#ro descriptions

[bodydoublegame]

What do the ROs look like?

AGENT BECK Real Name: [CONFIDENTIAL] Physical Description: They have amber-brown skin, brown eyes, and snow-white hair. f!Beck's hair falls down her back, but it's usually in a sleek ponytail that falls over her shoulder. m!Beck is cut short at the front but curls longer at the neck. They usually wear the standard Cypress-issued uniform: a matte black armored suit. While their hair is white, their brows are black, suggesting they dye their hair. They're 6'0. Mixed Race. 30 years old. Personality: Beck can be described as cool, calm, and collected and has been honed under years of training that makes them skilled, mildly approachable, and fairly level-headed. With that said, they have a tendency to get irritated easily.

CAI [CYPRESS AI] Physical Description: They have honey-brown skin and gray eyes. For m!CAI, severely cut black hair in an undercut and nb!CAI and f!CAI's hair is cut into an equally severe and blunted length that stops right below the chin. They usually wear the standard Cypress-issued uniform for all AI models, which is a straight, high-neck black button-down shirt and pants with a single color strip on the lapels denoting their position. 5'8. Modeled to look 29 years old and mixed race. Personality: CAI is whatever they are set to be, but this Cai is blunt, honest, fairly emotionless, and one-track-minded due to being modeled to be a field agent. Most AIs who break out of their intended programming are quickly discarded and replaced. CAI would prefer to avoid that.

HAWKE Real name: [CONFIDENTIAL] Physical Description: He has olive skin, brown eyes, and his head is buzzed. He is dressed in armor, half of his body enhanced with Cypress-issued assets. A series of lines cross the side of Hawke's face, leading to his left eye where a digital enhancement chip is. He uses an exoskeleton and his suit colors are silver and matte black. 6'5. Asian, specifically South Asian. 36 years old. Personality: Despite his menacing reputation and the fact that he's a mercenary, Hawke is fairly lighthearted...when he's not on the job. Comedic, sarcastic, and arrogant, Hawke is not taken very seriously off the clock. It's a far cry from what people expect from him.

SOLANA Real Name: [UNKNOWN] Physical Description: Solana has dark brown skin and brown eyes, a lavender bob that stops midway at her cheeks, the ends swept up in what present times would call a French cut. She can be seen in clothes considered simple for the standards of their city: a pantsuit, though it does come with its own enhancements. She also has the enhancement microchip implanted, though not Cypress-issued. 5'5. Black. 26 years old. Personality: Solana is a charmer, a smooth talker, and an extrovert. She knows how to work a crowd and knows how to get people to fall for her suave words. With her personality, Solana has managed to build an empire, and she has no intention of losing it.

AXL CROWE Physical Description: Axl has pale skin and light brown hair, their eyes a startling and unnatural shade of blue. Axl keeps their hair short and shaggy, one side of their hair tucked behind their ear and clipped to their head. No matter what Axl may be dressed in, they always wear white from top to bottom. Their family's color of choice. 5'0. White. 25 years old. Personality: Axl is angry, grieving, and quick to anger. It seems like their fuse is always getting set off. They're emotional, untrusting, and prefer to isolate themselves. They tend to be a bit prissy and naive due to growing up in excessive wealth and comfort.

MAV REEDS Physical Description: Mav has light brown skin and shaggy black hair, cut unevenly in what resembles a wolf cut. Sporting perpetual dark circles from endless night shifts around their brown eyes, Mav is either scene wearing the fugly IT uniform or a sweater and jeans. They don't have much money for all the fancy things Cypress has to offer...5'11. Mixed Race. 28 years old. Personality: Mav cares less about working and more about gaming, and they're usually always up to tag along with MC's shenanigans. Though they're friendly and approachable, Mav is tired so often that they appear sluggish and exist with a perpetually weary demeanor.

Skintones of the ROs from left to right!

Beck - CAI - Axl

Solana - Mav - Hawke

Mav and Cai are similar, though Cai is a shade darker! (Failed to find a chart that picked up on that but yeah lol)

[collegeheist]

name: jace scarlett (m) / jaiden scarlett (f)

physical description: light skin and almond-shaped green-blue eyes. messy, short, black hair (m) or messy, chest-length black hair typically pulled into a mid-ponytail (f). 6’4 (m) or 6’2 (f). they usually have a dark, grunge style of clothing.

race: white

sexuality: demisexual, demiromantic

ethnicity: english

birthday: 09/27

personality type: istp

likes: silence, piercings/jewelry, cats

dislikes: crowds, s klein, pda

name: aqil al-salih (m) / akila al-salih (f)

physical description: copper skin and upturned-shaped deep brown eyes. short, fluffy, black hair (m) or chest-length dark brown hair typically in a very messy low bun (f). 5’10 (m) or 5’8 (f). they usually wear trendy clothes, and loves accessorizing.

race: mixed (middle eastern/black)

ethnicity: arab, nigerian

birthday: 05/15

personality type: enfj

likes: everyone, sweets, playing with others’ hair

dislikes: violence, loud and sudden noises, being sad

name: stelios klein (m) / stella klein (f)

physical description: light skin and almond-shaped blue eyes. fluffy, dyed two toned (blond on right side, brown on left side). hairstyle is nape-length (m) or shoulder length with no particular style (f). 5’9 (m) or 5’11 (f). they usually wear comfortable clothes like hoodies or sweatpants.

race: white

ethnicity: israeli, greek

birthday: 07/01

personality type: entp

likes: playing games, annoying j scarlett, energy drinks

dislikes: power outages, being alone, being outside

name: tomasi seniloli (m) / teresia seniloli (f)

physical description: tawny beige skin and almond-shaped deep brown eyes. dyed blonde hair, reaching the top of their neck (m) or short hair that reaches the middle of their nape (f). 5’8 no matter the gender. they usually wear simplistic clothes that matches the weather.

race: mixed (pacific islander, white)

ethnicity: fijian, french

birthday: 02/14

personality type: tba

likes: museums, cute animals, being an officer

dislikes: the mc, law-breakers, prolonged silence

[rosileeduckie]

I believe the demon Crowley invented it

Which he does, on occasion, do on purpose.

Crowley makes up something special for a certain angel someone. So season two is a thing. I made a thing about Crowley making a thing because I needed more things. I hope you like the thing! :) No spoilers for new season, no worries

SFW. Potential warnings: none. Good Omens/Ineffable Husbands tickle fic.

