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( ⚠︎ ) i don't need you and i don't need them


   ──♫ ˙   index !

   01. . . general information
   02. . . appearance
   03. . . personality
   04. . . likes and dislikes
   05. . . health
   06. . . relationships
   07. . . victims
   08. . . extra info
   09 . . . n*fw

   ──♫ ˙   general !

   → name . . . park wonbin.
   → nicknames . . . bbina.
   → pronouns . . . he/him.
   → gender . . . cis male.
   → sexuality . . . bisexual.
   → age . . . twenty-two.
   → birthday . . . march 2, 2002.
   → species . . . human.
   → occupation . . . struggling guitarist.
   → relationship status . . . single.

   ──♫ ˙   appearance !

   → faceclaim & voiceclaim . . . wonbin of riize.
   → height . . . 178 cm.
   → hair . . . black.
   → eyes . . . dark brown.
   → scars . . . far too many to count.
   → tattoos . . .
      ☾ dagger in his chest.
      ☾ cross on his left calf.
   → piercing . . .
      ☾ tongue piercing.

 ( notes. ) wonbin is very similar to his father, much to his dismay, with an untamed and wild look to him. he takes advantage of his good looks when he sees fit and wants to get laid, but he doesn't care about his appearance. wild black hair, and piercing eyes, all of his features are highlighted by his dark clothes and sharp words. he has dark circles under his eyes, and his bottom lip is usually bruised from biting and pulling skin until he bleeds.

   ──♫ ˙   personality !

   → mbti . . . infp.
   → moral alignment . . . chaotic neutral.
   → love language . . . quality time.

 ( attitude. ) blunt. that’s the first word used to describe wonbin. blunt and rough and raw. he doesn’t pull any punches in his speech, and he couldn’t give less of a f*** about what people think of him. he’s been through enough to care. sarcastic, crude, and honestly, kind of mean, depending on who you are, the guitarist has learned that it’s not worth carefully picking your words when it comes to some people, so he doesn’t.

underneath that harsh exterior, is a quieter, more sensitive person; that side of him that no one gets to see. the lingering insecurities, and unaccomplished desires.

made of failure and dismissive words, wonbin is just… alone and desperate. he clings to the only comfort he’s known, which is himself. the only person he’s ever had, imperfect, awkward, and honest. he’s bursting with emotions and self-doubt, hiding behind scoffs and mistakes to make himself feel better about who he could’ve been had things been slightly different in his life.

   ──♫ ˙   likes and dislikes !

   → likes . . .
 ☾ music
 ☾ being left alone
 ☾ alcohol
 ☾ performing
 ☾ fashion

   → dislikes . . .
 ☾ talking about his feelings
 ☾ his father
 ☾ relationships
 ☾ being pressured


   ──♫ ˙   health !

   → physical health . . . good.
   → mental health . . . terrible.
   → allergies . . . none.
   → phobias . . . agarophobia.
   → medication . . . alcohol!
   → sleeping habits . . . bad.
   → energy level . . . low.
   → memory . . . bad.

   ──♫ ˙   relationships !

   → park mirae (52) - mother
 ( notes. ) wonbin resents his mother, but he doesn’t necessarily hate her. there are things about himself that he sees in her, his insecurities, his obsession, and how explosive and reactive he can be, even when he tries his hardest to repress it all. and he cannot stand how similar the two of them can be.

   → park saejun (55) – father
 ( notes. ) if there’s one person in the world wonbin can say he hates, it’s his father. he firmly believes that the worst parts of himself come from that man and that there’s nothing about him that he enjoys. evasive, stubborn, and petty… he’s pathetic. growing up, wonbin decided to go against everything his father stood for, no matter what. a man who could barely care for his own family didn’t deserve his love—much less his respect.

   → park jisung (27) – older brother
 ( notes. ) jisung, for the most part, is a solid figure in wonbin’s life. as solid as he can get, that is. for years, he’s the obstacle wonbin will never be able to surpass, the picture-perfect image of what wonbin should be, but isn’t. there’s a lot of resentment and unspoken envy rooted in their relationship, and though it’s clear they try to make things pleasant, their experiences in life and personalities clash more often than not. jisung loves wonbin, and wonbin loves him back. but it’s just… hard.

   → park yujin (17) – younger brother
 ( notes. ) despite the initial resentment he felt, wonbin likes to believe he’s a good brother to yujin. the two of them don’t interact often, as their tastes are entirely too different, but there’s care whenever they do (and admiration, from yujin’s end). wonbin only wishes for yujin’s success in life, and he does his best to be nice to him.

 ( friends. )
 ☾ shotaro | non-acc.

 ( lover. )
 ☾ planned romance with sunghoon @verdict.

 ( exes. )
 ☾ kim chaehyun.
 ☾ sung hanbin.

 ( enemies. )
 ☾ ex-bandmates.
 ☾ father.
 ☾ high school clique.

 ( pet. )
 ☾ none.
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1 | 0 Comments | by grudge | 9 hours ago

Saephron - Sci-fi character


Name: Saephron Quorvan
Age: 29
Height: 188 cm (6'2")
Eyes: Light blue

Looks: Long, dark brown hair, cut short on the sides. Saephron's arms are covered from shoulder to the wrists in the unique tattoos of the enoian religion. His clothing varies with every planet and deal: he might wear baggy, rugged clothes for a deserted planet, or other times wear the elegant clothes (which he definitely acquired legally) of a rich merchant that can be relied. What never changes in his looks however is his necklace with a light blue gemstone, always hanging from her neck under his clothes.

