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12 for the oc ask game
12. An OC you've killed.
I don't actually know if I have a single OC that I actually fully killed. Lots that technically died, lots that did die but are ghosts,,, Don't have any that just die and are dead. oh. wait. Delivery. LMAO.
my one oc who is fully definitely never-coming-back dead:
but for fun here's another one that died and got brought back wrong but its okay bc no one they knew is alive anymore
#tide of consciousness#ask game#oc: delivery#rare hollow knight oc sighting#even rarer hollow knight oc that isnt vi or tack sighting#this art is like 3 years old but i love him. funky void grasshopper#i think i was also going for like a plague doctor look with them#should do more with him theyre cool
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A traveling medic who's currently traveling with Phen after saving him from some serious injuries. Phen is repaying Dai by being his bodyguard.
Dai rarely wields a nail and usually uses one of the many smoke bombs to distract his attackers and runs away. He can use a nail but only if he needs to. He has an emergency needle if combat's the only option.
Not only is he a medic but can mend masks to extent. He's no master craftsmen but enough to be passable. He can't create mask as that's a craft he hasn't pick up on. As you can probably tell he picks up a lot of hobbies that can be useful to him. Besides healing and mending he can make little trinkets like his bombs.
The mask he wears isn't really nesseary but he wears one anyway for more or less formalities.
(I was try to figure out a way to make him more hollow knight style and a mask was the easiest. My plant base hollow knight references are the White Lady and Isma and they don't really have mouths and I don't count the Mushrooms because technically they're different in logic.)
The reason his mask is permanently angry, disappointed, annoyed, etc. is because he's not really taken seriously due to his short stature and basically child like appearance.
He's a white radish more specifically a daikon and not a pale being. It's probably obviously but just in case. He's abnormally short for his kind.
Pic is what happened after Phen fights both Mao and Umo. Dai finds out that Phen attacked before they could determine if they were hostile.
(As you can see I reworked a bit of the story of Phen meeting Mao and Umo. Dai now exist so he has a companion. Phen's still a skilled swordman that would kill on sight but is obliging to Dai's preferences and role as leader, between the two of them, since he's not wondering around by himself any more)
Dai Opinion on everyone:
Mao: Reasonable bug thing who was in the defense. He's never seen a jellyfish before so he's kinda curious of what she is and how she floats.
Umo: A strange child bug Mao's looking after. Is made up of weird black misty sticky goo and is pretty tough but can't talk
Phen: A bug he saved that needs a purpose after losing his memory of where he came from. Has a higher being but forgot about them. The moth still carries the little statue. Stoic idiot who's habits are hard to break.
Made him because we need more plant based OCs also he was a cute doodle
Mao ^
Umo ^^
Phen's the orange moth I don't have any recent drawings of him
#oc#art#digital art#ocs#original character#hollow knight#hk#photoshop#umo#mao#phen#dai#static's beans
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Prompt Requests/Phoebe Buffay Quotes Friends Prompts
(Thomas Hunt x OC*Amanda) with the quote, "This is my husband, Crap Bag." As requested by @krsnlove and a heated moment between the pair as requested by numerous others.
(Thomas x Amanda) in a drabble from And Then I Met You storyline.
A/N Thomas Hunt might be one of the most romantic Choices characters but he can also occassionaly stick his foot in his mouth. And poor Amanda 🤦🏻 She always jumps to the wrong conclusions when in doubt. These two manage to have the most perfect moments and the most perfectly disastrous moments, LOL.
@lxaah11 @alleksa16 @penguininapinktuxedo @blackcoffee85 @stopforamoment @hopefulmoonobject @krsnlove @annekebbphotography @hopelessromantic1352 . @sunflowergirl05 @desireepow-1986 @greywitchyshots @lilyofchoices @moodyvalentinestories @emceesynonymroll @my-heart-beats-for-ya @aworldoffandoms @ab1901 @lolablackwrites @flyawayboo @i-bloody-love-drake-walker . @trappedinfandoms @kate-mckenzie
Masterlist
What Did You Say?
"Where's Amanda?" Maxwell asked.
Thomas frowned some as he glanced about at all the nobles and dignataires milling about the palace grounds. The outdoor luncheon on this warm day had caused a slight disagreement between himself and his wife.
If it had not been for their infant daughter napping, he was certain Amanda's anger would have been heard all over the palace.
"She didn't feel up to coming." Thomas explained.
"That's too bad." Maxwell's eyes went directly to the woman in white appearing. "You sure she didn't feel well enough to come?"
"Why wouldn't I know how my wife feels?!" Thomas snapped. "She--"
He was struck speechless at the sight of his wife stepping out of the double doors of the palace.
"She, um, she looks pretty healthy to me." Maxwell muttered, turning away from what he knew would be a colossal fight. Especially over the dress she had decided to wear.