Word count: 6,003

~*~

It took Crowley a while to want to fly again. To be expected, really; falling, cast from the heavens and plummeting to the depths amid a cacophony of agonized screaming and terrified wailing of the damned all plunging downward into jagged rock and sizzling sulfur–it wasn’t an experience he was eager to repeat. He kept to the ground for a while. Crawling, slithering, was much calmer. But one day, he caught a breeze. Sitting on a crag, sunning himself, the downy feathers of his large dark wings felt a cool gust and began to fluff up. He stretched out the limbs, welcoming the wind, and his long gossamer flight wings began to shiver as well. The wind whistled through him, beckoning him to stretch further, to go faster, to fall. And, with a deep breath and golden eyes wide, he fell. Tucked his wings tight against his back, feeling the wind batter him, rocketing down the mountainside–and then threw them open wide, like floodgates accepting rain, like garden gates accepting fire. He caught the wind, the wind caught him, and he was no longer falling but flying. The wind, the sky, embraced him, surrounded him, whipping through his long crimson hair and tousling it a thousand directions, pinning a hysterical smile to his cheeks, drying tears before they could fall from his eyes. Flapping, swooping, diving, soaring, Crowley shrieked in whooping laughter, utterly free. He wasn’t doomed to the depths; he was up, left, right, down, and everywhere. The sky was his to ride, the earth his to explore. He was alone, and he was free. 

He did a lot of flying after that. Still walked often, sure; humans and their antics were much easier to see from the ground. But his heart pounded loudest and brightest up in the atmosphere.

Speaking of heart pounding.

One day, as Crowley flew, he spotted a large white shape in a tree below him. He couldn’t say offhand where he was–it wasn’t like he often flew with a destination; as much of the world as there was, humans hadn’t filled it with all the fun stuff they would one day–but he could see plenty of empty open desert to catch him when he landed. So, he angled his flight downward, and, just for fun, somersaulted into the dry scrubland, loving the feeling of sand freckling his grinning cheeks and grass adorning his mussed hair. A hop, skip, and a jump, and he’d crossed the distance to the curious tree and was perched on a branch beside its familiar inhabitant.

“Hey, angel.”

“Hello, Crawly,” said Aziraphale. Prim and polite as ever, albeit looking painfully bored. The angel’s eyes were wandering the fuzzy desert horizon, hands folded in the lap of his obscenely white robes which billowed gently around his crossed ankles, which swayed subconsciously back and forth. His wings were folded at his back, appearing tight and stiff from disuse. Crowley counted back in his head how long it had been since their paths had crossed and wondered how much of that time Aziraphale had been made to spend as a tree ornament.

“Crowley,” the demon corrected, feeling antsy just watching Aziraphale sit so still and so standing up on his branch, which creaked protestingly against the first real new movement in a while, and reaching up to ruffle the foliage with his fingers.

“Right,” Aziraphale said, furrowing his brow and shaking his head with an embarrassed smile. “Crowley. I wasn’t expecting to see you. What brings you here?”

Crowley’s fingers found purchase on a higher branch, and he gripped it tight, using it to swing himself up and around and hang upside down from the taller vantage point by his knees. His long curls hung down like a red willow, but his own black robes hugged dutifully to his corporal form. (Even if he didn’t have the human habit of shame, he wasn’t keen to let gravity have his clothes; the wind could get cold even in the desert). The blood rushing to his head made Aziraphale’s question not quite register right away, and Crowley blinked. What had brought him? He stretched out his onyx wings and flexed them demonstratively.

“Ah,” Aziraphale chuckled. “I mean, what are you doing?”

The demon stuck out his lower lip thoughtfully and narrowed his eyes. “Nothing?”

The angel tipped his head, brow furrowed. “What do you mean, nothing?”

“Just that, I guess. Flying quite a bit, having fun. Not like demons really have anything we’re meant to be doing, so.” Crowley curled forward, reaching up to his hanging branch and pulling himself upright before laying down on his stomach, resting his head on his arms to look down at the angel. “Yeah, whatever I want. Nothing.”

Aziraphale sputtered, and Crowley chuckled.

“’We have no time to waste, the Almighty has much work for us to do,’” said the demon in so impressive an impression of the head archangel that Aziraphale held a hand to his lips when a titter startled him by escaping. Crowley grinned. “Even if I’m not on God’s payroll anymore, time’s hardly wasted for us, is it? We’re not mortal; we don’t have a limited amount of time to get done all the things we should.” Crowley closed his eyes with a deep sigh. “So I’m doing none of them. Too much earth to enjoy to get busy with work.”

When Crowley slowly opened one eye, he saw Aziraphale turning his ring over on his little finger, white wings twitching and puffing out, subconsciously agitated.

"Could show you, if you want. Come fly with me, I'll take you on a tour."

"What!" In an instant, Aziraphale's wings went from anxiously fidgeting to defensively spread, puffed up and rigid and making him look much bigger and more threatening. Or, it would have, if he hadn't whipped his head around to look at Crowley with the biggest eyes and flapping mouth and reddening cheeks. He looked positively scandalized.

Crowley couldn't help it--he laughed, a hissing snickering sound that he buried in his arms. He noted Aziraphale's flush looked even darker when he lifted his head, but the thought didn't even occur that it could have been from something other than the words from his mouth.

"I- I- I-! I couldn't possibly--!!"

Couldn't possibly, Crowley sighed, hiding the way his smile began to fade by pressing his cheek into his forearm. Couldn't possibly be seen flittering about with a demon!

Aziraphale settled himself, clearing his throat and smoothing his ruffled feathers. "Couldn't possibly. Far too busy."

"With what?" Crowley scoffed, smiling again when Aziraphale's blush rebloomed. "Looked to me like you were doing as much nothing as I was." He pushed himself up, looking through the verdure to an empty desert. "Unless I'm mistaken, not much of a garden here for you to guard."

"Precisely, there isn't," said Aziraphale, visibly brightening, more confident, when Crowley furrowed his brow and opened his mouth in confusion. "Humans are free to roam about wherever they like now," Aziraphale explained, "even if they're harder to keep track of. And angels are tasked to give them inspiration and blessings."

"Yeah, but," Crowley said, reluctant to disagree when the angel had given so content and cute a wiggle in his seat, "doesn't look like there's many humans around for inspiring or blessing."

"No," Aziraphale relented, casting his gaze downward and fidgeting with his fingers. "Actually, there aren't many yet at all, certainly not enough for all us angels to keep busy, so I- I'm waiting for them to do their whole--" he scrunched up his nose and flapped his hands in front of him, “’go forth and multiply’ing… thing…”

“Uh-huh.” Crowley leaned to once side and then the other before tipping off his branch, catching himself one the perch with one elbow and swinging one leg up to hang from his knee. “And, while you’re waiting for that,” he said, tipping his head back to look at Aziraphale, “you could come fly with me to–”

“I most certainly could not.”

“You should,” Crowley countered. “If for nothing else, because you’ll get stiff just sitting there.”

Aziraphale gave his head a quick and resolute shake. “But I won’t.”