Description: Saephron is a very witty, but equally shady man. He has a strange way of interpreting one of the teachings of the religion he was raised in ("Sometimes sacrifice is needed to preserve the greater good"), often throwing people under the bus to save himself. He does have some moral code, rarely helping out those in need and not ripping off people already in horrible living conditions.

Backstory:
Saephron grew up on the planet Thozouwei, in an Enoi community, born into a human family that lived on the planet for generations. His home country was under the control of a powerful government that controlled multiple region of multiple planets, however, due to all of their power, they were also afraid of attacks from every direction. To make sure no region under their rule rebelled, they ruled with an iron fist, often dealing with rebels in a brutal manner.
But that didn't stop Saephron and his friends to rebel as children. They often preformed harmless acts of vandalism or write messages on the walls, just to let their voices be heard, but not to a degree where their government would deem their group dangerous. However, over the years, things started to escalate. Their cause began to attract more people and Saephron's friends, overconfident in their power, began going on increasingly more dangerous "missions", fighting to restore the freedom and old ways of the Enoi. Even though Saeph was scared of what this might bring, not wanting to stick out and lose his friends, he went along with it. They set fires, painted on government buildings and one time even threatened an official of the government.
This finally motivated the government to acknowledge the group as a threat. They sent their taskforce, interrogated members and eventually found out the leaders of this rebellion. Saephron's friends were captured and executed. Fearing that he might be next, the then about 19 year old Saephron snuck onto a trading ship, leaving his parents and previous life behind. Although struggling to make a living at first, he was taken in by a smuggler, due to his desperate situation and knowledge of a wide variety of languages.
From him, he learned how and where to find clients, how to hide illegal merchandise or get them behind the security of many planets and all the ways of making a living out of trading and smuggling. Eventually though, he caught wind that the man was going to throw him under the bus, when his attempt at ripping off a mob boss of sorts failed, so Saephron took his ship and didn't look back. Continuing his life as a shady merchant, he did pretty well navigating through the underworld without pissing off the wrong people. He always tried to get on the good side of those in power, let that be through his witty remarks or doing a favor for them, but never has the courage to cross anybody with greater power. After all, opposing those more powerful is pointless...

Skills:
- speaking many renown languages across the galaxy, managing to communicate with most species to some degree
- knowing his way around modern tech pretty well (spending many hours of his free time or long hours of travel putting together small machines from scrap or learning from magazines and documents he buys and keeps well hidden, because he is embarrassed about it a little)
- persuasion, haggling and talking his way out of dangerous situations
- although he is in a pretty good shape due to working (and often having to run from angry customers), he doesn't fight too well
- good aim with small arms

Other:
To remember his dead friends, Saephron decided to follow the teachings of the enoian religion, although he does so in his own way. His tattoos and necklace are also to commemorate them.

(Also, here is a doc I made on the brief history of Thozouwei, for anybody interested. I'm a geek, ik: docs.google.com/document/d/1Thjnr3Asil9eUNcbKATsTElUdY_9dlq44DIb6GTKFnU/edit?usp=sharing)

((Also also credits to Annie's Shop for the reference picture of Saephron))
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1 | 0 Comments | by TheAetherNomad | 9 hours ago

( ⚠︎ ) and i don't need her, and i don't need him


   ──♫ ˙   facts.

 ☾ used to be in a band but he was kicked out after a huge fight between him and the lead vocalist.

 ☾ musical prodigy. wonbin can play the guitar, the piano, and the drums. he’s got a passion for other instruments as well, but never had the opportunity to try them out.

 ☾ was very popular in high school thanks to his looks and attitude, but contrary to what most expected of him, wonbin was never happy about that attention, but he knew those people didn’t care about him as a person. he dropped out.

 ☾ (not recovering) alcoholic. the only reason he hasn’t done drugs other than weed is because shotaro has threatened to kick him out if he ever does.

 ☾ wonbin is dyslexic, and that was one of the reasons why he did so poorly in school, despite wanting so hard to be better. he only got his official diagnosis as an adult, thanks to shotaro. it’s a part of himself that he struggled to embrace.

 ☾ ran away from home on three different occasions. he was found by the cops all three times. he and his father got into a screaming match in the middle of the street.

   ──♫ ˙   https://n*fw.

   → results. . .

 ☾ 100% switch.
 ☾ 100% experimentalist.
 ☾ 100% degrader.
 ☾ 100% degradee.
 ☾ 100% voyeur.
 ☾ 100% masochist.
 ☾ 90% owner.
 ☾ 80% dominant.
 ☾ 80% submissive.
 ☾ 80% brat.
 ☾ 70% exhibitionist.
 ☾ 60% sadist.
 ☾ 50% pet.
 ☾ 40% brat tamer.
 ☾ 30% slave.
 ☾ 30% prey.
 ☾ 30% rigger.
 ☾ 10% rope bunny.
 ☾ 0% boy.
 ☾ 0% ageplayer.
 ☾ 0% daddy.
 ☾ 0% master.
 ☾ 0% vanilla.
 ☾ 0% non-monogamist.
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1 | 0 Comments | by grudge | 9 hours ago

Red Alice (Fallout OC)


They called her Red Alice, though whether for the blood she spilled or the hair that tumbled down her back in tangled waves, none could say for sure. Names didn't mean much out in the wastes. Some gave themselves new ones, thinking it made them bigger, meaner, harder to kill. Others had names given to them, passed from one sorry f*** to another, passed like a curse until it stuck. Alice never claimed a name for herself. But Red Alice had followed her like a shadow, and she never much minded it.

