#char dev

[charlie-boyfriend]

Made a new rpgmaker jam game ... Thousands will play

its about an hour + available on ur os as well as a browser playable version ^_^ Im hoping to make an art book later as well so stay tuned if u like it...

#char dev #indiegame #indie game dev #game development #rpgmaker #itchio #charlie art

[yvonne-rutherford]

Being Alive

Date: 09 February, 2024

Someone to hold you too close

Someone to hurt you too deep

Someone to sit in your chair

To ruin your sleep

“Are you sure you feel well enough to go to dinner?" Félix's hand was pressed to the small of her back and he leaned in to press a kiss to the top of her head. Yvonne couldn’t fault him for his concern, considering he was the one holding her hair back once again as she knelt in front of the toilet puking her guts up. Just like New Year’s. Well, almost. Her eyes caught on the glint of gold courtesy of the Virgin Mary medal that now hung from her neck.

The box was placed in front of her the day after the positive test, after they’d had twenty-four hours to process the fact that the two of them were bringing a new life into the world together. Yvonne’s mind went somewhere entirely different when she saw the jewelry box and her thoughts drifted into a panic before Félix opened it up to reveal a small gold medallion on a chain. Before she could voice her confusion, he said, “I know you’re not religious. But the Blessed Mother is the patron of mothers and it’s a tradition in my family to gift a medal to expecting mothers, to look after them.” Yvonne had smiled and simply pulled her hair back without a word so that he could fasten it around her neck.

She couldn’t remember if her first pregnancy had kicked her ass this hard during the first trimester, but she was already over it. Spitting her toothpaste into the sink and rinsing out her mouth, she looked up to meet her boyfriend’s gaze in the mirror. “I’m fine. It’s just a little morning sickness. Besides, it’s already hard enough to find nights with just the two of us with two kids. We should take advantage of it before there’s a third one added to the mix.” She turned around and reached out to straighten his tie, tugging on it slightly to pull him in for a kiss.

Even on the Friday before Valentine’s Day, the restaurant was booming. It’d taken several favors to get their reservation. More people had the same idea to beat the crowd as they did, apparently. Ash Wednesday falling on Valentine’s Day no doubt played a role in it too. Yvonne had already been invited, and strongly encouraged to attend, Ash Wednesday Mass with the Rodriguez family. Or it was just Mistress Night. She’d heard stories before.

While they waited for dessert, Félix reached out to take Yvonne’s hand. “I know it’s only been six months, but I have another present for you.” She watched as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box that he opened to reveal a rose gold ring with a pear-shaped black diamond with white diamonds surrounding it. “I love you, Yvonne. This may have started has a mutually beneficial arrangement, but I honestly can’t see myself spending my life with anyone else. You’re ambitious, smart, and I look forward to every moment I spend with you. So, what do you say? Yvonne Rutherford, will you marry me?”

Yvonne sat there, her mind flashing back to a different proposal six months before, in Dubai. At the time, she’d given up on the idea of romance and saw only the path forward to her ambitions that the man in front of her offered. How could she have known that it would lead to six months of happiness and the creation of a new life? For a brief moment, she wondered if her mother had  felt this happy upon her own engagement, if she’d had a moment of joy before the realization that she would never truly belong to the Rutherford family hit. She blinked and came back to the present to see Félix still looking at her slight worry creeping into his eyes. Smiling, she leaned forward and closed the gap between them with a soft kiss to his lips.

“Yes, I’ll marry you.”

Her fiancé (that was going to take some getting used to) took the ring and slid it onto her finger. She looked at him with a question in her eyes as it fit perfectly, but the bastard didn’t have the decency to be ashamed. “I used one of your other rings as a reference for the size.” Yvonne rolled her eyes, but that didn’t stop her from grinning as she leaned in for a second kiss.

“You’re ridiculous. And it’s perfect.” It was only the waiter coming up to the table with dessert that prompted Yvonne to sit back in her seat, though she knew she was still grinning like a lovesick fool. Which is what she was, if she was being honest. Not that Félix’s smile had left his lips either. The rest of dinner passed in a blur, filled with smiles, laughter, and chit chat about when and how to drop the news.

Somebody crowd me with love

Somebody force me to care

Somebody make me come through

I'll always be there

As frightened as you

To help us survive

Being alive, being alive

Being alive!

#self para #character development #char dev

[mrofontaine]

Olivier Fontaine's Apartment ; South Ken.

Notes: Rented.

Location: South Kensington.

Pricepoint: £2,100 per month.

#apartment #inspo #char dev #olivier fontaine #location: south kesington. #rented.

[emine--yalaz]

Yes, to the Dress.

This was not how Emine pictured choosing her dress would be like. She wanted her close friends and family there with her, but with how everything was falling apart, the safe option was her mother -- the one that took her in when she didn't want to go back to Turkey.

She had pushed the doubting thoughts to the back of her mind, trying on what felt like every dress in the shop. None felt right. They all felt like another dress that could be worn for any occasion. There was also the modesty of being covered, something her mom kept reminding her when she came out in another dress.