Thomas cursed aloud, drawing outraged gasps from some of the elderly nobles nearby. Without another word, he made his way over to her.
***********
"Freddie!" Amanda exclaimed in delighted surprise. Perhaps it was a touch more delighted than normal so that her dear husband could hear her as he approached from behind. "How long has it been?"
Fredrick Larsen pulled her close for a kiss on her cheek. "At least five years." His eyes dropped down to the abundance of cleavage she had displayed in her form flattering white dress. "I hear congratulations are in order on the birth of your daughter."
"Thank you." Amanda replied. A geunine smile appeared on her lips. "Kathleen is all I could hope for."
"You certainly don't look like a woman who recently had a baby." Fredrick said, keeping his eyes fixed on her figure. He reached out and brushed a lock of her hair back off her shoulder.
"A lot can happen in three months." Amanda shrugged his hand off while maintaing a flirty smile for revenge purposes. "Tell me," her eyelashes fluttered in a coy manner. "What have you been doing--"
A throat cleared behind her.
Her smile faltered at that familiar warning. She glared over her shoulder at the source.
Thomas met that with his own narrowed eyes. "Amanda, why don't you introduce me? I don't believe I have had the pleasure of meeting this man before."
Her smile held a touch of evil. "Where are my manners? This is Sir Fredrick Larsen. He used to be an intern under Hakim."
She slipped her hand in the bend of Fredrick's arm while looking up at him. "Freddie, this is my husband, Crap Bag."
"Excuse me." Freddie stuttered in surprise. "I didn't quite catch the name."
"Thomas Hunt." Thomas said between clinched teeth. "If you'll excuse us, Freddie, I need to have a word or two with my wife." He grasped Amanda's arm and yanked her away.
"Let go of me." She hissed, smiling and nodding at those they passed.
He kept his face devoid of the anger that was quickly consuming him. "Not yet." He growled near her ear. He forced her into the entrance of the palace hedge maze.
**************
Once they were deep enough within its twists and turns, he let go of her.
Her cheeks were flushed with rage. Her chest rose and fell with each breath. "How dare you pull me away like some--"
"How dare you act that way with some man?!" He interrupted.
She stuck her nose up in the air. "Just because you think I'm fat and unattractive, it doesn't mean everyone else does."
"I never said that you were fat or unattractive." He ran his hands through his hair, tempted to yank it out in frustration. "I only mentioned you skipping out on today's luncheon, because you said that you didn't feel attractive enough to attend."
"You could have argued." Her words struck like a whip. "You could have tried to make me feel better about myself. Instead, you readily agreed that I shouldn't show my disgusting figure out in public!"
"I never meant that!" He yelled. "DAMMIT AMANDA, I was trying to be supportive in whatever you wanted to do. You had been up all night with the baby and I thought I was being nice in coming to this ridiculous event on my own."
"Don't you dare cast yourself as some sacrificial knight." She wagged her finger at him, stepping closer. "Not one time have you attempted to compliment me since I had the baby."
"That's not true!" He stepped closer to her. "I've told you over and over what a marvelous mother you are and--"
"I'm not talking about that!" She clinched her fists. "I'm talking about a compliment to me! To how I look. You rarely kiss me in anything less than an absent minded peck. You haven't even tried to seduce me since long before I had Kathleen. That alone lets me know how ugly I must be in your eyes." She blinked back her tears. Her postpartum depression had yet to leave this one area that she was already highly sensitive about. "There's bound to be someone out there who doesn't find me repulsive."
Thomas was once again struck speechless.
Her earlier anger-infused confidence had disappeared causing her shoulders to slump in defeat. "I won't bother you anymore--"
He yanked her back into his arms.
"You have bothered me for months." He whispered in her ear. "I've waited on you to tell me when you felt like having my attentions once more."
She stilled in his arms. "What?"
"Did you honestly believe I found you unattractive? I haven't kissed you as I wanted because I knew my desire for you was barely being restrained." His lips skated over her neck. "I couldn't take the feel of your lips against mine, knowing it would lead to more painful frustration. But now that I know you are ready for me..." He turned her face toward his and kissed her.
Her legs shook with the intensity of his embrace. His hands released their vice-like grip on her arms and began to ghost over the dips and hollows her dress so prominently displayed. He kept her imprisoned against him as his lips continued to channel their combined frustrated anger into passion.
She turned toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck. His hands slid down, gripping her rear, pressing her even more so against the hard plains of his body.
"Thomas," she gasped when he bit down on her bottom lip. "I thought you didn't want me anymore."
"You thought wrong." He murmered. "I never once stopped wanting you." He groaned when she kissed him. "I have taken a number of cold showers the past four months because of my dreams of you n--."
They stilled when they heard voices nearby. Amanda stepped away from him.
