#out of crows [ooc]

[shimmerytimbers]

Jesper: I wasn't THAT drunk Wylan: You colored my face with a highlighter because you said I was important. Jesper: well-

[nrc-asteryn-crew]

A notification flashes across phone screens everywhere throughout NRC. The radio podcast, NRTea has gone live once more!

"Hello, hello, dearest listeners! And welcome to another episode of NRTea, the hottest tea party on sages island! I'm your host, Chamomile-"

"and I am Earl Grey"

"And oh boy do we have a story for you today! Take it away, Earl!"

"...alright.

As of late, there have been brambles spiralling up and encasing parts of the Ramshackle dorm. The brambles themselves seem generally harmless, as do the roses that fall from them, but if you prick yourself on the thorns, it would be quite an unpleasant sensation, so I'd suggest exercising some extra caution when visiting for now."

"Yup, yup! If you've got a friend or two living in the dorm out there, go check on em and make sure they're doing okay!"

"I know I myself must check in on my dearest companions soon..."

"Well that's it for now! We've been your hosts, Chamomile-"

"And Earl Grey,"

"And this has been NRTea. Stay thirsty, dear listeners!"

The stream continues on for a bit before cutting off, though.

"Hey... James?"

"Yes?"

"Y'know how Yuna has been locking up lately and stuff? Says she's been super sick recently."

"Mhm... It's quite concerning, if I am being honest. I haven't seen her for a while..."

"...I wonder if Yuna is alright. I hope she doesn't get hurt with all those brambles."

"...Me too, Lewis. Me too."

(✨YUNA OVERBLOT STUFF YAHOO!!!

-✨mod, @night-raven-miscellany. Technically James and Lewis, too, but I haven't been adding them fhdjfj)

Kiyuu stared down at her phone with a frown as the podcast ended. She didn't say anything, prompting Aros to speak up from behind her.

"...Lucky you haven't been over there for a while, isn't it?"

He spoke, giving Kiyuu a faint smile, leaning in just a little closer while dabbing a makeup brush into the eyeshadow pallette in his hand, before applying it, making slightly quicker movements than previously, already being able to tell what Kiyuu was thinking.

They both knew the signs by now from even just a glance. With the context the podcast had accidentlly given... Something bad was about to happen. That much they could tell.

His expression morphed back into a frown as he watched how Kiyuu's face seemed to go through a cycle of conflicting emotions, confirming what he'd thought.

"...Yuuto's close by, though. And he definitely won't hesitate to head straight for Ramshackle once he suspects something's happening..."

There was more silence, only disturbed by the quiet sounds of rummaging through makeup and supplies from Aros. They'd been in the middle of testing out some makeup samples Aros had been sent for a promotion when they'd decided to tune into NRTea's podcast in the background.

"...Would you like me to quickly finish applying your makeup before we go?"

Aros offered, picking up an eyelash curler, and tilting Kiyuu's head up gently with his pointer finger.

"But-"

"Ah- Let me finish now. If you're worried about time, I'll change up our plan, do something quick, yet effective, instead. Don't stress out more than you need to. It won't do you any good."

"Mmh... Okay then. I'd- really like that. Thank you..."

Kiyuu conceeded softly, a silent exchange of gratitude from Kiyuu between them, Aros nodding in response, expression neutral as he continued.

"...Heh. I bet he's real excited right now. I worry a lot for him when he does this sort of thing, y'know. Just doing whatever he wants with no consideration to anyone else's feelings..."

Kiyuu mumbled, an underlying bitterness that she never quite felt wholeheartedly in her voice.

"That's just how he is. The only thing for us to do now is help them both out, hm?"

"Ah- right..! Yuna, I heard their name was, I think... I hope they're alright..."

"As do I."

Aro's commented as he stood, reaching instinctively for his hand mirror, handing it to Kiyuu as he hastily, yet still neatly, tidied up his supplies.

"Satisfactory?"

He asked, turning his head around to gauge Kiyuu's opinion.

"Yeah! More than, for sure."

Kiyuu agreed, handing back the mirror. She felt a little better now, the familiar feeling of her makeup calming her nerves ever so slightly.

After a few short moments she stood, hastily reaching to fix up her hair into a more practical fashion.

"Okay! Okay. Let's go! We shouldn't waste anymore time."

She announced, projecting bounds more confidence than she actually felt.

"Yes, let's. Perhaps we'll even arrive before anything too disastrous occurs on either party's end..."