"Maybe I won't find it," she sighed, sitting down beside her on the small couch, resting her forehead against her shoulder. "I'm tired." A sadness lies in her amber hues.

"One more," the older woman pats the top of her head and she nods, sliding off the couch, the last dress for the day brought to the changing room for her to try on. The second her hues landed on the dress, there was something about it that called to her.

Was this the one?

She could feel the anticipation build in the pit of her stomach when the woman from the shop helped her into it, using a bunch of clips to hold it in place. Tears started to swell in the corners of her eyes and she knew that this was the one.

The petite Turk made her way out of the room, a bright smile on her face when she saw her mom take one look at her, and tears formed in her eyes as well.

"Çok güzel görünüyorsun kızım." She whispers, getting up to place her hands on her cheeks.

"This is the one, mom." She smiles brightly, a veil placed on her head, turning to look at herself in the mirror.

Emine had found her dress.

#self-para #char dev #character development

[maria-azenha]

Solace In Your Arms

Date: 25/03/2024

Maria read Cecelia's text a few times and had to keep in mind that the woman ran a business and her visit to the doctor's assured her that she wasn't in the right state of mind to be in a room full of people. She was finding it too easy to slip back into where she wasn't sure what was real and what was that night locked deep in her head.

A bag was packed, and she left a text to Ophélie and Amélie that she would be staying with Guillaume for a few days, not that he was aware of it at the current moment.

A light rap echoed off the door to his flat, taking a small step back waiting until he opened the door, brows furrowing at the sight of her. A quick glance over her, his eyes rested on her bag and he knew the drill.

No words had to be spoken between them, their friendship going that deep that he knew what she needed. The door opened wider for her to slip inside and that is when she noticed the redhead sitting on his couch, giving a small crinkle to her nose.

"Rebecca, we are going to have to cut our night short." What a horrid name, Maria thought, not feeling bad at all that she was breaking this little get together up.

It didn't go unnoticed the way the woman looked at her and a stoic expression remained etched into her features, ready to tear her down if she tried to go at her.

"Guillaume, we were just...." She wasn't able to finish her words before he spoke again.

"Time to go, I'll message later." A hand gestured for her to use the door.

A huff coming from the redhead's lips as she started to get up from the couch, going to fetch her belongings. She paused at the threshold, looking them both off. "Don't bother." A hand came up to flick her hair over her shoulder and stomped off.

Maria couldn't help but giggle, a hand coming up to cover her mouth when his eyes narrowed at her.

"You owe me, you know that." A smile pulls on his lips, shutting the door and locking it. "Go get ready." He knew the drill.

The brunette nods her head and makes her way off towards the bathroom where she brushes her teeth, washes her face, and lathers her face with all the different facial products she uses. Hair tied up into a loose bun. Taking a glance at herself in the mirror, she was finding it hard to recognise who she was. Slipping into the t-shirt she always slept in, Maria pads silently out into his bedroom, a side lamp the only light illuminating the room, finding him already stripped down to his boxers sliding into bed where he opens the blankets at the opposite side for her.

Without hesitation she climbs in beside him, scooting closer to him where she can feel his arm wrap around her, pulling her back to his chest. There was a comfort in his arms, the only place where he chased her demons away and she could find a dreamless state. No faceless man pointing a gun at her, pulling the trigger seconds after killing everyone she loved, sending her into a painful darkness.

Her body relaxes against his, finally closing her eyes and not being scared about it. A kiss is placed to the top of her head. "Sleep Maria, nothing will harm you. I promise."

I promise.

She trusted him with her life.

"Goodnight Guillaume." She whispers, not long after drifting to sleep.

#self-para #character development #char dev #flashback #25/03/2024

[kathrynharinger]

SELF PARA. | FLASHBACK. Where: New York City. When: January 17th, 2023.  Summary: This is prior to Kathryn arriving in Tonopah, and the events of this night are the reason that she landed in Nevada. Features NPCs created by me: Donny Bartello, Nicholas Eccleston, Patricia Bailey and Fender Bryne (Luthor Matthews). Trigger warnings: Torture of Kathryn Haringer, death by stabbing, shooting/death, mutilation, murder performed by Kathryn, and fire/burning of a building. 

This job was fucked.

Kathryn's back pressed against the exposed brick wall, heart kicking into gear. There'd been many close calls in her time working cons, but this one was the biggest "Fuck you" she'd received. 

Double crossed. 

It sounded like something you'd hear in the movies, but unfortunately, this had happened before. There wasn't much else to be expected when she worked with con artists. Their profession was to lie, cheat, and steal. Nevertheless, the woman who prided herself on seeing everything had missed the biggest clue of them all. There was no way Eccleston hadn't known what he was doing when he switched the bags, leaving her with the false cash. This was no accident. Which meant the mob was going to think it was her. 

The realisation set in with sweeping fear, all-consuming. 

Turning up empty-handed was a death sentence, and Eccleston had known that. And yet, he hadn't cared that this would be the reason they killed her. He���d been fine in stringing her up for dead, tightening that noose around her neck.