Crowley narrowed his eyes and raised an eyebrow. “You won’t get stiff?”

“No,” Aziraphale huffed with an exasperated smile, “I won’t go flittering about. Angels aren’t meant to…” He trailed off, brow furrowed as he sought for words. Instead, he gave a shaky wave with his hands, as though that gesture wasn’t equally vague.

“Fly?” Crowley guessed.

Aziraphale gave another huff, part impatient and part amused. “Obviously. We, no, um… There’s a certain level of professionalism to…” He’d run out of words again. Crowley wondered if the Lord’s precious humans would be so kind as to one day make up a way for someone to communicate with their hands for beings like poor Aziraphale. (Probably would, clever things.) As it was, the angel said no more, but his inability to articulate in concert with his anxious hands and wide eyes spoke bounds.

Professionalism, hm? Ah. Crowley guessed again, words slow and eyebrows rising. “You’re not meant to have fun?”

At that, Aziraphale nodded, the tension in his shoulders and wings dropping, and a relieved smile gracing his cheeks. An answer, even one delivered so astonishedly as Crowley’s had been, evidently was enough to settle him. “Yes. Far too busy.”

“Let me get this straight.” Crowley unbent the two limbs suspending him from his branch, languidly loosing them so he could drop down sit beside Aziraphale on his lower branch. “Lord of all light and goodness,” he wiggled his fingers upward, “made all this world for you to serve and forbade you to enjoy any of it?”

“Not forbade, but serving does come first” Aziraphale replied, seeming only have just realized Crowley was now beside him. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands in his lap. Crowley cocked his head curiously; no more hand-flapping or chin-wagging, then. The angel had let himself out of his box enough for one day.

“Well,” said Crowley, clapping his palms to his thighs and pushing off until he tipped backwards and into freefall. His wings caught him with practiced ease just beneath the tree’s canopy, but he definitely delighted in the angel’s startled jolting and almost reaching to try and catch him. “Have fun sitting in your nest.” He gave the angel a salute, then touched a finger to his head. “Or don’t have fun, I guess, whichever. I’ll be up there.” Crowley pointed upward, then snorted. “I mean, ‘up there’ like the sky, not ‘up there’ like– you know what I mean.”

The last he saw of Aziraphale before flying off was cherub cheeks glowing an embarrassed pink and hands all but anchored to his robed lap. Crowley’s wings beat fast and hard, arms thrown wide, and soon he was back amongst the cloud. Which way he’d been intending to go, he had no idea, so he hailed the first wind gale and let himself float along it. His thoughts, which usually wandered just as aimlessly as the winds, were stubbornly pointed downward and behind him.

Oh, an angel didn’t want to have fun, what a shocker. Let him sit in his tree, bored, all he wanted. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Crowley’s wind carried him to an ocean that would one day be called the Red Sea, passing him off to an air distinctly cooler and tasting of salt. Beneath him, the blue vastness stretched on toward the horizon, in no time at all swallowing up the desert he’d come from until he was flying over only sea. Ocean above, ocean below, even from so high up, he could see no end to either. Beautiful. Peaceful. Lonely.

The sighed Crowley exhaled was ocean-deep. Angel didn’t know what he was missing.

Banking hard, Crowley dove under and out of his wind current, flying lower and closer to the sea as he trekked back toward land. A spray-laden breeze spurred him on, carrying him like a leaf riding the rolling waves.

He couldn’t just pull the angel from his tree. Well. He could, of course, literally. But he couldn’t pull him from where he’d metaphorically rooted himself. Maybe there was a figurative middle ground at which to meet him.

Literal ground came into view, and Crowley slowed until he’d lighted on a beach. He stood there a moment, hands on his hips and lips pursed and wings stretching, thinking. Stewing. Any other angel, Crowley probably wouldn’t have been so stuck on. But Aziraphale wasn’t any other angel. He had a little devil in him, or he wouldn’t have talked with a devil in the first place. An angel’s stuffiness didn’t suit him; even if he was prim, it wasn’t like he’d had much chance to be anything else. To try anything else. He wanted to have fun; Crowley knew he did. Crowley watched the waves tumble onto the sands with thunderous yawns, listened to the gulls’ distant disgruntled cries as they squabbled over dinner. The ocean was just as vast from below. If only he could have Aziraphale standing next to him, get him to see all there was to see.

Something scuttled over his foot, and he brought his gaze down. A small crab, no bigger than his thumb, had elected that the risk of invading a demon’s personal space was worth the few seconds it’d safe on its journey. Crowley stepped back–obligingly, not because the creature had startled him; he was far scarier than a crab, thank you–and crouched down to watch the crab scurry on. The sand beneath them both was warm and deep, too, shifting beneath Crowley’s feet in miniscule landslides of grains too many to count. Crowley snickered; some poor angel had to have been saddled with the task to count sand and pour it out on the earth, he was sure. There were shells atop the sandy scape, too, and stones already being smoothed down from the waves’ crashing. Crowley picked up one of each, a pretty little brown spiral and a slate rock hewn quite flat. After a second of consideration, he reeled back his arm and tossed the stone out across the ocean, grinning when it jumped four times across the surface before sinking into the water. Like it was skipping. Snickering proudly, he scooped up another such stone and tucked it safely alongside the shell into one of the many folds of his robe. (Like gravity, the robe was willing to ignore space and mass to allow Crowley to carry more things. Very considerate.) He walked a few paces further, gathering up a small piece of driftwood, another rock with an interesting texture, and, deciding the risk of getting pinched was worth it, the crab. Then, back into the air, he went.

Time was still funny. After the big seven days at the beginning had been counted, the calendar had gotten a little messy. Humans would probably benefit from it, get a few more weeks or years or centuries in change from days not counted for the sun having forgotten to have been set. Maybe some angel would be appointed to sort that out eventually and keep time organized. As it was, Crowley didn’t know how long he’d been gone from Aziraphale’s tree. A few hours? A few days? It was easy to get lost up in the air and up in one’s thoughts. What he did know was that it had been long enough for Aziraphale to fall asleep.

Angels didn’t need to sleep. It had been a design feature. Too much to do. But, as Crowley clambered into the tree once more, he saw a blonde head tipped back, eyes closed and jaw relaxed.

“Hey, angel!” Crowley crowed and jabbed a finger into Aziraphale’s side, already grinning.

Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open, and he jolted forward with a yelp, floundering with his wings to get his balance back while one hand gripped his branch and the other was pressed affrontedly to his heaving chest. When was no longer in danger of falling, Aziraphale’s focus shifted squarely to Crowley, all dagger-glares and flushed cheeks. Crowley couldn’t help laughing, which, he realized, was all too easy to do around Aziraphale. “Crowley! That was–! You startled me!”