Names were for suckers anyway.

She had been born in a place long since forgotten, a town with no walls, no future, and no damn hope. The kind of place the Brotherhood wouldn't bother to strip down for scrap, the kind of place a caravan would pass by with their guns raised, just in case. Raiders hit them once. Then twice. Then again. The last time, no one was left to rebuild.

That was the way of the wastes. You either got ripped apart, or you learned to do the ripping.

Alice had been a kid when they took her, barely old enough to hold a gun, too small for a fight. The old boss liked that. Said she’d make a good little servant, a nice pair of hands for cleaning the blood off the floors. For a while, that was what she did. Scrubbed their messes, cooked their food, kept her head down and her mouth shut.

Until the day she didn’t.

The first time she killed a man, it had been with a rusted kitchen knife, blade dull but still sharp enough to saw through his throat. She hadn’t planned it. He had grabbed her, rough hands on her waist, and she had felt something in her snap like an old bone. He hadn’t thought she’d fight back. None of them had.

They thought different once she cut the boss’s throat and took his chair.

She never wanted to run a gang. The wastes didn’t need leaders. They needed people willing to carve their names into the bones of the weak. But a raider with no crew was just another walking corpse, waiting for someone else to claim her hide. So she took the Devil Dogs, ripped them from the hands of their last boss, and made them something worse.

Some raiders lived for chems and chaos, shooting up whatever moved just for the thrill. Others had codes, stupid rules about who they’d kill and who they’d let crawl away. Alice didn’t give a sh*t about rules.

The weak were meat. The strong did the eating.

She ran her crew hard, kept them mean, kept them moving. The wastes were filled with soft little towns, pathetic little farmsteads, people who thought they could hide behind fences and call it a home. They thought the Minutemen would save them. They thought the NCR had their backs.

Alice burned them out, one by one.

She didn’t kill for fun, not like some of them did. She killed because that was how the world worked. You took what you wanted or you got left in the dust. If you weren’t willing to slit a man’s throat for your next meal, then you didn’t deserve the food in your belly.

She saw what happened to soft people. They begged. They cried. They let themselves be kicked around, hoping some hero would come and put them back on their feet.

Heroes didn’t last long in the wastes.

The Devil Dogs didn’t last. No gang ever did. The Brotherhood came down hard one day, rolled through in their power armor, all steel and laser fire, acting like they were some knights of the old world. The NCR wasn’t any better—just another empire, just another set of shackles, pretending to be different from the men they put in chains.

Alice saw the walls closing in, saw the future of her kind, and she knew what had to be done.

She left them. Left the Dogs, left the waste, left behind the name Red Alice, let it burn up like an old flame. The wastes weren’t hers anymore, not in the way they once had been. The world was changing. The time of the old raiders was dying.

But Alice wasn’t dead.

And the wastes still had plenty of room for a woman who knew how to kill, how to take, how to survive.

She’d find her way, same as she always did.

And if some fool thought they could stand in her way…

Well.

She still had her knife.
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0 | 0 Comments | by Astraobscura | 10 hours ago

The Pale Bride of Nito (Dark Souls OC)


The bride had no name.

Or if she had once, she had long since forgotten it. It was the first thing they took from her when she had joined the Pale Rite, when the old ones had stripped her of her name and her past and taught her the words of the Black Hymn.

"A name? Such things are for the quick," the Handmaiden had whispered to her that night, as she combed her silver hair and braided the black roses into it. "Thou shalt have no need of it, not where thou goest."

The bride had not argued. The dead did not argue. And she had been dead for a long time.

She had been born in a great city, or so she thought. In truth, she could not recall which. The cities of men all blurred together in the end—great towers, cold stone, halls filled with men who feared the dark. The gods had ruled there once, but the gods had long since fled, and the living clung to their ruins like carrion birds.

She had been a girl once, and then a woman. A sister, perhaps. A daughter. Perhaps even a wife. It did not matter now.

What mattered was the rot.

The first time she saw it, she was still a child. A man had died in the street, the miasma taking him before he even hit the ground. His flesh blackened, his bones brittle as dust, his breath stolen by something older than time. The others had turned away. They had recoiled, whispered prayers to gods who did not answer.

But she had watched. She had seen the way his body crumbled, the way the dust returned to the earth, the way the darkness crept over his corpse like the waves of a rising tide.

And she had understood.

They had cast the body into the catacombs, but the dead did not rest there. The catacombs were deep, and deeper still lay the halls of Gravelord Nito, the First of the Dead, a thing of bone and rot who ruled over a kingdom of silence. The priests spoke of him in hushed tones, calling him an ancient power, a force beyond the gods, a thing to be feared.

But she had not feared him. Not then. Not ever.

The pilgrims had come in the night. Pale-robed, faceless, their voices low and singing in a tongue older than the Flame. They had come to the city in secret, to seek those willing to take the Black Hymn. Few ever accepted, and fewer still returned.

She had gone willingly.

The rites had been long. Painful. They had stripped her of her name, her past, her warmth. They had taken her hands and placed a knife in them, a blade fashioned from a bone black as coal, and they had told her to sing.

So she had sung.

And when the ritual was done, the others had bowed before her, and the Handmaiden had placed a blackened veil over her face, and she had been called Bride.

"The First doth not wed with love," the Handmaiden had whispered to her, tracing a finger along her brow. "His embrace is cold as the grave, and his love is silence. Yet thou art his. We are all his."

And so she had taken her vows.