Was she walking up to the gallows? Standing on tiptoes, gasping for air that she might not have soon. Or maybe she was ready to settle into chalk outlines, accepting a fate she was far too young and inexperienced to understand. The fire that was erupting from the room she'd been leaving had her stalling, the warmth on her skin as she saw it tackle the drapes, licking the ceiling far quicker than she'd ever thought possible.

Eccleston had told Kathryn that he would check that the coast was clear. For a woman who saw everything five steps ahead, she'd really made a huge mistake. She never trusted anyone, and yet, she'd trusted him. Twice, that was two times that she'd trusted and they'd spat it back in her face. 

"She's here." She heard their shouts through the cracking wood.

Kathryn knew the game was over. They'd found her already. Which meant they’d been tipped off.

"We've got her. She's here." Another called.

They crew closer, crowding her. Slowly, letting her eyes flutter closed, she wished for sweet relief to find her quickly, but as she felt the crack to the back of her head, all she found was darkness...and then nothingness. 

                                                        Sometime later. 

The dark shroud eventually began to clear, though the dull throbbing in her head was enough to elicit a hiss from between dry, cracked lips. Kathryn had been watching the fire burn, as her world went with it and then...black. It didn't take her more than a few seconds to put together that they'd taken her. The New York Mafia. And she was...did she dare open her eyes?

Although, as her head bopped with consciousness, finally coming back to her. As her head bopped with consciousness, finally coming back to her, they didn't allow her time to awaken lightly, especially as she felt a slap up the side of her face. It startled her enough, head slamming to the side as a gasp slipped from between her lips.

"Ms Summers, is it?" Donny Bartello asked, looking up from his seat directly before hers. Legs parted, forearms rested atop his thighs. If it weren't for a permanent scowl that had embedded in his features since their first encounter, he would have almost looked casual. 

This wasn't just bad. Kathryn was very aware that she was going to die here. 

She was disorientated, couldn't see straight as she tried to focus on the blur of a room. Where was she? Trying to move her arms, she realised a moment later was bound by the wrists. She yanked once, then twice, genuine panic setting in. Donny Bartello, one of the higher ups. And highly notorious for his vicious practices.

Fear was evident in her shaking hands and trembling lip.

"Octaiva Monroe, Sir. She used a false identity." A man whom she internally referred to as Twatward. Yes, his name was Edward, and she’d met him on a previous job: he was an arrogant fool. And an echo chamber for Donny. At least they hadn't tracked her true identity: but it'd been her most used, the one she went back to time and time again. Her blood boiled as she chanced a look at her feet. Unbound. 

"Octavia." Donny hisses, like a viper in the grass. "We paid you to do a job, and not only did you not deliver — but you...set my building on fire."

"I-I," she was still out of it, her head falling backwards as she groaned. The room was spinning, but she could make out a wall of glass, city lights bright. She was still in New York. "I didn't steal — I was double crossed." it was the best she could offer. In this state, she could barely keep a grip on reality. 

Donny laughed. It sounded almost bright and airy. But beneath, she could feel it twisted her guts, because this was a man known to be maniacal, sadistic and unforgiving. “You steal, and then you lie about it.”

Kathryn should’ve known that he wouldn’t believe her, because if she’d been in his position, she wouldn’t have believed her either. “I’m not lying,” she croaked, her mouth was so dry and the throbbing at the back of her skull only intensified as time passed. 

“And where is that partner of yours? Luthor Matthews?” The second his name fell off Donny’s lips, it was like she was slapped to being present, her eyes managing to fixate on the man. Her lips drew over her teeth, as she bared them like a wolf ready to devour her dinner.

Kathryn could take whatever they dished to her. But when it came to him, she was feral. She’d tare anyone limb from limb to protect him: Kathryn had no one left in this life beside him, for better or for worse. One question that came to mind, though, where the fuck was he? He hadn’t shown, and for that, she was glad. But usually he’d get her out by now…

“What’re you gonna do, Princess?” Donny mocked. “There’s two of us, thirty floors to the ground, and you’re bound: there’s no escape for you.” And if hope had seemed slim before, it was none existent now.

“What do you want from me?” Kathryn barked, throat growing more painful every passing second. 

She wasn’t sure if it’d been from the smoke from when the building had gone up in flames, which had been intentional on their part. The idea had been that once the building was on fire, they’d do a false swap at handover. Once they’d shown the cash and it’d been verified, they’d swap out the real money for the fake, they’d done it a thousand times and they’d be gone before they realised: new identities, enough cash to live the rest of their lives. 

This “Debt” they’d owed to Donny’s family had been more of a squeeze. They owed him nothing, technically. But stupid fucking Ecclestone had fucked the whole plan up. He’d left, and they’d known when time had slipped out from underneath them.

The “robbery” was meant to be a smoke and mirrors set up, but the safe had been far more complex than even Kathryn could comprehend. Now she thought about it, had Ecclestone been stalling? She couldn’t give up who double crossed her without incriminating herself. Fender missing, though, made this even worse. 

A second slap echoed over her skin, reddening in its wake. 

“Where’s my money? You said you could get the job done”

“Why did you need us to steal your money in the first place?” Kathryn retorted with vibrant fire.