With a shrug and lingering snickers, Crowley moved to Aziraphale’s perch, sitting down beside him. “Just helping you out, angel. You were working so hard before; would hate to see your higher-ups find you dozing.”

Whatever retort or further scolding Aziraphale had intended to give fizzled away in his flapping mouth. He pressed his lips tight together and turned his pink face away slightly, and Crowley wondered if he was trying to keep himself from coming up with an excuse or, God forbid, breathing a lie.

With a chuckle, Crowley reached into his robes, elbowing Aziraphale’s side as he did. “I’m just teasing. I wouldn’t want to see your higher-ups at all.” At that, the line of Aziraphale’s lip wobbled, the muscle of his cheek twitching like it ached to pull upward. Crowley’s grin was unabashed. “Anyway, hopefully this will make up for it.”

Aziraphale jumped when he found himself with hands full of small silly objects. “What’s this?” he asked, juggling them for a moment before laying the treasures in his lap. The offended crab stayed determinedly pinched to the hem of his sleeve, but the other trinkets spread out nicely upon the fabric his white robe in a flattering little display.

“Figured,” explained Crowley, holding a hand out to catch the crab when it eventually tired, “since angels are allergic to having fun and going to new places, it’d be a shame for you to not even see things from those places.” Moreso, it was its own temptation, but nothing Crowley had been instructed to do. He hoped that, if Aziraphale saw pretty little things from somewhere else, maybe he’d want to go there more than he’d want to do his nothing job. Maybe want to do nothing together. Maybe.

“Oh.” The angel’s gaze hadn’t left the little exhibit. His eyes wandered between the objects, and, slowly, he let his hand–the one not currently being clambered up by a crustacean–trail over them, tentative and featherlight. Gentle. Reverent. Crowley tore his own gaze from Aziraphale’s hands back to his face. The flustered blush had faded, and his eyes were as bright as Crowley had ever seen them, positively shining. “Thank you. I suppose.”

The verbal response was so detached from the visual one that Crowley snorted. Right, so, angels didn’t know how to receive gifts (albeit, admittedly, they were as new to the concept as any other earthling). Maybe that was enough of an excuse to give him more gifts.

"No one's ever given me-- ow." Aziraphale looked up from his treasures to the crab that had scaled his sleeve and delivered a disgruntled pinch to his arm. He smiled, regarding the little creature with eyes still bright. "No one's ever given me a crab. Excuse me, my fine little fellow?"

"Well, I wasn't planning repeats anyway, but definitely no crabs next time." Crowley jabbed at the crab with his finger. "Oi."

The crab promptly let go of Aziraphale to brandish both pincers at Crowley.

"Ow," he said when the crab latched onto his nail. "Fine, read you loud and clear, I'll give you a lift home." He tucked the little devil into his pockets and looked back to Aziraphale, who'd gone red again. "Don't look so terrified, angel. He's safe in there, you're safe out here."

Aziraphale's response was quiet. "Next time?"

"'Next--'?" Crowley's eyebrows furrowed, then rose to his hairline. 'Next time' that he brought the angel a gift. Well, he hadn't meant to speak that implication into the universe. Whoops. "Ahm, s-- so. You want to come with me to escort the little thing home?"

"I can't," Aziraphale sighed, but he was cradling the smooth stone and tracing it with his fingertips.

"Busy, right." Crowley scooted forward and off the branch, into the air. "Well, sleep tight."

Maybe not the best time to tease when the angel had a stone in his hand, but Crowley could get used to seeing Aziraphale blush before flying off.

He was still seeing red, and is was just as adorable, while he lay on his belly on the warm beach sand, fending off the little crab from pinching his nose with one hand.

"You were no help back there," Crowley told his tiny bloodthirsty foe, parrying away a jab with his index finger. Only after delivering a few nasty blows to Crowley’s knuckles and fingertips was the vengeful crab, at last, satisfied, scuttling off into the surf. Crowley mussed his hair with both hands before letting his head loll forward, resting his forehead on the sand and mindlessly scratching lines into the sand with his fingers.

Not a total failure of a plan, but not a complete success, either, with or without the aid of Captain Stabby. He hadn’t gotten the angel out of his nest, but at least he now had something to keep from being bored to sleep. Crowley wasn’t usually averse to giving up, but he could be pretty stubborn. And maybe he had a pretty big crush. But that wasn’t the point! Aziraphale was perhaps the only angel to speak to, let alone be kind to Crowley after his fall. He was too sweet a soul to deserve being benched from all of Earth’s joys for a few centuries just because he didn’t technically have work to do. Crowley couldn’t let him be stuck like that.

Resolved, Crowley lifted his head and determined to come up with another plan. Watching the waves crash and turn over, so he shuffled through the thoughts and ideas in his mind. Giving Aziraphale things hadn’t swayed him enough to move from his perch, even if those things had obviously delighted him. (More than obviously, but Crowley didn’t yet know how Aziraphale had carefully tucked all of the little beach treasures safely into his own pockets.) Perhaps, instead of showing the angel how much fun could be had somewhere else by collecting things from that somewhere, Crowley could make him feel that right where he was. Hard to replicate the feeling of being on a warm beach, soaking in the sun and listening to the sea, while in reality sitting in a gnarled old tree. A different feeling, perhaps. A different place. Crowley’s most favorite place was the sky; as an angel, Aziraphale would be well acquainted with how good flying could be. But how to make him feel that way from the ground? It wasn’t like he could collect bits of cloud and wind.

Crowley looked up at the clouds, following the bright white hilltops and grey flat plains with his eyes. No angel designed them or upkept them; the wind pulled and pushed and shaped them, taking them and making them to its whim. Like it took Crowley. From in their midst, clouds looked mostly like great pale curtains. From below, Crowley could almost see fluffy sheep and snowy mountaintops in their formless shapes. Chaos, random chance, channeled to make something substantial. Collecting hadn’t work to replicate feelings; why wouldn’t making something?

Demons loved making stuff. Creativity had been made to be a human trait, but demons, by principal, had the bad habit of doing things they weren’t supposed to. It was fun in so many ways. To come up with and then make something overcomplicated, accidentally brilliant, or absolute bullshit nonsense–and then to see what humans did with it. It was invigorating, cathartic, and hilarious.

What, what, what could Crowley make for his angel? It actually wasn’t too hard yet, to think up something unique, occupying such an early chapter of history. Still, he wanted it to be special. Moving. Figuratively and literally. What did he feel when flying, and how could he make that happen down here? How to ruffle an angel’s feathers without wind?