There were others like her, hidden in the deep places of the world. They waited in the catacombs, in the tombs, in the ruins of temples long since abandoned. They did not pray. They did not weep. They did not beg for fire to return.

They only waited.

Waited for the darkness to rise again. Waited for the last of the Age of Fire to gutter and die, for the last embers to turn to ash.

And when the time came, they would walk into the abyss without fear.

They were Gravelord’s chosen, wrapped in lace, adorned with blackened flowers, their fingers brittle as the bones they clutched in their hands.

They did not fight, not like the Gravelord Servants who spread the miasma of death. They did not burn, not like the firekeepers who clung to dying embers.

They only waited for the end.

And the end would come.

It always did
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0 | 0 Comments | by Astraobscura | 11 hours ago

Naerisse (Witcher OC)


She had never known peace.

Naerisse had been born in the dark of the woods, beneath a canopy so thick that even the stars struggled to break through. She was of the People, raised on the old songs, the old ways, the old griefs. Before she could walk, she had learned to crawl over the roots of elder trees. Before she could speak, she had learned the sound of horses’ hooves on dry leaves, the scent of steel on the wind, the whisper of boots treading too near.

By the time she had seen ten summers, she had already learned to hate.

They called themselves humans. They called her kind vermin. When they first came, they had spoken of treaties, of peace, of shared lands. And when those words were no longer needed, they spoke of tithes, of taxes, of oaths. And when they tired of speaking, they let their swords do the talking for them.

The elves of Dol Blathanna had been among the first to fall, cut down in their own halls, their blood staining the meadows that had once been theirs. Then came the cities, the trade routes, the land claims. The forests shrank. The villages grew. More elves, more brothers and sisters, shoved into ghettos, into slums, into dirt, forced to bow before kings whose names were not their own.

Naerisse had never seen the fabled golden days of the Aen Seidhe. She had only ever known war.

She took up her first bow at thirteen. By sixteen, she had killed her first human.

It had been a simple thing—a Nilfgaardian patrol, deep in the woods, their faces young and their armor shining. They had never seen it coming. None of them had, at first. That was how it always was. The Scoia’tael were ghosts, shadows slipping between the trees. The North called them terrorists, the Empire called them pawns, but to each other, they were simply comrades, kindred, family.

The war between Nilfgaard and the North raged beyond the woods, but to the Scoia’tael, there was only one war—the one they had been fighting long before Emhyr ever took his throne, before Foltest ever sharpened his blade.

They struck from the trees, like the stags their name bore. A village here, a garrison there. A merchant caravan, a supply line, a highborn lord riding too far from his men. Some kills were small, nothing more than a few bodies left to rot in the road. Others were greater—a watchtower put to the torch, a convoy of arms stolen, a noble’s daughter taken for ransom or for something worse.

The humans called them butchers, beasts, savages. Naerisse called them justice.

She had given herself to the cause long ago, had let her rage fill her bones and sharpen her hands. She had learned to live on roots and berries, on stolen grain, on the flesh of men. She had fought, she had bled, she had lost friends, brothers, lovers. The woods were littered with their corpses, left to the crows, to the wolves, to the silence that always followed slaughter.

But a Scoia’tael does not mourn.

There was no time for mourning. The war did not wait. The fight did not end. Not until the last tree had burned, not until the last elf had been hanged, not until the last human blade was snapped in two.

For years, Nilfgaard had fed the flames of their war, whispering of promises, of elven sovereignty, of a new Dol Blathanna where elves would rule again. It was easy to believe. The Black Ones treated them better than the Northmen, at least for now. They gave weapons, food, coin. They sent commanders, generals, orders sealed with the emperor’s sigil.

But orders were not freedom. And Naerisse was beginning to wonder if they had traded one leash for another.

The Nilfgaardians told them which villages to burn, which caravans to strike, which enemies to kill. There was always a purpose, always a strategy. And yet, when the Scoia’tael asked for more troops, more supplies, more than just their own blood to be spilled, the Nilfgaardians looked the other way.

Dol Blathanna had been restored, yes. A kingdom for elves. But it was Francesca Findabair who ruled it, and Francesca had bent the knee to the Emperor. A puppet queen, a land given, not taken. A gift with a leash tied tight around its throat.

Naerisse did not know if this was truly the war they had fought for.

But it was the war they had.

And until the last human lay dead in the fields, she would keep drawing her bow.
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0 | 0 Comments | by Astraobscura | 12 hours ago

Jeyne Reynor (Game Of Thrones OC)


Jeyne Reynor had been born in the heat of summer, her mother’s labours lasting near a full day and night. She was small and sickly at first, not expected to last the week, yet by some miracle, she clung to life. Her father, Lord Edric Reynor, had wanted a son. Instead, he got a girl with her mother’s fair hair and a pair of green eyes that held none of his strength. A pretty thing, the maester had called her. As if that were some comfort.

Greencrest was fertile land, rich and golden, much like the young girl who would inherit it. But not for long. Daughters did not inherit. Daughters were wed. That was the way of things, and it had been the way of things long before the Reynor name was first spoken. A son would have been a lord. A son could have sat the high seat of Greencrest, ridden at the head of the household knights, led their banners to war should the Reach be called to it. A son could have continued the line.

But Edric Reynor had no son.

It was not for lack of trying. Jeyne’s mother had given birth once before—a babe pale as milk, weak as a kitten. He had lived three days and three nights before slipping away, and after him came nothing but blood and stillbirths. It was said that the gods had cursed Morya Reynor’s womb, though none dared whisper it where the lord could hear. In the end, Jeyne remained the only child of House Reynor, its sole heir by birth, though the men of Greencrest knew she would never rule in truth.