Aros responded. Though somehow, they both doubted that much of a miricle would happen for them today...

[darryscrow]

i dunno how other people do this because im not confident with words but

Darry Curtis who needs violence. Darry Curtis, who's problems wouldn't be solved with a hug and whispers of support. Darry Curtis who needs a good kick in the head to jump-start him. Darry Curtis who grew up on the East side and had to be the fastest and smartest to get something, Boy of the Year, Captain of the football team, a scholarship.

anyway time to use my own words 'cos that's about all i can do like the others

For all his life he'd been thrown into the rough ground below, and replacing that with cushions to try and help him wouldn't do.. anything.

That rough ground he had gotten used to? Toughened up his skin? Pricked into his skin and made him feel? He needs that. He needs that violence in his life in all honesty.

I found this poem (yeah I'm guessing a lot more people know of this poem before now) and it immediately jumped at me as Darry. This poem was written in a group of other sonnets but I haven't checked them out yet..

John Donne asks God to break him, kick him down, destroy him so that he can be free again.

Obviously this is religious but I don't really see Darry as being that religious per-say, but I do think he'd beg of someone out there to do this. 'Break, blow and burn' him, to make him new.

I think this feeling to Darry post-parent death fits best, when he hasn't got a clue what to do and feels utterly lost. He needs to be torn apart so he could put himself back together, rewiring himself to know what to do.

He needs a punch to get his head on right..

Like when Ponyboy ran away. Then Dallas, then Sodapop.. he didn't get the words, wouldn't listen to them, but a big action (sure, not a hit to him but still a bigger thing than words) sure got him thinking. Ponyboy running away made him finally realize he was too rough. Dallas running made him round up everyone and run to him before something bad happened (then in the movie he broke down when Dally got shot down Ily Patrick Swayze) aand then when Sodapop ran away he finally got it through his head that he should fight less with Ponyboy.

He needs tough love.

A GREAAT example would be Tim in 'All Roads Lead to Home' (spoilers)!!!!

In chapter 35, When Darry slips into alcoholism and tried to play it off, Tim saw right through him and stayed around. Then, when Darry was clearly starting to give up, thinking that he wasn't good for his brothers, Tim got him riled up enough to make Darry attack him. (Darry in this fic punches to relieve his emotions a lot actually, and I feel like that would be VERY accurate.)

Later on, this is said when Greg proposes Darry to get help with AA meetings, programs, etc

and.. yeah! Darry needs that tough love. Someone to knock in his head to understand what's being asked of him. ofcourseheneedsTLCattimes but he needs that roughness to pull his head outta his ass and put it on right.

also this is why i like paul and darry so much but thats for another day bye

[cantuscorvi]

Henceforth i will simply be using this as raum's FC because this is just too fitting --

[misericorsalvator]

An Epitaph

Henry didn't know where he was. It was cold, freezing, but that was all he could tell, from the sharp chill that tore through his damp clothes, to the frigid air that felt like icicles in his lungs when he breathed. Even if he was someplace familiar, it would have been impossible to tell through the veil of rime in the air, the thick hoar that coated the ground. But wherever he was, he had to find shelter. soon, before his limbs grew any number that they already were and he lost the three fingers he had left on his right hand to frostbite. It took a good deal of walking, trudging through the snow, before he found something resembling sanctuary. A rocky hovel dug deep into a mountainside he hadn't even noticed was there. The crooked mountaintop loomed far overhead like a wind-swept pine tree, towering over the barren expanse and shielding the small patch of land near the cave's entrance from the worst of the snowfall. It was a narrow fit, the opening more narrow than a coffin, but it opened up into a wide chamber beyond, dark, lit only by the little light reflecting on the snow outside.

Panic stabbed at him suddenly. That chamber felt familiar, though he couldn't recall from where. The rockface of the walls was smooth, man-made, and the stalactites hanging from the domed ceiling above were unnatural, all the same length, jagged and sharpened to fine points. But he had no time to waste on the unnerving interior. The weather outside was getting worse, the wind howling like wolves on a hunt, and soon his shelter would be just as cold and dangerous as the outside. He had to think, find a way to keep the warmth in. Henry returned to the entrance. He twisted around in the narrow space as best he could and began piling up snow with his numb hands, stacking it, pressing it into shape, mouthing breathless curses to himself, until he had built a solid wall halfway up to his neck. It should last. He didn't know for how long, but at least for now, until he could catch his breath. It had to last.