Crowley looked at the squiggling furrows his fingers had left in the sand. They had been made without intention, for the satisfying scraping sounds and gritty shifting texture as he thought. But, now, they gave him an idea. Hands could ruffle feathers, sure. He looked over his shoulder and reached back to give his own feathers an experimental ruffle. Yup, that could work. Like the waves crashing over one another, Crowley’s thoughts started to race, spurred as he looked backward. Hands ruffling feathers, fingers buried in sand, feet bare in soft grass. He thought of one human he’d seen poke another in the side and how the second had recoiled with a smile before they’d both gone back to fishing. He thought of how it felt when an itchy leave wriggled its way down his robe. He thought of how it felt when an angry little crab scittered across his skin. He thought of an angel’s beaming smile and bright eyes. He had many thoughts, but he had one idea. One idea for something absolutely nonsensical and extremely silly, and, when he eventually workshopped a name for it, he’d call it tickling.

But, one unnamed idea in hand, Crowley flew up from his sandy sunning spot and back in the direction of a now very familiar tree.

“I saw you coming this time,” Aziraphale declared when Crowley all but crashed into the tree with how fast he’d been flying.

Crowley scoffed, picking twigs from his crimson hair. “I would hope so, between how many eyes you have and how much noise I was made landing.”

Aziraphale set his eyes heavenward, as close as he seemed to get to rolling them.

“Why?” Crowley said as he sat down next to the angel. “Were you watching for me?”

“I wasn’t sure you’d come again,” Aziraphale admitted, cheeks going rosy and fingers worrying a small brown shell.

For a moment, Crowley’s heart beat loud and eager in his ears. He kept it. No time to be swept up in that thought, though; he was far too busy with the task at hand. Crowley cleared his throat and shrugged, moving to sit close enough to Aziraphale that their knees touched. “Had to. I had another gift for you.”

“Oh?” The angel’s eyes lit up excitedly, even as he tried to look professional. “From where this time?”

“From me. I made it up. For you.” Crowley stuck out his tongue and cursed his own ears for burning. “Ngk– I’ll show you.”

Before the angel could offer any turnabout teasing for Crowley being the one flushed and at a loss for words (because, Crowley just knew, there was enough devil in Aziraphale to absolutely turn the tables given the opportunity), Crowley thrust his hands beneath Aziraphale’s folded wings, wiggling his fingers to muss the feathers and scribble at the muscle beneath.

“Ah–!” Aziraphale yelped, his wings swinging out wide to escape the surely strange feeling. Crowley only targeted the space closer to Aziraphale’s shoulders instead. “What are you–?” Aziraphale tried to ask through laughter that seemed to be building and bubbling quite irresistibly from his chest, “What are you doing?”

“I’m tickling you,” Crowley explained, crawling his wiggling fingers from Aziraphale’s wings, down his shoulder blades and under his arms. “Not sure about the name yet, but I figured vessel nerves usual react for preservation. Why not make them react to something fun?”

Perhaps for preservation against this new attack, Aziraphale tried to lean back and away from Crowley, flapping his wings and batting at his hands. The tickling under his arms, though, had him curling up and laughing enough to mostly rob him of words once again. “This isn’t–!”

“This isn’t fun?” Crowley guessed, puffing out his lower lip. “Now, is that because it’s actually not fun, or because you, as an angel, could not possibly be having fun?”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale squealed, and Crowley grinned, downright devilish.

“I mean, if it’s not fun, why are you laughing? Laughing means you’re happy, yeah?” he teased, slipping his hands from under Aziraphale’s arms to set his dancing fingers loose upon his stomach.

Aziraphale was nearly horizontal, leaned so far away from Crowley and wings and hands flapping weakly. When Crowley’s next attack targeted his stomach, Aziraphale loosed a merry wail before tumbling into bright laughter that made the lines by his eyes crinkle happily and the breath in his throat catch wheezily. And oh, his laugh was perfect. All the pristine stuffy angel was gone, drowned out by the loud, head-thrown-back, wrinkled nose, toothy, shoulder-scrunching, belly-shaking laughter. It suited him.

Crowley had some mercy, switching from digging and scratching to poking and wiggling. “It is supposed to mean you’re happy, right?” he asked, for a moment concerned he might accidentally kill the angel. He certainly looked happy, and he hadn’t been doing much to push Crowley away, but… “I came up with tickling, but I’m not yet fully clear on…”

A still-giggling Aziraphale blinked through laughter-induced tears–tears were sad; had he become so happy, he was sad?–to look at Crowley, his gaze an odd but warm mix of fond and sympathetic and sweet and teasing and just losing the edge of hysterical. Just that look nearly bowled Crowley onto his back.

“Oh well!” Crowley exclaimed, a little too loudly. “I’ve got to perfect my new little game for you. And you,” he grinned as Aziraphale grew all the redder and scrunched his neck, “you just stop laughing if you stop being happy.”

Aziraphale didn’t stop laughing, but he didn’t stop squirming either. In fact, when Crowley set out to practice until perfect by testing other techniques to see what would tickle and started squeezing the soft spots of Aziraphale’s stomach and sides, the angel thrashed so exuberantly that he rolled right off the branch. Crowley followed, and, in a mess of feathers and flapping wings, the two tumbled from the tree and into the desert scrub grass.

With how much of a reaction squeezing had gotten, Crowley continued doing it, chasing Aziraphale’s laughter down along his thighs and behind his knees. With more ground on which to metaphorically stand, Aziraphale did put up a bit more of a fight, and Crowley was sure no one who pictured wrestling an angel would conjure that image. Of the angel with a wide smile beaming like the sun, of the demon getting the upper hand by jamming his thumbs into the angel’s hips until the later collapsed backward with a snorting cackle, of the adoration in the demon’s eyes as he tickled the angel apart piece by piece. Crowley rounded back, at last able to get one of Aziraphale’s wings pinned under his knee and burrowing the fingers of one hand into the wing pit and the fingers of the other into the soft stomach and vibrating both sets until the angel was wheezing.

Crowley had had about a dozen other ideas for this tickling thing once Aziraphale had actually been under his hands, but he had actually succeeded in getting Aziraphale from his tree, and he didn’t want to overwhelm with too much of his brilliant new idea. He pulled his hands back to a featherlight crawl, tracing the fair hair of Aziraphale’s forearms with the tips of his fingers and the tops of his feet with the tips of his black wings. The angel, thoroughly spent and thoroughly happy, lay giggling and content, hands twitching and stomach jumping but otherwise still. Eventually, all Crowley’s movement stopped as well, transfixed by the sight beneath him.

Here lay Aziraphale, opalescent wings thrown wide and with feathers mussed, perfect curled hair a tousled mess, hysterically happy smile stuck to his cheeks, tears drying on his cheeks, chest heaving from a belly full of screaming laughter. Crowley fell from on top of him, laying beside Aziraphale with a smile of his own. Perfect.

“That was fun,” Aziraphale said, eyes closed and smiling so gently that Crowley simply couldn’t bear to gloat just then. (He would eventually gloat. A lot. But not just then.)