A woman may wear a crown, but only a man may bear its weight.

So Jeyne was raised as noble daughters are. She was taught her letters by the maester, her prayers by the septa, and her duty by her mother. A lady must know how to govern a household, to manage accounts, to please a husband, and to bear strong sons. She was not taught the sword, nor the lance, nor the ways of battle. That was for men. A woman’s duty was to serve, to wed, and to bring forth heirs. And Jeyne was nothing if not dutiful.

When she was five-and-ten, her father fell ill. The wounds he had taken at Ashford so many years before had never fully healed, but it was his lungs that betrayed him in the end. Some days, he could scarcely rise from his bed without coughing up blood. The castle was ruled in his name, but in truth, it was his council that held power now. The maester bled him, the septon prayed, the servants feared, but the man they once knew was fading.

And so the marriage was made.

Walton Blackmere was old enough to be her father, a hard man of five-and-forty who drank as deep as he rode. His lands lay west of Greencrest, a lesser lord yet a powerful one, commanding knights and swords enough to make trouble should he ever seek to. That was why the match was made. Had Jeyne been born a man, there would have been no need for such bargains. But she was not a man, and so she was sent to Blackmere Keep with a gold circlet in her hair and a stranger’s hands at her waist.

Her lord husband did not beat her on their wedding night. That came later.

They had been wed less than a moon’s turn before she learned the weight of his fists. He had been drinking, though that was no excuse, nor did he offer one. A man does not need an excuse to strike his wife, her mother had once said. The gods made them stronger for a reason. A woman’s duty is to endure. So Jeyne endured.

At first, it was only when he drank. Then, when he was angered. Then, when he had been slighted, or when he had lost at the hunt, or when she had looked at him wrongly, or spoken out of turn.

Walton had a cruel temper, and Jeyne had no brothers left to shield her. Had her father been strong enough, had her mother still lived, perhaps they would have sent for her, brought her home, found another way. But a daughter belongs to her husband, and a wife belongs to her lord.

So she endured.

She gave him a son before her eighteenth nameday. A boy with golden hair and his father’s eyes. For a time, that seemed to please Walton, but soon his thoughts turned elsewhere. The child meant he had an heir. And that meant Greencrest would be his.

Lord Edric still lived, but barely. Some days, he did not rise at all. The maester said he would not last the year, and when he died, Jeyne’s claim to Greencrest would pass to her husband. By law, the castle and all its lands would belong to their son, but he was an infant still. And so Walton Blackmere would rule in his place as his regent.

But Greencrest was a proud land, and Walton’s name was not its own. The lords sworn to House Reynor would not yield so easily to an outsider’s rule, and Jeyne knew it well. There would be whispers. There would be doubts. Some would say she had no right, that a woman’s claim was weak if no man stood behind it. Some would call for another Reynor, a distant cousin, a second son, any male with blood enough to stake a claim. Others would seek to wed her again, as if one husband had not been enough.

Walton knew it too. He spoke of it in the night, his breath thick with wine.

"I’ll not have them turn you against me," he told her once, his fingers tightening around her wrist. "Your father’s half in his grave already, and when he dies, Greencrest will be ours. Our son’s. I won’t have some upjumped vassal snatching what’s mine."

Jeyne had learned not to speak when he was in such a mood. It only made things worse.

She prayed to the Seven for her father to live, for Walton to ride off on a hunt and never return, for something, anything, to change. But the gods do not always listen.

And men do not always wait.
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2 | 0 Comments | by Astraobscura | 13 hours ago

First Blog Post!


Bear with me, still working the kinks!
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4 | 1 Comment | by CupcakeCity | 14 hours ago

Common Questions for Obscura


About Me: Personal Questions

Q:What do you prefer to be called?
A: Obscura

Q:What is the meaning of Astraobscura
A:Obscured Stars

Q: What is your time zone?
A: Australian Eastern Standard Time (AEST).

Q: How old are you?
A: 25.

Q: What is your gender?
A: Female.

Q: Where are you from?
A: Australia.

Q: What is your sexuality?
A: Bisexual

Q: What is your zodiac sign?
A: Aquarius

Q: What languages do you speak?
A: English.

Q: What’s your favourite colour?
A: Purple

Q: Coffee or tea?
A: Tea.

Roleplay-Related Questions:

Q: Are you a returning account?
A: Yes, I was here years ago.

Q: Do you want to roleplay?
A: Yes.

Q: What genres do you roleplay?
A: Fantasy, Sci-Fi, Post-Apocalyptic, Romance, Historical, and Character-Driven Drama.

Q: Do you roleplay fandoms?
A: Yes, I have a list of fandoms I enjoy

Q: Do you write original stories?
A: Yes, I love worldbuilding and custom settings.

Q: Do you prefer OCs or canon characters?
A: OCs, but I may write canon characters if the plot is compelling.

Q: Do you prefer one-on-one or group roleplays?
A: One-on-one.

Q: What’s your preferred writing style?
A: Literate, multi-para to novella, third-person only.

Q: Do you accept one-liners?
A: No.

Q: Do you allow romance in roleplay?
A: Yes, but only as part of a larger story.

Q: Do you write N*FW or sm*t?
A: No, I’m not here for ERP.

Q: Do you roleplay LGBTQ+ relationships?
A: Yes.

Q: Do you roleplay dark themes?
A: Yes, but within reason.

