#closed post

If you're interested in getting a drawing of your OC, feel free to send me a reference of them or a detailed description of the OC's design, and some important details or facts to know about them, and I'll do my best! Sending it through a reblog of this or an ask are both fine.

AU versions of TSAMS characters also count as OCs in this instance.

As the harsh winter cold fades more and more with each rising of the sun, Felix feels a bitter sense of dread coat his tongue. He wakes each day in his childhood bedroom with an acrid taste in his mouth that accompanies the sour thickness of sleep that coats his cheeks and teeth. He sighs as he eats his breakfast alongside his mother and father and looks out the window to see the snow melt slowly but surely. With each passing day, the roads become more and more visible without the added effort of shoveling the snow away. 

“Alright, if that’s how it’s going to be...” She looks at the pies on the floor, on the tables, on the floor... They were already wasted. If they were not going to listen to reason, then Tethys decides to fight fire with fire. Maybe if they got a taste of their own medicine, they’d stop. She grabs the already thrown pies and takes a page from her dearest baby brother. 

      It happened often. Someone doing business with the Deadlock and couldn’t pay up in the end. Although Saint usually had his men break kneecaps instead of accepting a trade. This trade however, intrigued him, which was why he’d said yes to the entire thing in the first place. When Kit was first brought to him, Saint sat in his office, watching with a calculating eye that was enough to make anyone shrivel beneath it. When his men closed the door behind them as they left, the gunslinger continued to stare in an ominous silence for what most likely felt forever for the poor man in front of him. Grabbing for a cigarillo from a desk drawer and lighting it, he let it rest between his lips which were graced by a decently kept beard. After a deep inhale, Saint releases the smoke slowly, letting it waft up through the air in long, lazy curls. “Ya got a name, son?”

The house seemed rather quiet, eerily quiet for once. Most were going about, doing daily tasks, or even spending time with others of the household. Though one of them had isolated himself once more.

A strew of papers littered the floor of the room with the door tightly closed, only an oil lamp on the desk barely illuminated the small space. It even did little to shed some light upon the many sketches that hung up on the wall, from the skeleton’s hands. But he sitting at the desk didn’t care, instead, busied himself with the various pencils and charcoals that he used for his work. It was enough to stir him from his sleep to, yet again, sketch out the dreams that radiated his thoughts. This time, however, it was a...fond memory..

Under his careful digits, he was sketching out every last detail of faces he recalled from his youth, those that he would of considered dear to his soul. And the memories of the Tavern were very fresh within his mind.

Of course, the all too familiar Lich was the first on the page, having been the one that imprinted upon the young monster the most. After all, he was the boy’s mentor and guardian. Many more faces seem to be drawn out, more faces that he knew were regulars at the Tavern. Who didn’t know of it? It was a safe haven, even in the desolate wastelands that were the Void. Many of them were just like Clemency Lost, Gasters who were thrown into the Void by means that couldn’t be prevented. Just like the boy was...which those memories of where he came from were still fleeting. It was when he started to sketch out a final face, that he paused.....

....What was the name of this one? He was a Gaster, of course, gentle and kind to the boy who, he encouraged with his studies, his art. But a name, he just couldn’t pinpoint. It actually left Hazard baffled even, that out of all those he cared for back then, this was the only one that escaped his mind. He eyed his work with the faded light of his good eye socket and even then, it was unfinished, like the memory itself was slipping away. And it only frustrated the skeleton further.

With a growl rising up his vertebrae, he crumbled up the page and tossed it about his room, hunching over his desk. His hands clasped over his skull as he was struggling, trying to remember the name of this specific one. An old friend...one he could barely remember.

It was a practice range, the grass was stomped on and there was chatter in the air. Targets were scattered in the distance. Far enough to practice but not far where you could no longer see them.