“Don’t play dumb, Octavia.” Donny sighed, the shuffling behind her alerted her to the fact that Twatward must have left at some point and was returning, and the sound of metal on wheels was all she could hear. 

“I’m not –” Kathryn protested.

“Okay, then we do this the hard way.” 

Fear began setting in. What was this? What was he bringing in?

“Let’s begin.” 

TWO HOURS LATER.

Another scream ripped from her lips, blood running down her arm in rivulets. He’d cut into her like she was clay and he was sculpting her. Each flick of his knife was precise, but deep. The skin on her shoulder blade sang as it turned into bloody ribbons. Kathryn wasn’t sure what he was doing anymore, but she could feel every inch of it. Pain had teeth clenching together so hard she worried they’d shatter. 

She wasn’t sure how much more she could take, incoherent words muttering from her mouth.

Pleas, begging, anything. 

“Is this not incentive enough, Octavia?” Donny asked again, his knife working its way over her again. The scream this time was somewhere between a sob and a bellow. “Have you not suffered enough?”

He must have not thought so when she heard the clatter of the knife on the metal tray, his hand picking up a new tool. It was shiny, and a different shape. She couldn’t quite make out what it was. Something else to torture her with, something else to break her down until she was nothing but ripped cloth on the floor.

“Please,” Kathryn rasped. “I don’t know anything.”

That didn’t stop him. 

It was only when he walked in front of her that she saw what the tool was, and her stomach sank. They looked like giant pliers, and it was then that hope evaporated. There was no salvation here. This wasn’t a fairy tale. There was no white knight who’d come slamming through the door. Kathryn would die here tonight. And finally, she was accepting her fate.

For the next hour, he worked his magic. Removing the top piece of her ear as she’d screamed and begged for him to kill her. To simply end it. 

He hadn’t listened. Donny proceeded to remove her back tooth and spared no kindness in how he removed it. She had nothing left, no tears, only sounds that told her it would be over soon. 

If she just held out, she’d be done. 

Though, sweet relief never came. Two gunshots, clean through the window, as the sound of shattering glass rained in the room. It was enough to snap her into action, drawing her head back and head butting Donny with as much force as she could. There were only two people that could be; either Luthor or Patricia.

Either way, she wasn’t staying around to find out. 

The chair rocked, and before she could find purchase with her feet, the wood was cracking against the solid marble floor. One minute her arms were immovable and the next she was yanking in a scramble. The wood clattering groans from Donny began to rise through the roaring in her ears. She had seconds, if that, before they crowned her a thief again and killed her. 

People seldom got a second chance, so she had to move.

It doesn't take more than a second before she feels hands grab her, dragging her backwards before the weight is on top of her. Edward’s face filled her vision, hands instantly finding her neck as he clasped tighter and tighter: this was one to end things. They hadn’t expected her to get free, or put up any fight at all, the fuck sadistic fucks. She fought against him, hands grabbing and slapping and punching. Kathryn had decided in that chair that she was going to die today, and she'd meant it. 

One hand found his wrist as she tried and failed to pull it away. While the other clambered over the floor, grasping for anything she could use. Kathryn thought she was almost out of luck, when her fingers connected with a piece of broken wood from the chair and, without a thought, hurled it sideways. 

Once, then twice, then thrice. 

A scream breaking free from her lips. 

Kathryn had never killed anyone before, had never wanted to. This was not the life she’d entered. This was not who she was and had worked hard to stay far away from. But as she felt warmth coat her, his life blood intertwined with her own. She’d killed a man. She saw it the moment his face turned from hate-filled to blank, eyes dulling to nothing: glazed over. Gone. With a scream, pain searing through her body, she pushed until she slummed next to her.

She was heaving for air, the pain in her shoulder erupting down her arm. She didn’t have the strength left to fight against Donny. She was fading. She could feel herself falling in and out of consciousness. 

“You fuckin’ little bitch.” She heard, and a whimper broke free from her lips. There was no avoiding this now. Those shots had been well timed, but the chance of them hitting again? That’s if they were even still there. Patricia worked for them, a sharpshooter, and one of the best she’d ever encountered. But staying meant she might get caught. Kathryn knew the way she worked. 

Even if she wished she didn’t right now, she would’ve had hope to hold on to.

The second she felt his hand in her hair, she knew it was over, pulling her up with no softness or kindness. Hands scrambling to grab a hold of his hands to attempt to get away. Why had she never learned to defend herself? Why couldn’t she fight? 

“For the last time,” she screamed. “I didn’t steal your fucking money.” her accent slipped, British coming through as the American, Bostonian accent she's adopted faltered. Donny stopped, just for a second to peer down at her with a look of humour. 

That was all it took for him to stop moving in open view.

One second. And the bullet was mid air. 

The next, Donny froze in his spot, choking on air before he fell in a heap next to Edward. 

It didn’t quite hit at first. In shock and tremendous amounts of pain, she was confused, eyes searching but unable to focus on anything in particular. The scene before her was in disarray, blood, glass and wood splinters, toppled over tray and the utensils they’d tortured her with. 