Q: Do you roleplay combat-heavy plots?
A: Yes, but I prefer strategy and narrative-driven battles over endless fights.

Q: Do you roleplay on Discord?
A: No, I will not move to Discord.

Q: Do you roleplay with blank profiles?
A: No.

Q: If I add you, do I message first?
A: Yes. If I add you, I will message first.

Q: How long have you been roleplaying?
A: For years, I lost count.

Q: How often do you reply?
A: When I have time. Normally a few times a day.

Q: Are you more of a plotter or a spontaneous writer?
A: A mix of both. I like having a direction, but I also enjoy organic development.

Q: Do you prefer story-driven or action-heavy plots?
A: Story-driven.

Q: What type of characters do you enjoy playing?
A: Complex, morally grey, or deeply layered characters.

Q: Do you accept crossovers?
A: No

Q: Will you roleplay pre-established relationships?
A: No, I prefer developing relationships organically.

Q: Do you accept random friend requests?
A: Only if you actually read my profile and message properly.

Q: Can I send you a plot idea?
A: Yes
Heart this
0 | 0 Comments | by Astraobscura | 15 hours ago

Obscura's Fandoms


This is a ranked list of the fandoms I roleplay in, rated out of ❤❤❤❤❤ based on my personal interest and priority. If it’s highly rated, I’m very eager to write in that setting. If it’s lower-rated, I may still consider it, but I’m more selective.

Fantasy & Medieval Settings:
A Song of Ice and Fire / Game of Thrones / House of the Dragon: ❤❤❤❤
Dragon Age – ❤❤❤❤
The Witcher – ❤❤❤❤
Elder Scrolls (Skyrim, Oblivion, Morrowind, ESO) – ❤❤
Warhammer Fantasy – ❤
Dark Souls / Elden Ring – ❤❤❤
Dungeons & Dragons – ❤❤
Harry Potter – ❤

Sci-Fi, Space, & Futuristic Settings
Mass Effect – ❤❤
The Expanse – ❤❤❤
Warhammer 40K – ❤
Cyberpunk (Cyberpunk 2077, Blade Runner.) – ❤❤❤
Star Wars – ❤❤
Halo – ❤

Post-Apocalyptic, Dystopian, & Survival
Fallout – ❤❤❤❤
The Last of Us – ❤❤
Metro 2033 / STALKER – ❤❤❤
Walking Dead – ❤
Dying Light – ❤❤❤❤
The Division – ❤❤

Horror, Gothic, & Supernatural
Vampire: The Masquerade – ❤❤
Bloodborne & Lovecraftian Horror – ❤
Silent Hill & Psychological Horror – ❤
Resident Evil – ❤

Action, Adventure, & Historical
Assassin’s Creed – ❤❤
Red Dead Redemption – ❤❤
Far Cry (Selective) – ❤
For Honor – ❤❤❤
Ghost Recon – ❤
Watch Dogs – ❤❤
Heart this
2 | 0 Comments | by Astraobscura | 15 hours ago

Obscscura's Rules


If you add me, you message first. If I add you, I will message first.

No random friend collectors. If you add me and don't talk within three days, I will remove you.

If you lose interest, let me know. I don’t care if you want to drop the RP, just be upfront.

If I don’t respond immediately, don’t spam me. I reply when I can.

Don’t act entitled to my time or stories. I write for fun, not obligation.

No passive-aggressive behaviour or guilt-tripping. If I say no to something, respect it.

Don’t control my character or force actions on them. This includes reactions, thoughts, or speech.

Be patient with replies. Quality over speed.

Literate & Multi-Para Minimum. I expect well-written, detailed responses.

Third-Person Perspective Only. No first-person or script-style RP.

No One-Liners or Low-Effort Replies. I write in depth and expect the same.

Stay In-Character. OOC chat is fine, but don’t mix it into the RP.

No Godmodding, Metagaming. I control my characters; you control yours

No Overpowered or Lore-Breaking Characters. Be balanced and respect the world we’re writing in.

Long-Term & Story-Driven RPs Preferred. I like immersive worlds and deep character development.

Romance Allowed, But Not the Sole Focus. I enjoy romance, but I need plot and substance.

Respect the Setting’s Lore. If we’re roleplaying in a fandom, don’t rewrite its rules.

No Crossovers

No Sm*t-Focused Accounts. I’m here for story, not ERP.

No Futas or Femboys. Personal preference; not interested.

No Extreme Kinks or Fetish RP. If you’re here for that, move along.

I will not discuss Kinks

Dark & M*tu*e Themes Allowed Within Reason. War, violence, and political intrigue are fine, but I have limits.

No Excessive Edge-Lord Characters. If your OC is only tragic backstory, revenge, and "missunderstood," I’m not interested.

No Forced Romance. If it happens, it happens naturally.

No Incest, Pedophilia, or Dubious Content. Hard pass on anything remotely disturbing.

Character Death Must Be Discussed. I won’t kill off characters without agreement.

No Mind Control or Forced Affection. My character’s thoughts and actions are mine alone.

Respect Boundaries & Comfort Levels. If I say no to a plot, don’t push it.
Don’t Rush Me for Replies. I have a life outside of roleplay.

If You Ghost, I Will Assume You Dropped It. I won’t chase you down for a response.

Use Proper Grammar & Punctuation. I don’t expect perfection, but I need to be able to read your writing.

Be Creative & Contribute to the Story. Don’t expect me to carry the entire RP.

No Drama, No Toxicity. I’m here to write, not deal with petty nonsense.

If You Need a Break, Just Say So. I’m understanding, just communicate.