Henry slumped against the wall of the cave. The barrier he had built offered some protection, but he could still feel the cold creeping in, seeping through the gaps and cracks in the snow. A damp chill gnawed at his bones, freezing the air in his lungs. He knew he had to keep moving, to do something, anything, to stay warm and awake. He couldn’t afford to fall asleep. Not here. Not now. But his limbs were leaden and his body creaked in protest with every movement. His teeth chattered as he tried to think, tried to remember where he was and how he had gotten there. The harder he tried, however, the more his thoughts seemed to slip away, like sand through his fingers. Panic clawed at his chest once more as he looked around the cavern. The walls seemed to close in, the smooth stone shimmering with a thin layer of rime frost. The ceiling above with the unnaturally sharp stalactites, loomed over him like a mouth full of fangs. He had to get out.

Henry pushed himself off the wall, his legs shaking beneath him. The snow was piling up faster now, further in through the entrance than the wall he had built, and he frantically began to shovel it away with his hands, trying to clear a path through the narrow gap. He shovelled harder, floundered, grappled til his fingers were too numb to move, but for every tiny hopeful opening he made, more snow took its place, as if the storm outside was determined to bury him alive. The cold was unbearable now, seeping into his very soul. Outside, the wind roared, a feral sound that echoed through the cavern and made the air thick with cold. Each breath now was a knife to the chest, each inhale burning his lungs. The snow crawled closer, blocking the entrance fully, and began to cover the cave floor inch by painful inch, forcing the hunter back step by painful step.

Henry's mind was reeling. He stumbled further into the cave, away from the encroaching cold, the bones of his legs creaking in protest. The deeper he went, the more the walls seemed to close in on him, the smooth rock pressing down, suffocating. The quiet there was unnerving, an oppressive stillness that made him painfully aware of his own laboured breathing and the pounding of his heart. The silence of the grave. For what felt like an hour, he pushed himself forward against the stone walls, cowering under the stalactites which were now low enough to graze the top of his head. No matter how far he went, the snow followed close behind, blocking the way back. Henry's movements grew slower, more sluggish, until he could no longer outrun it, and that white frost began piling up around his boots. He felt the fight leave him, his breathing weakened, his heartbeat slowed.

Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw it—a single snowflake, delicate and perfect, drifting down from the ceiling above. His breath caught in his throat as he watched it fall, impossibly slow, through solid rock. It glowed faintly in the dim light and Henry’s eyes followed its descent, almost hypnotized, until it landed softly on the ground. On something dark, something that wasn’t stone. He crouched down, his stiff knees cracking in protest, and wiped away the snow, his fingers brushing against a cold, unyielding surface.

A hand.

His hand.

His breath caught in his throat. He was looking at himself, at his own lifeless body, crumpled and broken, half-buried in the snow. The wounds were horrific—deep gashes and punctures that were draining the life out of him-- and the realization hit him like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't real.

The snow, the cold, it was all in his head, growing blurry as his brain ran out of oxygen. And the cavern wasn’t just familiar—it was the place he was dying, right now, in the real world. The place where his body was lying, bleeding out into the cold ground, his blood darkening the stone ground.

For a third time, panic surged through him, but it was laced with a deep, bone-weary exhaustion. The wind howled louder, and now Henry could make out voices, battle cries, screeching and yowling in twisted satisfaction. The snow now poured into the cave through the solid ceiling above, burying everything in its path. He wanted to claw his way out, to escape this nightmare, but his limbs wouldn’t respond. The snow was too thick, too heavy, pressing down on him from all sides. As his vision began to blur, the walls of the cave pulsed, breathing with a life of their own, in tandem with his own slowed breaths. The snow continued to fall, endlessly, burying him, until all he could see was white. And then, from the heart of the storm, he saw a figure—a tall, imposing silhouette that moved with unnatural grace, cutting through the blizzard as if it were nothing. Henry tried to focus, but his mind was slipping, the edges of his consciousness fraying like old cloth.

His final thoughts drifted to Bran. A deep guilt welled up inside him. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year. He wouldn’t see his boy’s face light up when he opened his presents, wouldn’t hear his laughter echoing through the house. Regret gnawed at him, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. In his last moments, as the darkness closed in, Henry barely registered the sharp pain in his chest—a bite, cold and searing, as if winter itself had latched onto his heart, and his eyes froze over with unshed tears until the world faded and he breathed his last.