Another sob broke from between her lips. But she could hear the thunder of feet coming, and the bodies that lie around her meant that she only had so much luck, and this time it truly had run out. But when she turned, her eyes met his.

Fender stood there, horrified, as he looked at her, taking a careful, slow step forward. “Kat…” He breathed. “God, I’m so sorry. Kathryn.” He was running then, dropping to his knees before her even though his knees were likely cut from the shards and debris. And for a moment, she was exactly who she always hoped he would be. “We’ve gotta get you outta here, and outta’ town, can you walk?”

All Kathryn could do was nod, scared her voice would betray how utterly broken she was.

“Do you remember what we spoke about? Safe house in Tonopah?” he whispered. She nodded again. “Good, okay, up with me in…1…2…3.”

Kathryn wasn’t aware that this would be the very thing that would set her on the run. Now wanted by some of New York’s heavy hitters, she had to leave. She had to hide. And she could never, ever, go back to New York City if she wanted to live.

#self para #char dev #kathryn haringer #flash back #location: new york city #tw: murder #tw: graphic torture #tw: fire #tw: gsa

[lefebvre-emilia]

Early Arrival

July 23, 2023

Emilia had been pandering around her home, this sudden need to make sure everything was in order before Bean arrived. There was still eight weeks before her due date, but excitement started to draw closer. The nursery was done, decorated in soft pinks and purples, a classy taste but definitely designed for a princess.

Fingers curl around the wood of the crib, emerald hues glancing down to the bedding and the little pink poodle stuffy pushed up in the corner against one of the pillows. She took a moment to let it all sink in. This wasn’t how she pictured her life would be like when she was bringing a little one into this world, but all she could do was to make the best of what was being thrown at her. At least her mom would be here soon, a few more weeks, and she would have her to lean on before the birth and after. 

“Emilia.” She hears her name being called out, turning her body to look out the door, the voice coming from one of her bodyguards. “We should be going.” He was right, there were things to do at the shelter. 

“C–” Her words cut off, hues instantly casting down at the ground, looking at the puddle of water between her legs on the rug, feeling like she had peed herself. “Marco,” She cries out, a hand coming up to rest on her belly, a sharp pain in her lower stomach. 

It was the way she said his name that had the bodyguard taking the steps two at a time. She could hear him coming down the hall, tears swelling up in her eyes when he walked into the nursery, seeing her doubled over. His eyes shift down to find the puddle of water, panic seeping into his gaze. 

“Get the car out front now. Call the doctor and let them know we are on our way to the hospital.” He calls into his mic, alerting the other bodyguard in the house. “Ms. Lefebvre, let me help you.” He makes his way over, leaning down to easily scoop her up in his arms, tears streaming down her face. 

“She isn’t supposed to come now.” Her words crack, wrapping an arm around his neck. “It’s too soon.” Terror seeps into every fibre of her body, letting him take her down the stairs, another contraction hitting her hard. Her eyes clenched shut, nails digging into the side of his neck and she bites down on her bottom lip to stop from crying out. 

The next thing she feels is being placed into the back seat of her SUV with Marco beside her, leaning into him, a hand reaching out to take his, lacing their fingers together, giving it a tight squeeze when the sharp pain returns, breathing out through her nose. “I’ve already messaged your brother, your mother and,” there is a slight hesitation because he had a distaste for Olivier. “The father.” Not caring to mention his name, and if it wasn’t for the pain Emilia was in, she would have corrected him. 

“That was three minutes.” Marco glanced down at his watch, timing her contractions while Tony drove them. Emilia feels the sweat drip down her forehead, her legs crossed practically laying her head in his lap and the rest of her body against the back seat. Her free hand wraps the best it came around her stomach. The London traffic was going to make her scream and curse at anyone who would listen through the window she would demand open. “We are almost there.” Marco felt his hand start to go numb. 

“It hurts.” She cries out, shaking her head looking up at the ceiling of the SUV. “Make it stop.” Emilia didn’t have time to decide if she wanted drugs or not, and now, she was thinking she might not have a choice. The pain was more than she realised it would be, more so afraid of what might be with her coming early. 

By the time they pulled up to the hospital, a bed was outside waiting for her with a couple nurses. “You need to sit up, Ms. Lefebvre. We are here.” His arms lifting her to let him open the back door, sliding his arms underneath her once more to help her out and placing her down on the bed waiting for her. “They will take good care of you.” He nods his head, watching her be pulled inside. 

Emlia didn’t question how the gown was put on her, her mind too consumed by the pain from the contractions. The doctor rushed in, his brows knitted together in concern. “It seems she’s ready to make her appearance.” He tried to keep the mood light, a nurse between her legs to check how dilated she was. “She is ten centimetres, doctor.” Her eyes widened realising that it was time to push and she was alone. 

More tears start to spill from her eyes, the sound of a door opening that she glances to find Olivier coming rushing in. “Oli!” A hand reaches out to take his, looking down at the doctor when he calls her name. 