“Yeah, it was.” Crowley lay beside Aziraphale, reveling in the validation of a successful plan and good idea, as well as the echoing angelic laughter still gracing his ears. He turned his head when Aziraphale pushed himself to sit up.

“Well, it will be a bit before humans fully populate the earth anyway.” Aziraphale stood, brushing off a bit of sand from his robes and producing the shell and a rock from them to make sure they had survived the fall, and holding out a hand to Crowley. “You can lead the way to that ocean you were so keen about, and you can tell me more about your creation. I haven’t ever laughed like that, have you?”

Crowley took Aziraphale’s hand and stood, shaking his head. “Just when I catch a really good breeze, but even then…”

“Ah. Well, I liked your gifts. Can I share this one?”

The demon was struck with the absurd image of angels dropping like flies around the old garden under the menace that would be Aziraphale the tickle angel. He snorted. “Sure, if you want.”

“Thank you.” Aziraphale wiggled his shoulders happily and stretched out his wings. “I’d like to tickle you then, so you can laugh like that, and I can see it.”

Something in Crowley’s mind popped. Full of ideas as it had been minutes earlier, it was amazingly empty at Aziraphale’s proposal. With all the excitement the demon had had coming up with the idea and developing it, he had not once considered it being turned against him. Regifted. He was struck with another image, this time of himself, pinned under Aziraphale, at his mercy, laughing like flying. That image actually struck him as quite lovely, but it did also make his ears burn like hellfire. “Well!” Crowley said, kicking up off the ground and hovering a few feet above it. “One fun thing at a time. Ocean?”

Aziraphale nodded, smiled, and shot up into the air like a feathery stone shot by a sling. “Race you!”

“Hey!” Crowley laughed, chasing after him.

~*~

Crowley had come up with it, but Aziraphale had made it his own. And had inspired Crowley to coin the term ‘tickle monster.’

Such inspiration came to Crowley in an instance much like the one he found himself in at present: head tipped back against the cottage bedroom door, cheeks and chest aching from laughing, knees wobbly, so high and happy that the only thing keeping him from floating away was Aziraphale holding him (quite nicely after so evilly pinning him there earlier), stroking his fingertips along Crowley’s hips and sides, slow, featherlight, gentle, reverent.

“This may have been the best gift ever given,” Aziraphale chuckled, pressing a kiss to Crowley’s neck and leaning back with a proud wiggle.

Crowley lifted his arms, still a bit jelly-like, to wrap around Aziraphale’s shoulders, holding him close and keeping himself upright. “And it got me a hefty promotion way back when.”

Aziraphale laughed, “What?!”

“Yeah,” Crowley grinned, crooked and dizzy. “’Oh, Crowley, what an ingenious torture method, all the fun of hysteria with no marks left behind!’”

He let his head fall onto Aziraphale’s shoulder, giggling, as Aziraphale smothered his own laughter in his hand.

“But,” Crowley said, lifting his head but still too boneless to actually hold it up and so letting it thump back against the door, “you are by far more evil with it, so I may have taken credit where I was not due.”

“How rude,” Aziraphale tutted, giving Crowley a little scratch to one hip that had him crumpling sideways and squeaking. The angel caught him easily, supporting him around the waist and gently tickling his back to get him to purr and slump further into Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Well, whatever the offices took it for, I am very grateful.” He pressed a kiss to Crowley’s forehead and smiled. “Very happy with it.”

“Good,” Crowley mumbled, “because I didn’t keep the receipt.”

[golddust-if]

Wren Price [male or female, 23] – Your childhood friend. A tattoo artist. They've seen you at your best and at your worst. They know who you are and what you're capable of, and it's never scared them before. Of course, both of you are fucked up but at least you have a friend for life. They keep a very close circle and can be quite hostile to others. Both of their parents were murdered and they were practically raised by their older brother, with the help of your mom. They have a lot of unsolved issues, one of which is their anger problems. Prone to blowing up on a person, but never you. They dislike feeling powerless and refuse to feel anything but that.

Appearance – Wavy, dyed black hair, cut to their shoulders which is often too long for their liking- never tied up. Hazel green eyes, very pale skin, 5'8. Freckles they habitually conceal with makeup, and tattoos that cover their entire back. Regularly seen wearing street clothes; cargo pants and baggy jeans, oversized hoodies, and graphic tees.

Ability – Geokinesis; manipulate the movement of minerals in the earth.

Romance Route – They've never felt that way about you, or maybe they have and never realized it. But now, you've opened a door they can't close. It's terrifying. They need you. Needs your friendship, and this could end everything. They can't handle you walking out of their life. They'd follow you anywhere, just say the word. [Childhood friends to lovers. Mutual pining, hesitant touches, and soft smiles. Accidental flirting, everybody can see it but you guys. Coming home to the person who has always made you feel safe and comfortable.] *childhood crush

[thehauntingshadows-if]

Hi! This post is amazing!

Do you have any physical descriptions of the ROs?

hello and tysm 💕

our pinterest boards linked at the bottom have face claims for each of the ROs, but family like pip (besides his brown curls <3), flora and andreas depend on the mc’s appearance

thanks for the ask!!

- fizz 🌻

[artofseries]

Dante Ortega (he/him) has been working as a detective for the last 7 years and his colleagues swear that during those 7 years, they have never seen him crack a smile once. He seems to be obsessed with one particular case, which he keeps close to his chest and hidden from almost everyone.

When he crashes the scene, your museum where your favorite painting just got stolen, and demands to take on the case by himself, you decide to put an end to his secrecy and team up with him.

How long can the two of you last without strangling the other? And why is he so invested in this case, the simple robbery of a painting?

Character:

Dante is quiet, brooding and irritable; a great person to be stuck with for a long time. It's no wonder he prefers working alone, as potential partners would usually go running for the hills shortly after meeting him. While some (well, most) people might say he is unpleasant, his co-workers speak very highly of him. Maybe there is more to him than he lets on at first.

He is impressed by dedication, perseverance and intelligence, but claims to find a serious lack of these qualities in the people he speaks to. Can you become the exception to that rule?

Appearance:

Dante has short black hair with a few strands of it falling into his face and some turning gray around his temples. His skin is tan and he has a thin scar above his lips, towards the right side of his face. He used to keep his face clean shaven, but the last few months seem to have been too busy for him to shave. His eyes, when not hidden by sunglasses in public, are a deep brown.

His physique is a little on the broader side, as he likes to be prepared for the more physically demanding parts of his line of work. If he gets into a fight, he prefers to come out on top.

Height: 6'0'' / 1.85 m

[when-i-wake-if]

Some quick important information before we get to the ros descriptions!

Firstly I have lovely nicknamed the MCs to differentiate them easily

MC 1 is Dawn and when I mention them I will use Orange colour!