In a long-forgotten catacomb in Wales, as the last drop of Henry's blood soaked into the humid ground, something ancient stirred. Beneath the layers of earth and stone, within the crypt that had long been forgotten, a pair of eyes snapped open. After centuries of entombment, something awoke. The blood of the dying hunter seeped into its consciousness, filling it with the remnants of Henry's life, his memories, his regrets. And once the blood had ran dry, the ancient knight rose from his tomb, his eyes burning with a cold, unholy fire.

He tore through the killers, the blood-thirsty beasts who had chased their prey to the ancient tomb, splattering the walls with their undead blood that burnt to ash, until none were left. Then, he looked down at the broken body of the hunter who had unwittingly become his saviour. With a grim sense of purpose, the knight knelt beside Henry’s lifeless form. He whispered words in a dialect long dead, a prayer, perhaps, or a vow. Then, with a reverence reserved for fallen comrades, the knight lifted the hunter’s body and carried him deeper into the crypt, where heroes were once laid to rest, where the knight's own tomb stood, broken apart from within. The hunter was gone, his spirit entwined with the ancient knight’s own, but his legacy would live on, honoured by one of the very creatures he had once sought to destroy.

The knight sealed the tomb with a final, solemn gesture, then left the catacombs behind and stepped out into the warm summer night, into a world which had long outlived him.

[pixelpaladin24]

I've had this boy for an hour, and I'm ready for him to pick me up in his strong, heavy metal arms and carry me to safety. 🥴

I must protect this boy. At all costs. 💙

[doctorcranes-ask]

Jervis brought home some art supplies. decided to test them out.

Rather predictable, aren't I? Crows hopping around a living room are not the best models.

[endawn]

feeling like he has to earn, deserve and be worthy of love fucked pax up, huh

[izar-tarazed]

🌺 send this to ten muns you think are wonderful <3 🌺 HAHA ATTACKA YOU BAC - rotten-pest

@rotten-pest oh no, it’s a boomerang! <3

But seriously, thank you so much!! It has been (and is!) an absolute pleasure to write and plan with you and bring all kinds of misery down onto Cotesia, Izar and Ensha (cray! fish! violence!). Cotesia is such a unique character and I love not only how you write her with all her particularities, but also how you’re curating the aesthetics associated with her? At this point, when I see one of your reblogs on my dash, I usually know it’s yours before even glancing at the url or the tags.

Apologies for being a little slow with my replies currently, now that the holidays are over and I’m recovering from whatever-that-shit-was things should go more smoothly! Happy new year and I’m looking forward to more Cotesia shenanigans, art and aesthetics.

[perditus]

The realization that a lot of Crow Rooks would have known Viago longer as a normal assassin / Master than they would of as a Talon.

[fatedmuses]

//I need someone to be sooo soft with Carolina I think it might break her lmao

[ghostsandmirrors]

.

the 'i just frew up' energy is fuckin tremendous with this one.

[quietautumn]

apparently this is a hot take but i don't think the p5 adult woman confidants are bad characters just because you have the option to romance them. keyword is option because you can literally play the whole game without getting with any of them and they just treat you normally. something something you control the buttons you press

[lcgacyofages]

for anyone curious, Sergio di Vasco was voted the hottest muse I have.

Haven't read up on him?

Sergio di Vasco is a Companion OC for DAI on this blog. He was sent with other crows to assassinate the 'false herald', hired by some chantry members, but Sergio made the decision to turn on the crows with him (who didn't listen to him try to reason), and joins the Inquisition. He does have a companion quest dealing with his family, as his father sold him to the crows to pay off his gambling debts when he was a boy. If he is not romanced by the Inquisitor, and Josephine is not either, they pair end up getting married (because I say so), and move to Antiva.

But Sergio has unfinished business with the Crows, who are still sore about his betrayal. He does have help from Viago, though, to ease the matter and now owes Viago, which makes him available during VG, and is a companion for a de Riva Rook because he's the babysitter.

I treat my base VG verse with him being married to Josephine, but I am flexible if we discuss it. But he is very much a trophy husband/wife guy sort if he's married to her so there you go.

[ch4nticle]

you can really tell emmrich raised miriam when she breaks out the Manners

[corvidae-clockwork]

//Giggling at the fact that on most of my oc rp blogs, I dont usually go into too much detail. Cant be bothered, really

BUT THEN YOU GET ME TO ACTUALLY MAKE A REF SHEET FOR THE OC?

DETAIL DAMN IT.

Also yes that is Crows ref sheet, its a work in progress hence why the only picture is the apperance description