I Will Not Move to Discord. I roleplay here, not elsewhere.

I Do Not Add Blank Profiles. If your profile is empty, I won’t accept your request.

I Reserve the Right to Decline Any RP. If I don’t think we’re a good fit, I don’t have to explain why.

If you can’t read my rules, I won’t write with you. When messaging me for the first time, do not just say ‘hi,’ ‘how are you,’ or ‘wanna roleplay.’ Instead, answer this question: "Which of my listed fandoms are you most interested in roleplaying?" If you ignore my rules, I will ignore you

If you’re still here after reading this, great! That means we might be a good fit for roleplay!
Heart this
6 | 0 Comments | by Astraobscura | 15 hours ago

Chloe (Wales) | Military / Merc | Action & Rom


template{

physical{
name: Chloe Colquhoun
alias: Wales
age: 22
gender: Female
origin: Wales

height: 5'4 (162 cm)
weight: 120 (54 kg)

build: athletic / built
hair: messy
(color): blonde
eyes: wide open
(color): green
style: always in her field uniform - often seen equipped with a plate carrier
and a helmet with night vision mounted.
}

mental{
temperament: aggressive and intimidating. however, if you're able to befriend her, she's soft and emotional.

addictions: nicotine & various hallucinogens, including benadryl.

trauma: after having seen her fair share of friends be killed, Chloe often turns to self harm and drugs to escape when she can. Chloe struggles with psychosis.
}

relevant backstory{
Chloe was born and raised in the Welsh countryside, a quiet corner of the
United Kingdom. Her childhood was straightforward—she excelled in school,
formed close friendships, and dreamed of a bright future. But, when her
college crush moved to New Zealand at the end of her freshman year.
Determined to follow her heart, Chloe dropped everything and followed them.

Their relationship didn’t last, and in the wake of heartbreak, Chloe found
herself lost. She abandoned her degree and enlisted in the military, seeking
purpose and discipline. For a while, she thrived, forging bonds with her squad
and excelling in her training. But tragedy struck when a helicopter crash
claimed the lives of several close friends. The grief was unbearable.

Struggling to cope, Chloe turned to drugs to numb the pain. It wasn’t long
before she was caught and dishonorably discharged. With her military career
in ruins and nowhere to turn, she fell into debt. When she couldn’t pay it back,
she was forced into the life of a mercenary, using her skills to take on contracts
wherever she could find them.
}

additional information{
none to add yet.
}
}
Heart this
3 | 0 Comments | by scums | 17 hours ago

#➷♡ intro blog


⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⊱ ᐧ . ᐧ . ᐧ . ᐧ〔 ADMIN BLOG ៹┊⸝⸝ ʚ
⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ะ celeste / others. they/them. twenty six. est/edit.
⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ะ i roleplay fandoms only, please read the carrd (all the way through) here, nauseate.carrd.co/ !!
⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ะ age preference : 20+ / twenty plus. no minors!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ะ i am often on and off this site, it's more a me issue than anything else. just wanting to get back into the grind of roleplaying!

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ะ i do have some unlisted ocs on the carrd, i more than likely will not add them.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ะ to see things in light mode on quotev, click on the three bars > scroll down to display settings + click > color scheme > light mode
⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠ . ◠
Heart this
0 | 0 Comments | by newcronomicon | 18 hours ago

oh, mon amour a toi toujours


⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀B I O G R A P H I C A L ⠀I N F O R M A T I O N
⠀
⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀O F ࿒ ⠀ PARK SUNGHOON


⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it’s quiet. no, not quiet. /tranquil/. right, because it’s not a deafening
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀silence in which one wallows in their own loneliness. no, sunghoon
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀isn’t like that. he has the perfect career, the perfect life, and he’s
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀sitting in his large penthouse, nearly thirty years old, living alone.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀tranquil.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀that’s how he would describe the way his footsteps echo against the
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀marble flooring, the hollow sound bouncing off the pristine walls of his
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀hallway, long and dimly lit. the motion sensors flicker on as he passes,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀one by one, a slow illumination of an otherwise untouched space.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀everything is in its place—glass windows that stretch from floor to
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ceiling, showcasing the city skyline in a blur of neon and headlights, a
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀kitchen counter absent of any signs of life, and a living room curated to
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀be more a showroom than a home. even the air feels curated,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀sterilized, as if untouched by anything remotely sentimental.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀admittedly, sunghoon’s life was never difficult. he was a top-grade
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀student, always the first in his class, the type of son parents whispered
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀about with a mix of envy and admiration. a perfect 1600 on his sat, a
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀175 on the lsat, a future so meticulously planned that even deviation
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀seemed impossible. his father’s firm, a legacy built in polished
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀boardrooms and old money, ensured that sunghoon’s future was set in
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀stone before he even took his first steps. a trust-fund baby with a name
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀that held weight in circles of power. he never flaunted it, but he never
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀denied it either. it was simply a fact of his existence, as constant as the
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ticking of his luxury watch.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀and yet, even with everything, he feels unbearably selfish. as if
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀something essential slipped through his fingers before he even had the
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀chance to grasp it. perhaps it was love—though he’d never admit that,
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀not even to himself. not even as his hands, always so composed in
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀their precision, yearn for the warmth of another. not even as he lies
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀awake at night, surrounded by the muted hum of the city, feeling the
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀weight of all he has, and the emptiness of all he does not.