MC 2 is Dusk and their colour is Purple

Secondly, this game is technically a side project to @wanted-game-if and will update in shorter parts but will still probably be as long as my other IF

If you have any questions about the game, MCs or anything really feel free to send asks!!

.

.

.

Dawns ROs

Xeno || Xe/Xem || 21 || Human

Description ~ Short coily dark brown hair, lean build with a Bronze complexion, dark green eyes, Nubian nose, Xyr height is 5’11, Xe has a full tattoo sleeve on Xes right arm and a tattoo on the side of Xyr neck when outside of work Xeno tends to wear ripped black jeans, no sleeve neck length shirt, runners and a bunch of rings, necklaces and one stud earring.

Selena || She/Her || ?? || Ghost

Description ~ Shoulder-length ginger hair that is curled at the tips, She has a chubby build and pale skin, greyish blue eyes, a button nose, height if she could stand on the floor would be 5’3, freckles kiss her face and shoulders, she forever dressed in a light blue tea length swing dress and stockings with a pair of black flats, adorned in pearl earrings and necklace, to most she appears slightly translucent

Brier || He/Him or She/Her || Gender selectable|| 228 || Vampire

Description ~ Chin length afro-textured dark brown hair, Slim build and ebony complexion, Dark red eyes, button nose, height 5’7, outside of work they typically wear wide cuff pants, cropped blouse with a sweetheart collar, 4-inch heels or black dress shoes, round glasses, realistic heart shaped earrings, ruby necklace, silver rings

Míng || They/He || 30 || Dragon

Description ~ bleached white shoulder-length hair, lean build light brown complexion, black sclera and piercing yellow iris, flat nose height being 5'7, scales litter their body colours mainly being yellow and orange with some red ones sprinkled in, typically wears graphic tees , with a worn-out black bomber jacket, cargo pants and platform boots

Both MCs

Is || she/her, he/him or they/them || Gender selectable || ??? || Minor God of death {and dreams}

Description~ Long straight black hair that reaches past their ass typically in some kind of intricate hairstyle with silver jewellery woven in, curvy build with a tanned complexion, pale white eyes, roman nose, height 8,5 when not forced to dress modestly they are always wearing a short dress with a marabou robe or a satin robe and six-inch heels, adorned in many silver bracelets, necklaces, rings and flower earrings and they have belly button piercing

Dusks ROs

Sire || He/Him || 26 || Kelpie

Description ~ Shoulder length wavy dark green hair so dark it almost appears black Sire's hair always seems to look wet/damp, he has a dad bod and Ivory complexion, black eyes, Greek nose, His height is on the slightly shorter side standing at 5’4, usually wearing black leather pants, dress shoes and a button up shirt that never fully buttoned up

Loralie || They/Them || 24 || Siren

Description ~ Mid back length black goddess braids, Athletic Swimmer build and Dark brown complexion with dark blueish grey scales scattered about, piercing grey eyes, Flat nose, height 6’2, a large scar down the middle of their chest, gills most noticeable upon their neck, outside of work they typically wear cargo pants, muscle shirt, converse shoes, a gold locket, dangle earrings, spectrum piercing

Joshua || He/They || 20 || Werewolf

Description ~ Short messy dirty blonde hair, muscular build and tan complexion, amber eyes, Greek nose though it has obviously been broken in the past, scar along the right of their jaw, freckles speckled over his face, height 6’0, typically wears work boots, jeans and a muscle shirt with a flannel jacket

Z || She/He/They || ?? || Undead

Description ~ Messy straight chin length black hair with strands of grey hairs throughout, skinny build and pale olive and appears slightly greeny yellowish, black eyes, hawk nose, the height of 5'6 the left corner of her mouth is carved away revealing most of their teeth and flesh and their left hands pinky and ring finger are just bone the surrounding area seems to have a hideous burn scar though he typically covers it up by wearing white gloves, black turtle neck, beige torn pants and two different pairs of dirty runners

So this isn't absolutely everything but it is the most prominent thing of their appearances

The synopsis for the story will be coming hopefully by the end of May along with some more technical side I hope for the demo to come out in late August or early September we will see how things go

[softlyopulent-if]

RO APPERANCES.

Aleksandar/Aleksandra:

Hair Color, Style: Aleksander has short, black, straight hair. | Aleksandra has long, black, straight hair.

Eye Color: Dark blue.

Skin Tone: A pale Ivory tone.

Rhys/Rhea:

Hair Color, Style: Both Rhys and Rhea have medium-length, wavy, dark brown hair.

Eye Color: Dark green.

Skin Tone: A honey tone.

Calix/Calixta:

Hair Color, Style: Both Calix and Calixta have loosely curled black hair that falls just below their ears.

Eye Color: Dark brown.

Skin Tone: A sand tone.

Mestrn/Mestra:

Hair Color, Style: Both Mestrn and Mestra have black curls braided back in long cornrows, which are tied to the back of their head.

Eye Color: Honey brown.

Skin Tone: A chestnut tone.

Skin Tone Guides Under The Cut:

These are what I had in mind for the ROs:

Aleksandar/Aleksandra: Pale Ivory.

Rhys/Rhea: Honey.

Calix/Calixta: Sand.

Mestrn/Mestra: Chestnut.

[nathaniel-underwood-is-an-intj]

Bartimaeus: I won't mention any gory details

Bartimaeus: *proceeds to do exactly that*

[pushing500]

Awww, look at Fafo teaching her son how to be a good friend. Ro is going to be such a lovely kid. <3

Debby and Barghest got into a fistfight while under the curious gaze of Buccaneer the drebbbd, Dallas the baby thrumbo, and Asset the ankylosaurus. Perhaps the most difficult fight we've had to face while starting up the ship reactor. (Debby won)

"This piece shows a knife" might be my favourite RimWorld art description ever.

Then Fafo decided to give Ro another lesson, and... Well, I'm sure Kaz is thrilled by his son's newly expanded vocabulary at least.

First | Next | Previous

[bodydoublegame]

also not to be pesty sisnhshe sorry but this has been whirling in my brain. but what are the ros body [lol] types/shapes? ty! really enjoying learning more of this side baby of yours!!

No it isn't at all, it's a valid question! I tend to suck at my descriptions (hence why no one seems to know what blake winter looks like lmao) thank you!! <3

partly naked bodies under cut!

BECK

Both f! and m! Beck are muscular due to training as an Agent. I imagine their big feature are their arms, which are huge. Honestly, I think the f! reference doesn't do her arms justice to me. I imagine them so big for some reason like Beck can just crush MC with her arms lolol

CAI's body type is similar but they have no muscles. They are smaller than Beck and don't gain or lose muscles. Their body is mostly square with no curves as they are machine and their body is just to hold all their internal parts together.