"We should probably return to--" her breath hitched when he pulled her back. "Thomas, we need to..."she closed her eyes and grapsed his shoulders as he kissed his way down her neck, dipping into her cleavage.
"We aren't going back to the luncheon." He told her, keeping his arm around her waist while guiding her toward the exit.
Her lips, swollen from his kisses, curved. "Then where are we going?"
His arm involuntarily tightened around her. His dark eyes burned with desire as he gazed down at her. "You know exactly where I am about to take you."
#thomas hunt x amanda#rcd thomas hunt#thomas hunt#choices thomas hunt#and then i met you#phoebe buffay prompts
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Halone’s Vengeance
Author: Eli (Elisa#5222)
Warnings: None(?)
Non-canon for obvious reasons but the prompt ran away with me
Prompt: Synthie™1-28 at 7:33 AM
@Gpose Addict @Role Player An NPC of your choice has killed someone very close to you. You have an option to take the proverbial high route and let karma take it's toll, or you ARE karma. - EXCLUDING THE HAURCHEFANT SITUATION - Who is the NPC [in game NPC] that you can either let go or take down yourself? Who is it that they killed [oc family, other player you're connected to, original character] (not Haurchefant)? Why did your character choose the 'good' route or the 'bad' route? Please use #rpprompt when posting!
When she heard, she was at a break in talks with the Ala Mhigan council.
Elisa hadn’t needed to say much – which was just as well. She had been seated in a place of honor, and that was the only place she would be comfortable taking at the table for decision making and politics. She was many things – hero, warrior, healer, slayer – but politician she was not. Lyse had gracefully cut an argument at the head with a suggestion that everyone take a moment to refresh themselves, perhaps stroll through the Menagerie and take in the sights.
The garden was where the next chapter of her life finds her. An Ishgardian envoy, cheeks flushed and hair windswept, uniform a striking blue in the desert hues of golds, pinks and tans, entered through the main stair well, across the courtyard. He looked straight at her and- the thought occurs to her, ever briefly – run. No good news arrives on rapid wings, and less so with the unrest still running as an undercurrent through the streets of her adoptive home. She took a step back, another –
She could summon Laurel, take flight through the city, the lavender coloured chocobo well known enough to not cause any stir on the streets –
The heel of her foot snagged against an uneven brick and it brought her to a still. What had the past years of war done to her? Mistrusting any missive, fear coiled in her gut like a stalking coeurl like some child. Bloody hell, maybe it was Aymeric surrendering to a similar feeling of melancholy, reaching out while he knew she would be in one place for a while. She straightened up, raised a hand in a half salute. “Welcome to Ala Mhigo, friend,” she said aloud.
Her tentative optimism plummeted when the envoy wouldn’t meet her eyes. “Missive for your eyes only, Warrior-“ He stopped. Seemed to reconsider the circumstances, the mystery of which was burning through Elisa with a biting chill. “Lady Warsong.” He held out a thin envelope – one page of parchment, little more. The seal was red, a unicorn – Fortemps, then, not Borel.
She almost didn’t take it. Almost, the winds of fate were sated for some small hours, a lie of the meeting reconvening on her lips. Even if it was ready to start again, presence was appreciated, not necessary. Instead, she relieved the messenger of his burden, carefully - like it was a scared gaelicat, liable to bite. She pried up the seal with a fingernail, and-
The world swam around her, Edmont’s practiced scrawl that normally – normally she’d tease him, like a girl to her father that it was nigh illegible for how over the top the letters were made. Now, they were short, printed, careful pains to make sure that the meaning would not be missed.
In the early morning of the 24th day of the second Astral moon, a man borne of the Brume, having vocally opposed the formation of the House of Lords since the day it was first voted on, approached Aymeric de Borel with a hunting knife in his possession. Ser Aymeric was unarmed, having left his home for the Crozier to check on mail. By the time help arrived, the man had fled and
There was space where Edmont had tried several times to continue on with the same diction his memoirs held, and failed, each start scrawled through with increasing emotion. Elisa could feel a knife between her ribs, static in its potency, aching with each strike-through on the parchment. Finally-
I’m so sorry, Elisa
She didn’t read further. Couldn’t have, really – her vision swam, noise rang in her ears.
The envoy must have noticed, because he stammered and reached out, catching her elbow. She didn’t notice the letter fluttering from her hand until it landed in the shallow pond beside them. Good, the thought drifted through her, vicious, let the water leech out the wretched ink – as though it might do any good for-
She found her feet and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to think. He wasn’t the first friend to die – nor the first lover. Ishgard would have its pound of flesh in one form or another. Over, and over again. “Leave me,” she murmured, jerking her arm from the Elezen’s grasp. Her eyes were fixed to the note as smoky black ribbons floated from paper to dance on the surface of the water.
The envoy hesitated, before he moved away. “The Fury’s grace with you, Miss.”
Halone. Halone’s grace had nothing- She lifted her head, watching his back. “Was the swiving bastard caught?”