⠀i. designation
⠀
⠀

⠀⠀ birthday:⠀december 8, 1994

⠀⠀ birth place:⠀gangnam, south korea

⠀⠀ current residence:⠀seoul, south korea

⠀⠀ zodiac sign:⠀sagittarius

⠀⠀ mbti:⠀intj – the architect

⠀⠀ enneagram:⠀5w6 – the investigator

⠀⠀ languages:⠀korean,
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀english
⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀french
⠀

⠀⠀ii. physique
⠀
⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀hair hue:⠀a deep, inky black, perpetually neat and styled with an effortless
⠀⠀⠀⠀elegance, though never too polished—there’s always a slight tousle, as if
⠀⠀⠀⠀he’s just run a hand through it absentmindedly.

⠀⠀⠀⠀eye hue:⠀a sharp, cool-toned brown, so dark they almost seem black in
⠀⠀⠀⠀dim lighting, yet in the right light, they reveal faint traces of auburn, like the
⠀⠀⠀⠀last embers of a dying fire.

⠀⠀⠀⠀height:⠀6’0 (184 cm)

⠀⠀⠀iii. important relationships
⠀⠀⠀
⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀park minseo, mother, 47 ⠀– elegant and meticulous, a woman who
⠀⠀⠀⠀thrives in high society yet rarely lets anyone truly know her. she raised
⠀⠀⠀⠀sunghoon with quiet expectations, love shown not through words but
⠀⠀⠀⠀through the careful selection of his wardrobe, the books she left on his
⠀⠀⠀⠀desk, and the way she always knew exactly what he needed before he did.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀park hyunjin, father, 50 ⠀– a formidable figure in the corporate world,
⠀⠀⠀⠀known for his sharp business acumen and even sharper discipline. he was
⠀⠀⠀⠀never cruel, but never warm either, shaping sunghoon into a man who
⠀⠀⠀⠀measured worth in achievements. approval was a currency sunghoon
⠀⠀⠀⠀always worked to earn, though he was never quite sure if he’d ever have
⠀⠀⠀⠀enough.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀park jisung, close, and only friend, 27 ⠀– he’s the closest thing
⠀⠀⠀⠀sunghoon has to a friend, not that either of them would say it outright.
⠀⠀⠀⠀jisung is the only person who has seen sunghoon at his worst—exhausted,
⠀⠀⠀⠀overworked, half-asleep in the office at 3 AM with a pile of case files he
⠀⠀⠀⠀refuses to leave unfinished. he’s also the only person who can call him out
⠀⠀⠀⠀without consequence, the one who forces him to take a break when he’s on
⠀⠀⠀⠀the verge of burning out. also, the older brother of the most annoying
⠀⠀⠀⠀person he's unfortunately ever met. (sunghoon's words)

⠀⠀⠀⠀iv. one’s own
⠀
⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀sexual orientation:⠀demisexual, though he’s never really put a name to
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it—he simply knows that fleeting attractions mean nothing to him.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀significant other:⠀none, though his hands ache for a touch he doesn’t
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀know how to ask for. (planned romance with @grudge)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀likes:⠀he quiet hum of the city at night, when the world finally slows
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀down.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the feeling of crisp, tailored suits against his skin
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀dark, rich espresso that keeps him awake through the nights he
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀refuses to waste on sleep
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀classical music, particularly chopin and rachmaninoff
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the way winter air stings against his skin, biting and real
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀books bound in leather, pages slightly yellowed with age.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the feeling of control, of knowing exactly what comes next.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀dislikes:⠀the suffocating weight of expectation, even if he pretends
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ otherwise.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ meaningless small talk, the kind that fills space but says
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ nothing.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ clutter—his world is clean, curated, controlled.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ the way love stories in movies seem to promise something
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ he’s never found.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ the idea of failure, of losing something before he’s even had
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ the chance to claim it.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ being vulnerable—it’s an art he’s never mastered.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀v. additional information
⠀
⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀faceclaim:⠀park sunghoon from enhypen

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀admin’s timezone:⠀utc -8⠀
⠀







Heart this
1 | 0 Comments | by VERDICT | 20 hours ago

dans tes grands yeux, rien que nous deux


⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ F U R T H E R ⠀I N F O R M A T I O N ⠀
⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀O F ࿒ ⠀ the ⠀admin & rules⠀
⠀⠀
⠀



⠀i. admin
⠀
⠀

⠀⠀ name:⠀sen⠀aka⠀@tws !

⠀⠀ age: 19

⠀⠀ pronouns:⠀he/they

⠀⠀ timezone:⠀pst / utc-8

⠀⠀ languages:⠀korean (jejueo), english, japanese, french, german,
⠀⠀ & a small portion of mandarin

⠀⠀ii. rules
⠀
⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀1. please be over 18! even if its sfw!

⠀⠀⠀⠀2. i like to be casual, but still in character at the start, so i'd prefer to text
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ and make "plans" before doing a roleplay. it also helps me plan out per
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ my work & university schedule!

⠀⠀⠀⠀3. please don't romantically force yourself onto me or my character, i prefer
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ to have authentically formed relationships with my roleplays

⠀⠀⠀⠀4. if in the event we do end up roleplaying a scene together, don't force
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ doyoung to act or feel any way! i've carefully crafted his character to have
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ a certain personality and thought process. he's a very well-thought-out and
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ complex character that i'd prefer to have behave on my own terms!

⠀⠀⠀⠀5. overall, respect me and my character (you can still be mean and
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ disrespectful to him in rp at least hehe, he can be a little sh*t) and
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ you'll be met with the same sentiment in return!

Heart this
2 | 0 Comments | by VERDICT | 20 hours ago