“When I tell you to push, you have to.” She didn’t even get time to question him for something for the pain when he looks her dead in the eyes and says. “Push!” Giving it all that she came, she pushes. She squeezes Olivier’s hand hard, her other hand wrapping around the handle of the bed, knuckles turning white. 

A scream fills the air, not sure what he did, but it felt like he had cut her. “Relax. We didn’t need you to tear.”

She looks over at Olivier. “I can’t do this.” Exhaustion taking her over, but before he can answer the doctor’s voice fills the air and she can feel another contraction consume her. 

“Push!”

And that is what she does, pushing with everything that she can, breathing heavily through a cry. “The head is out. The next part is easy. One more push and she will be here.” A group of nurses were there with an incubator close by if needed. 

That close to finally holding her daughter. 

Determined jaded hues glance down at the doctor, giving a small nod, when she can feel another contraction start to build. “Now!” He stated and she did, she pushed, feeling the rest of the body come out. Next thing she knew her daughter was placed on her chest, the nurses working on clearing out her mouth, the cry of a little one echoing in the room and her heart swells, an arm coming up to wrap around her, fatigue hitting her hard. 

“Did you want to cut the umbilical cord?” He offers the scissors to Olivier, letting him cut it. Emilia can’t keep her eyes off her baby, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, the room starting to spin. 

“Emilia.” A nurse notices the glossy look in her eyes. “Doctor.” Concern etched in tone.

His eyes glances down and notices the amount of bleeding. “Take the baby, nurse Berkley.” He looks at Olivier. “Get him out. We need to get to OR.” A command held in his words that all the nurses obey, pulling her daughter from her arms. 

“No, you can’t take her….” Her tone faint, a sudden darkness pulling her under. 

@varden-lefebvre @mrofontaine @nora-of-light

#self-para #character development #char dev #tw: postpartum hemorrhage #tw: labour #//have this whilst I fly for 9hrs #tw: difficult labour

[maksimkurylenko]

Maksim Kurylenko's apartment.

Location: Hackney, London.

Type: Brought.

#maksim kurylenko #char dev #home #apartment

[ayda--demir]

Till Death Do Us Part Part II - Oct 4th, 2023 tw: mention of death

It had been a few days since the shooting at the bakery. News spread quickly around the borough, shocking the community. Mrs. Aksoy had left herself a legacy and Mr. Demirci had been known for his excellent talent when it came to suits. It left people uncertain on what their fate would be in their own home. Ayda tried not to think about it, it left her feeling the weight that was now placed heavier on her shoulders. She wanted to protect them, but it was growing harder to find the confidence that she could. 

Ayda stood outside of the bakery for ten minutes replaying what happened that night. She had been asked to come over to the Aksoy’s. The window had already been fixed, but nothing had been touched on the inside. Glass still scattered across the floor, tables and chairs turned and the faint mark of where the bleach was placed to cover up the blood. Taking a deep breath she walked around to the side to where the other entrance to the flat was, stepping inside, locking the door behind her, making her way up the stairs.

“Hello,” she calls out softly, eyes meeting ones she hadn’t seen in years. “Kemal?” She knew he would come. It was their mom that passed. That meant Ela would be here too. “Is your sister here?” She asks, her eyes falling on Mr. Aksoy sitting beside him. 

“I got in late last night.” He gives her a faint smile, a hand gesturing to the lounge chair beside them.“Ela is here, she went out to get some food.” Ayda returns the smile, taking a seat. 

That is when she notices the box sitting on Mr. Aksoy’s lap, a shoe box and it catches her attention. Careful hues study the older male, taking in his features. He looks paler, a tiredness in his gaze and his shoulders sink. Skinnier, he looks much skinnier than the last time she saw him which wasn’t long ago. 

“I’m sorry you are here for this.” There would always be a part of her that would feel it was her fault. She should have never put that gathering together. It was a lesson she should have learnt from the engagement party failure, unable to look him in the eyes. 

“Not how I wanted to come visit, but we will manage to get through this.” There was a defeatness to his tone and it made her worry.  Her hands fold on her lap. 

“Let me get to the point,” Mr. Aksoy says, a weakness to his tone. His hand trembles while taking the envelope from the top of the box. “This is the deed to the building, along with the rights to the bakery.” 

A dumbfoundedness seeps into her features. “That should go to Kemal or Ela.” She quickly looks at Kemal, seeing him shake his head at her. 

“We don’t want it.” He speaks before his father could. “Neither of us have the desire to run the bakery and we don’t want it sold. Ma always talked about how much it meant to you. We want someone to keep it running, in her honour.” He blinks back the tears. 

“Oh,” Ayda couldn’t hide her emotions, a hand coming up to wipe the tears, the other reaching forward to take the envelope from him. “I don’t know what to say.” There is a small pause whilst she looks it over, not opening it. “Thank you.” 

“This is for you.” He then holds out the shoe box with her name on top of it. “All the kids have one, she thought of you as her own. Things she kept over the years.” Ayda takes the box, holding both on her lap. This was something she would look at later when she was alone. 

“I miss her,” her voice cracks, fingers curling around the box. 

