givingy self so little time to prep. But it's also good, I won't be able to back out of it. And they wouldn't be able to say that it's too late. 

"And you expect me to give him a job when he's not here yet?" He asks, leaning on a shovel. His old pale eyes staring me down with a wisdom that only comes with age and experience. 

"No sir, I simply owned him a favor and thought since he's coming here to Birmingham to work, I thought I could see if there us any work with horses around. His father is a horse trainer and he's good at it too. All I ask is to give him a chance." I say. Trying my damnedest to smile innocently and not let them know I had a terrible plan in mind. 

"No. no. We can't trust them Charlie. They'll hurt the horse Charlie. No. No." Mr. Curly says frantically, as he shakes his head and arms. 

"Oh, shut up Curly. You've rejected everyone who knew anything about horses in this damn town. Only other person who can, is now Tommy and you can't ask him to be a stable boy." Charlie Strong, despite being a frail old man had an authoritive voice, like a shaggy Irish Wolfhound. He snapped at Curly and the other man despite being taller and much larger, obediently quieted down. A draft horse came to mind. Big, Strong and sturdy but all gentleness and skittish attitude. I alredy like Curly and I’m sure I can get him to like my cousin as well.

"Fine then. Tell him come but I won't guarantee he will get a job." He huffed to me. "Now go, shoo. This no place for a woman. " 

"Thank you. That's all I asked." I say politely as I could and gave a slight bow if my head. Then turned and walked away home with Mr. Harrison. 

Tonight is going to be a hell of a night.

[butchsquatch]

#24 for reev, #5 for viko, #19 for vulp

aaand #30 for all three! 👃

here's the post in case anybody else has questions about my boys.

24. do they have any creative hobbies?

Reev learned how to play the guitar when he was a teen because of his intense love for Samurai! He doesn't play for a while and I think Johnny gets him to start doing it again.

5. how do they typically dress? does their wardrobe lean more towards practicality or aesthetics?

Viko has definitely leaned toward aesthetics most of his life, especially when he was working at Arasaka! Lots of cool jackets, he's a sucker for those. As things progress with the Relic and in 2079 though, he gets a lot more practical; a lot more comfortable outfits.

19. are they quick to anger? what sets them off?

YES! He has a very hard time keeping his anger in. He gets mad when he feels he's not being respected or when people are trying to fuck him over. When people get in his way of success too, he gets so mad about that.

30.do they smell like anything notable?

oooh lovely..... Reev always smells like gun powder and probably CHOOH2? Viko smelled like a fancy cologne when he was working for Arasaka. Burrito XXL, Nicola Fire, and blood during the main game. Evelyn's weird cigarettes, alcohol, and Kerry's body wash during Phantom Liberty (he spends a lot of time going between Dogtown and Kerry's villa). Hair dye and beer in 2079.

Vulp???? Damn what does he smell like...Honestly cheap body wash. I will report back once I play more with him and learn what he's all about.

[meammy84124]

OC

Johny Jones

[thepokemonwrestlingclub]

POST # 27

[presidentoneko]

He's just a little bit too silly

[thepenmonster7474]

[zippy-elly]

Happy Lesbian Visibility Day to these two, specifically 😌💕

Art by @makiokuta, @/thehoneybun_ on Twitter, @heroicn0nsense, and @/cr_scannell on Twitter

[maskeddiany]

April Fools shenanigans

[seallybilly]

this is my object oc dory johny hes Kinda cool

[princesscolumbia]

Return to Recipient, Ch. 5 - Akane One Note

I just can't seem to stop writing for this story...

Summary:

Akane has been noticing things seem...different. She's not sure what's going on, but Ranma seems to be at the center of it. He's doing...schoolwork and making friends and... ...okay that's not exactly 'nefarious,' but after the frustrating 'training' on Sunday, she wants nothing better than to have a bitch-sesh with her friends... ...why do they seem so serious?

Notes:

No, nothing to do with Death Note (and don't expect a Death Note inspired chapter, either. DN's concept is boring to me and while it has it's fans nothing they've said or shown me has convinced me the show is at all within my sphere of interests). It's a reference to an old saying; "Johny One Note," meaning someone with only one predominant quality that defines their entire being. Quick note of thanks to jaaaaaasmin for spotting some misgendering of my own damn OC I did in Ch. 4. Which does remind me, I'm posting this straight form the AO3 'new chapter' box with no editor or pre-reader, so if you spot an obvious error like that, please let me know in the comments. 😊

Preview (as usual) below the cut:

The intervening classes between the rather unusual start of the day and lunch were all a blur of similar incidents. Ranma raising a hand to answer questions in class. Ranma getting a better grade than expected. Ranma taking serious notes and actually opening her textbooks.

His. Opening his textbooks.

Ukyo seemed to take the change in Ranma in stride, clearly just as in the dark about it as Akane but apparently more willing to simply roll with it. The aquatransexual and the okonomiyaki chef even got into an impromptu debate over some point in history about the Sengoku Period about whether Nobunaga would have succeeded in unifying Japan if he hadn't been betrayed by Mitsuhide, and it got heated enough the normally lenient history teacher even reigned them in a bit.

During the break between classes, Akane commented on it, "I didn't know you had that much of an interest in history, Ranma."

The redhead shrugged, "It's Warring States Period stuff. Lotta martial arts came out of that time period."

Hiroshi and Daisuke wandered over to socialize, "Man," complained Hiroshi, "Now I wish I'd paid more attention to the plot in Battle Girls: Time Paradox."

"Wouldn't've helped," smirked Daisuke, "The main character changes the course of events and Mitsuhide is convinced to not turn on Nobunaga. Lot of plot happens after that, which means you can't use it as an alternative to reading your textbook."

They laughed as Hiroshi groaned expressively.

"What's Battle Girls: Time Paradox?" asked Yuka, her and Sayuri leaning in from the row on the other side of Ukyo to join in.

Ranma snickered, "It's actually a really cool anime! Dai pointed out it's not exactly historically accurate, but a girl from modern times gets transported to an alternate timeline where it's only women, so all the historical figures are now really hot girls."

Daisuke and Hiroshi said in almost reverent, breathless unison, "Nobunaga..." Daisuke clarified why they were so in awe of the historical name as he held out his hands as though cupping a frankly gargantuan pair of breasts.

Ranma rolled her eyes, something Ukyo noticed. "Not a fan of girl-Nobunaga, Ranchan?" she asked.

"No, I am. She's a kick-ass martial artist that's destined to rule Japan in that timeline. I just don't care as much about how big her chest is 'cause if you made me as tall as her my rack'd be just as big. Aint that I don't appreciate the view," she shrugged, "But I know just how much of a challenge bein' a fighter is with a pair of meat sacks stuck to your chest is."

Hiroshi got on his knees in a pleading posture next to Ranma's desk, "Ranma-chan, I beg of you, please don't ruin the mystique of a glorious pair of breasts for me!"

Ranma rolled her eyes as Ukyo, Yuka, and Sayuri cackled and Daisuke just shook his head at his friend's antics. Before Akane could figure out what she was feeling about all this, the next teacher came in and everyone returned to their desks.

~~~

Read the rest on AO3