The envoy jumped near half a yalm in the air. “Aye, he was. Found with the knife, having a drink at the Forgotten Knight.”
Her blood simmered in her veins. The weight of the blood red jobstone seemed to sing in her pocket, never too far, always whispering in her ear. Now, it all but screamed. She didn’t need its pressing, not this time. Nor did she think twice to answer her patron Goddess’s call. “And will there be tribunal?”
“O-of course, miss! He denies any wrong doing, only seeking justice for the Brume, but- but he doesn’t speak for any of us,” vehemently, the youth shook his head hard. Near insulted. “Ser Aymeric was always-“
“I know.” She rolled her shoulders. “Return to Ishgard, request on my behalf that the tribunal be stayed until I can make it to the Steps. I should like to see the Fury’s judgement for myself.”
The envoy saluted, steady and firm, before he hesitated again. “……Miss Warsong?” Still, the hesitance lingered. He was chewing his words, searching if they would suffive. “I’m sorry for your loss. Anyone that saw the two of you visiting knew-“
Her last visit had been a moon ago, already. She felt robbed of so much. “Thank you. Please, I’d like to be alone.”
The sun finished its trail across the sky, and set to the east. Lyse came and found her, and returned to the throne room alone. It was well into evening, the talks ended and all participants retired for the evening, before the first tears finally choked their way out.
Was she not allowed one good thing-
Arriving in Ishgard three days later, for once, brought no joy to Elisa’s heart. Even stepping into Edmont’s arms for an embrace, somber and quiet as it was, greeted by the Fortemp household in dull grey clothing – it felt hollow. Empty. People had hung brilliant blue and gold banners from their windows in respect for the knight whom the city had lost. The banners fluttered limply in the snow.
People in the streets lingered, watching her walk at the side of Edmont, burrowed into her cloak to keep off the chill.
They wanted to approach her. To offer condolences she wanted no part of. She wasn’t due them. Artoirel suggested they head towards the Cathedral – away from the pending Tribunal, and towards, instead, the long line of mourners, flowers and offerings to the Fury piled high en memorium. She shook her head.
“I’ll attend the tribunal alone, if you would prefer the Cathedral. I don’t mind.” She fixed Artoirel with a look she knew he didn’t deserve. She would apologize, later. This was the family she chose, who stood at her back, and she would regret every slight to them, but for now- “I am going to see the man who did this,” she said.
She had spoke rarely since receiving the news a week ago. Now, her voice ached for it.
The Tribunal was downright frigid but Elisa did not shiver at the cold. Edmont started to lead the way to the space in the seating, pausing to glance back at her. She shook her head slightly and crossed her arms, remaining standing in the back, half-hid in the shadows. She could hardly stand the candlelight towards the stands. Edmont considered her and nodded, Artoirel squeezed her shoulder, the Fortemps household filtering in through the crowd to be seated.
She skimmed the crowd distantly, before her eyes were drawn to the head of the Tribunal as the head Inquisitor began the process. Her eyes drifted right, to where the accused was brought forth.
The monster of a man – one who had single handedly wrought disaster into Elisa’s heart when three bloody wars had failed – was just a man. He stood straight backed and unapologetic on the stand, the chains around his wrists not seeming to bother him.
For a moment – Elisa wanted to laugh. She had faced Eikons. She had faced ancient technology bent on subjugating the world. She had stared down death a million and one ways. She had stood against every challenge that Hydaelyn had called her for, and come out victorious.
And yet – just like when she held Haurchefaunt’s hand amongst the Vault’s spires and begged him not to leave her alone – the villain who had won, who had drawn blood against her and stolen more than any victory would give – was just a man.
She didn’t listen to the proceedings. The words hummed in her head, weaving an intricate dance that she didn’t care to follow. Halone guided her step and she knew what was coming.
The man, unapologetic and defiant, raised his chin and declared himself proud of his actions. He claimed the Fury would stand beside his actions. He demanded a trial by combat – just as she had felt, in her bones, that he would. She closed her eyes for a moment, feeling the weight of her jobstone digging into her wrist where it was pressed into a bracelet.
She would light as many votives in Halone’s name as the Fury wanted, go to war as many times as Hydaelyn wanted, so long as she was given this.
In the silence of the Tribunal, her voice rang out like thunder,as she stepped down through the aisle, each step heavy and pronounced in her armor. “I would like to meet this man’s bid for trial by combat, if the court will allow me to represent their charges as their champion.”
Spectators turned to look up at her - few would have the gall to name themselves champion so brazenly.
A shock of whispers ran through the crowd. She was recognized instantly.
“The Tribunal accepts the petition of champion. Will the champion please state her name for the record.”
“Elisa Warsong, sir.”
And she watched, in some distant, faint satisfaction, as the murderer’s skin went ashen.
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