“We all do.” Kemal adds, a hand reaching out to take hers, giving a small squeeze before pulling back. “She always talked highly of you. You meant a lot to her. I want to thank you for being there for her when we were gone.” His words touched her more than she thought they would. 

“I’m stopping with treatment.” Mr. Aksoy states, both of them looking at him stunned. 

“Pa, you can’t.” Kemal interjects, his attention turning to his dad. 

“I can’t lose you too.” Ayda adds in, moving to sit beside the old man’s other side, leaving the box and envelope on the chair.  “I have already told the doctors and refused treatment on Monday.” He looks between the both of them, and now it made sense why he looked the way he did. He was slowly dying.  “I was only fighting this for her.”

#self-para #character development #char dev #haringey #community #twe: mention of death #introducing kemal aksoy #//marty please don't hate me

[keremdogulu]

KEREM DOĞULU. ’S SPOTIFY PLAYLIST !!! 

#spotify #playlist #music #char dev

[msmelissalin]

Melissa Lin's Home ; Launceston.

#launceston #home #melissa lin #char dev #inspo #musing

[charlie-boyfriend]

renpy is magical

#char dev

[camilowylders]

Lighthouse.

Type: Self Paragraph.

Summary: Camilo struggles with sleep. His inner thoughts are late at night when he wakes from the same nightmare that plagues him every night. This was inspired by the song Lighthouse by Patrick Watson.

Camilo awoke with a start. The kind that had him scrambling back, clasping at the skin of chest as he tried to slow down his speeding heart that thumped against his chest in an offbeat manner. As always, he was on the cold wood floor of his living room floor. A thin, tattered blanket that had belonged to Carla covered him. A couple of cushions were propped against a wall. Sleeping in a bed felt too wrong without her these days. It wasn't the same, and this was a scene in which he'd woken up to countless times before.

Nightmares were common for this man, but this particular one seemed to eat him away. It was the dream that had him lifting a trembling hand to his sweat soaked forehead, a shaky breath leaving his lips as he willed away tears that were threatening to spill over. That lingering fear remained, the same one that had swallowed him whole that night. Camilo's breaths came fast and shallow.

Camilo had the same deep-seated fear, the kind where men in masks entered his home and ripped away everything he loved most. His home had never been a sanctuary since that night. The idea of getting rid of it sickened him to his stomach because this had been her home. Their home.

All these years and he still felt violated and inexplicably exposed. And he wasn't getting any better. The idea of going wasn't something he could take, and as a sob broke past his chapped lips, he doubled over until his head was in his lap. He was a man that didn't cry, not unless it was this. This unrelenting loneliness as he tried to put pieces of a puzzle back together. Himself, his life.

Camilo sat up as he tried to catch his breath, tried to find some kind of silver lining in this life of shit, but he came up empty. His body was stiff. He wasn't sure if it was from old age or the cold, hard floor that he called a bed. All that he knew was he was in pain, hand braced against the wall as he lifted with a slow grunt, somewhere between a bark of a cry and pain that shot through his back.

For a moment, braced against that wall, his forehead found his forearm as he sucked in heavy breaths. All he wanted was Carla, all he wanted was for this eternal pit that he'd fallen into, shine a light upon him. Find him something that was worth another day on this god forsaken earth. A few moments later, he found himself walking over to the large bay window that overlooked the street.

Their porch light was still on, something they always used to do with one or the other, when they were a way home. It stayed on till then. His heart clawed at his chest, begging to come out.

Lighthouse. She'd been his lighthouse. And now he was at sea, lost in the dark, just waiting for her to show him his path once more. To bring him home.

The sky was colouring into beautiful orange and pinks, and yet, to him it fell rather dull. Light was beginning to filter through the curtains, spilling onto the floor and casting shadows across the room. He'd often find Carla awake at this time, reading her book in front of the fire while she waited for him to rouse, and the thought pulled at his heart, tugging and ebbing at the pain that was already running wild.

"I miss you, mi corazon,"

Once upon a time, this hour would've been comforting to him, but now it was just another painful reminder of what he lost that night. Now he was a prisoner in his own home, a slave to his fears and the loss that choked him. He'd isolated himself, because it was the only way to deal with the crippling, real fear that he felt was imbedded into his very being.

Logic held no sway over his anxiety.

A cat cried from the corner as he looked over and the smallest, saddest smile tugged at his again lip as he bent to crouch with a grunt. "Hey darlin', you sleep well? Bet cha' did. Ah," He scooped up the ginger fluff in his arms as he tucked her to his chest with a hum. And still those tears flowed down his cheek, but for just a moment, he didn't feel all that alone.

#self para #self paragraph #camilo wylder #char dev

[beasts-flesh]

Concepts of a cowboy oc for a story I’m writing w some friends. This mf is insane and unwell. Violent, no moral compass.

Wt of they kissed. Pretty boy is named Eliza, a wine distributor

#character design #art #creature design #cow boy #gay cowboy #western #westerns #wild west #character designer #beauty and the beast #illo #visdev #oc art #original characters #character exploration #char #char dev #ugly ass bitch #pretty boy #dark art #concept #comcept art #drawing #yeehaw #oc #cowboy oc #story telling

[isaacgonzalez]

TYPE: Self-Para. WHEN: Present Day vs Thirty-Two years ago. WHERE: Jail Cell / His childhood home. MENTIONS / TRIGGERS: Domestic violence, child neglect and drug addictions.