HAWKE

I imagine Hawke to have a more bear-like stature and a bit wider at the waist.

MAV

SOLANA

AXL

[allthebrazilianpolitics]

Bernie Sanders, US Progressives Meet Lula Ahead of Brazilian President's First White House Visit

The Congressional Progressive Caucus, of which Sanders is a member, said Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva's election "has given hope to democratic and progressive movements around the world."

Ahead of his first White House meeting with U.S. President Joe Biden, Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva met Friday with members of the Congressional Progressive Caucus, including Sen. Bernie Sanders, who said topics of discussion included the far-right threat, combatting the climate and environmental emergencies, and supporting workers.

"I enjoyed a productive meeting this morning with President Lula of Brazil and his cabinet," Sanders said in a statement. "Our countries share many challenges, including the threat of right-wing authoritarians who seek to undermine democratic institutions in both countries."

"I am very impressed that in his short visit to the United States, Lula chose to speak to the AFL-CIO," he added. "In that regard, we discussed ways to build an economy that serves all people, not just the wealthy and large corporations. We also discussed ways to advance workers' rights and build strong unions."

Three other members of the Congressional Progressive Caucus—Chair Pramila Jayapal (D-Wash.) and Reps. Ro Khanna (D-Calif.) and Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez (D-N.Y.)—also met with da Silva.

Continue reading.

[taintedsoul-if]

This synopsis is still under construction, so for now it's trash. 🙅. Any and all feedback is welcome. Thank you.

The story begins with one man’s greed that caused the downfall of billions.

Many years ago a poisonous fog swept Vathilia, changing humanity forever.

You have transmigrated into a badly written palace-intrigue novel as a brain-dead canon fodder whose only purpose is to be one of the story’s stepping stones. It no longer just became a story, the people are not just fictional characters, the choices you will make will have consequences—this has become your life. Will you follow the plot or will you stray from it?

What happens, when everything you thought you knew, is shrouded in darkness and deceit?

Vathilia

Aflistan

Northern Kingdom ruled by Cadmus Glaurung. This country houses the largest population in Vathilia, which amounts to 2.5 billion people. Aflistan is known for its herbalism, ice sculpting and alchemy.

Nasmar

Southern Kingdom, ruled by the Montholon family. This country is the second largest population in Vathilia, which amounts to 1.5 billion people. Nasmar is known for its medical knowledge, strategic planning and Academic research/knowledge.

Glaulund

Is a fairly small country, which houses 40.5 million people. This country is situated on the Eastern side of Vathilia. Glaulund is known for its mineral, and weaponsmith.

Ustrus

This country is situated on the Western side of Vathilia. Ustrus houses a population of 200.5 million people. This country is known for its outstanding wine brewing and engineering. Utrus exports the most cutting edge vehicles/technologies.

Romanceable Npcs

Cadmus Glaurung | Male | Monarch Of Aflistan | Age: Unknown

Abilities: Crystallization

Description:

6"8 with an herculan built. He has piercing vermillion eyes, with skin as pale as death. Long flowing lustrous white as snow hair, which always hang down loosely on his shoulder.

Cadmus wears a Gem inline mask, that covers three quater of his face.

Trysten/Trista Montholon | Gender Selectable | Crown Prince/Princess | Age: 140-150

Ablities: Fusion/Absorption

Description:

6"0 with an athletic built. They have golden brown eyes, with flawless fair skin. Shoulder length silky-smooth blue hair that is always pulled back in a messy ponytail.

Nyssa/Nyala Valenzuela | Gender Selectable | Childhood Friend | Age: 140-150

Ablities: Nullification

Description:

5"8 with a slender built. They have almond shaped peach eyes, with unblemished procelain skin. Luminous shoulder length creamy hair. Their wings are the colors of the warmest sunset.

Atticus Levesque | Male | Instructor | Age: Unknown

Description:

6"5 with a muscular built. He has angelic light green eyes with flecks of gold. Glowing sun-kissed olive skin. Luscious silver waist length hair, that is always done in beautiful rope twists.

Atticus wears a mask that covers his entire face.

Ablities: Vitiation

Features

Customization of PC

Romance 1 of 4 ROs

Find out about your past, by collecting your soul shards/fragments.

Meet your CHEATS.

[goldendusk-if]

Care to share some facts about the ROs?

Amalea/Aleam Akerti

Amalea is more shy than Aleam generally though both of them are rather reserved and polite.

And A is the Village Cheif's middle child and therefore also, a low-middle ranking noble.

Miyshti/Muyhid Begumei

Miyshti is much more mischevious than Muyhid who is more rule-abiding. Though both of them are a bit...wild.

M is known for being bit of a trouble maker and yet still has a remarkable reputation with the general population as the child of a Count and having a rather big heart as the Saint/ess.

Shazia/Shajibd Sheika/n

Shazia is more mysterious while Shajibd seems more like a free spirit. They actually are the most different seeming in personality though at the core they are almost identical.

Due to S' identity they have to travel in disguise despite not being known...sort-of a runaway when Mc meets them.

[reanimatestar]

day 11 of martch ft. ro ramdin in her new video check it out <3

[image description: a pencil drawing of ro ramdin, from her latest video "hogwarts legacy, jk rowling, and trans advocacy". she is frowning, saying: "Wha- I would never wri-" /end description]

[darkfictionjude]

Do you have any physical description of the ROs?

Hmmm well the character intros (there’s more to come) have the basic descriptions such as hair/eyes/skin colour but like I said that is the most basic descriptors.

Imre: a skin as tawny beige and warm as sunlight in a lazy afternoon, eyes no different than the blanket of deep blue signifying the end of the day and a deep brown head of curls alike the cherubs perched on the windows of the great churches of the world. However, it’s all in his smile – it looks big and wide and friendly but just a slight quirk on the sides can turn into something rather mocking and condescending. 6’2 and an athletic but lean and toned build.

Nia: in deep sepia that rivals in perfection the strength and colour of the trees, warm fertile soil eyes that have the appearance of kindness and long black curly hair as soft as silk with a volume that defies the powdered wigs worn by the godlike royals of the past. Her eyes… it’s hard to tell at first glance but the more they’re looked into something behind them begins to come out, something she hides so well. 6’1 with slim but curved and strong physique.

Lorcan: a skin as colourless and cool as the Roman statues from antiquity, Zeus’ thunderbolt eyes reflected in the raging sea below and short ashen blond hair as nearly majestic as the goddess’ hair in the famous Birth of Venus. Outwardly there is nothing out of the ordinary, it’s just a feeling that can’t be pinpointed down, maybe it’s the twitches in his nimble fingers. 6’0 accompanying a wiry but agile and entirely angular frame.

thank you for the question 💜