It was late, and the usual sound of chaos and destruction had faded and ebbed into a dull murmur. The cold wasn't kept out, seeping through the metal of his frame as he stared at the ceiling in his dimly lit cell. Isaac lay on his narrow bed, staring blankly at the cold, gray room that seemed to close in on him. A little more each night. And every day there was something new to drag him further and further down to the bottom. He was startled at a bang, even if the tension still lay in his muscles from the yard exercises he'd done. The distant echoes of clanging bars and muffled voices from fellow inmates formed a dissonant symphony, a stark contrast to the daylight hours. He closed his eyes.

His only reprieve, his only solace, was meant to be his sleeping hours, but even they had been overtaken by horrendous nightmares. His club brother's face's her face. Each night was a new kind of horror, and he believed every moment of his was his punishment. His judgement day. His prayers would go unanswered.

The harsh fluorescent lights flickered from the corridor, lighting up the room as a flash of a memory struck through him like lighting. Isaac found himself transported back in time to a small, run-down house that he once called home. Their home. The very same one he'd burnt the ground when he was fifteen years old with his father passed out in his bed.

At seven years old, innocence clung to him like a security blanket, and he wished it had been shielding him from the harsh truths that lurked beyond the walls of his parents' addictions. He knew it was hard not to, even when he was so young. Often the afterthought of his parents' needs and wants. The muffled sounds of his parents' arguing reverberated through the worn wooden floorboards that creaked with every step anyone took in the house. He'd grown somewhat thankful for that — the ability to know when to hide when his father had drank too much. Although his father wasn't a fan of hide and seek, and it often made him angrier. Unfortunately, this was the backdrop to his childhood. Isaac, always the silent observer of their turbulent relationship, and when the voices that night grew louder and louder, the smash of his objects forcing his legs to obey and brave those creaky floorboards, he found refuge in the one place he believed to be safe – the cramped confines of his bedroom closet.

He forced himself into the back corner, huddling in the darkness, surrounded by forgotten toys and old clothes, a stench that told him this hadn't been cleaned in a long time as his nose wrinkled. But he didn't care, in here he was safe. In here, no one could hurt him, or use him for whatever games they played with each other. No child should have no such fear, and no child at his age should've had to live in such dire fear. Isaac clutched his knees to his chest, desperately trying to block out the cacophony of anger that spilled from the adjacent room. Louder and louder they grew, stronger words being hauled to hurt the other into oblivion. He closed his eyes tightly, hoping that the world beyond the closet doors would disappear, that he could somehow erase the chaos that plagued his every thought.

And then he heard those rushed approaching steps and his breath held, pushing himself further and further into the corner, willing himself to be as small as possible. All he wanted was to be safe, closed off from the world. Away from the madness. But when the familiar sound of his mother's voice cooed through the room in a whisper, he relaxed slightly but kept quiet. As quiet as a mouse, his mom used to whisper when his father was in a rage and would tuck him inside. Safe. This was a safe place.

The closet door creaked open, and it sounded louder than it ever had in the creepily quiet house, revealing a sliver of light that illuminated Isaac's tear-stained face. His mother, worn and weary, with a new blush purple bruise under her eye knelt beside him, pulling him into her arms so tightly he feared she might crush him. He knew then that she cried too. That this was their life and the one they'd have to come to live with, even if it haunted him. The fragrance of her tangled hair mingled with the scent of her was clogged by the cigarette smoke they'd no doubt chain smoked, but in that moment, it was a scent of comfort. Hers. And one, as he got older, that he'd wished he learned better.

"Hush baby, we don't want him to come in here," she whispered, her voice a soothing balm. Isaac hadn't even realised he'd began crying as he tugged it all him, choking on those broken breaths as he pulled back to look at her face, his own crumpling. "Everything will be alright. We'll sleep in here tonight, let me get us some comforts."

Isaac buried his face in the crook of his mother's neck before she could get up, and the way her body shook was enough to break the resolve of a seven-year-old before she was tugging away to grab his blankets and pillows. The world outside the closet ceased to exist as the gentle hum of the lullaby enveloped him, cocooning him in a momentary haven of tranquility. Until sleep began to take him and carry him away from this.

And then he jolted away.

Now, in the cold confines of his cell, Isaac clung to that memory like a lifeline, a flicker of warmth in the otherwise desolate horror of his existence. The bars that surrounded him couldn't cage the echoes of that lullaby, nor could they erase the indelible mark it left. Something he'd long ago forgot —a reminder that, even in the darkest of times, he hadn't always been alone.

#self para #isaac gonzalez #char dev #musing #tw: domestic violence mention #tw: child neglect #tw: drug addiction

[svetavorshevsky]

🔊 Sveta's Spotify Playlist. 🔊

#spotify #svetlana vorshevsky #musing #char dev #playlist #🔊