#steampunk ocs

[longhairedantagonists]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

A little gift fic (I say "little" lightly) for my best friend, @citrusro, using their Victorian Steampunk OCs!! They're also creating art of their OCs, so please go give them a like, reblog, and follow!!

Just a little drama (and my personal agenda) with Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde, and one Compte de Monte Cristo ;^)

[an-angry-blueberry]

more of my steam punk girl

[an-angry-blueberry]

steampunk ocs part one

[unclehades]

Tell me all about that steampunk game! I love that style :)

nice!! i used to be big into steampunk but i never cosplayed in the style or did much other than watch steam boy (great movie) and listen to dr. steel, abney park and steam-powered giraffe

(putting this under a read more because holy fuck it’s long)

note: if you want to learn more, you can send specific asks about specific characters and i’ll try to answer them as best as i can

characters

1. Victor Porter, 21, cishet male | An airship soldier who has a prosthetic arm; is considered to be a hero by some, a heartthrob by others, but who believes that humans are top race and everyone else is beneath him. Says quite a few degrading/racist things about other races, which is including but not limited to xenophobia and microaggressions. He lost his arm at the age of 8 when a group of soldiers from another country came and murdered his parents, then targeted him and his sister. He was already bleeding heavily but he saw them about to hurt his sister so, with a punch of adrenaline, he lunged between the blade and his sister and thus had his arm cut off completely. He felt no pain due to the adrenaline, but then spent a week or two in the hospital recovering. He screamed quite a bit when he realized what had happened. He was later given a weak prosthetic arm with working fingers to be able to work in the city but was fired because the hand couldn’t properly grip things, so he spent most of his time reading about airships and piloting them. At the age of 16, he was given a golden prosthetic arm with working parts that made the fingers move so well and fluidly that it was a blessing; he put the arm to good use and cleaned it every night to keep it in good shape. He experienced ghost pains in his arm for the longest time which he thought were fixed with a few sips of alcohol in a secret carafe, and later he joins the army to protect his friends and family from outside forces.

2. Amelia Porter, 16, cishet female | Sister to Victor, Amelia is a young woman who loves fashion and sewing and creates her own clothes by thrifting old clothes. She works primarily with a large fashion company and models their clothes, most notably corsets and stockings. She rarely show much skin other than her arms, chest (cleavage) and legs (no higher than mid-thigh), and she is very child-friendly and polite to everyone she meets. While her brother is the dark, brooding type, she sees the good in everyone and everything and is very fascinated by the different races and cultures that mix in her home city. She is very small and petite, and although she remembers vividly her brother protecting her from soldiers, she refuses to let him keep a close eye on her, reassuring him that she’s a grown woman who doesn’t need a man to tell her what to do. She’s very independent and mature for her age, but prefers to act like a Disney princess. Like her brother, she can say some sort of racist things without realizing it but apologizes for being insensitive and wants to better herself and respect those she’s wronged. She really enjoys pastel and pink and “girly” things and is most always wearing a large skirt with a high bustle and corset with her hair in pigtails, braids or a bun.

3. Kit and Kat Enrora, 18, cishet male/female | Twin siblings who hail from a foreign land that moved to the main city in the sky to open a bakery under their family’s name of Enrora. They traveled by airship to arrive in the city only to face poverty at the prospect of being in a new land, and soon worked their way up to be able to open a bakery and sell their sweets. They are elves with long ears and markings to signify which lands they come from, and hold fast to the lore and legends of their hometown. They are skilled with herbs and incorporate them into their sweets to bring blessings upon those who purchase them. The female elf - Kit - embraces her elf heritage and dresses in garb from her hometown - primarily sheer skirts, soft-colored tops and gold jewelry to compliment her tanned skin and emerald green eyes. Her brother, Kat, has decided to build a new life for himself in the city and wears the garb of those that live there, which consists of slacks, spats and button-down shirts with vests. Despite their success so far in the city, they are looked down upon by most humans for being a different race and people believe they have an ulterior motive because of the way their menu is written in their native language and the language of the humans (similar to how white people are immediately suspicious of people wearing hijabs). The airship soldier, Victor, walks in one day and quickly falls for Kit based on her looks but is rude to her because of her elf heritage. Kit soon realizes he’s a dick and stands up for herself and her brother by kicking him out, and when he returns to apologize, she refuses to let him get away with a simple “I’m sorry” and gets him to face the truth that he’s an asshole.

4. Enoch Davies, 18, demisexual man| Enoch is a man of very few words, but very high intelligence. Born and raised on the city in the sky and living his life as a human, he is still underestimated due to his dark skin and stagnant silence. Enoch has had high marks in all his academic courses since elementary school, and yet people view him as little more than a “steam cleaner” because he repairs airships for the military and little else. He can be seen hanging around the bakery very often as he has a weak spot for the sweets sold their, and if properly asked, he will admit that he has a secret love of poetry; on rare occasions one can see shelves and shelves of journals in his office that he’s filled up over the course of a few months. He has dreads that reach the center of his back when let down, and wears them up in a bun while he’s working to keep them out of his face. Although his work for the army is a greatly appreciated task, he is still disregarded as a mere worker. However, when the army needs him most, he can easily calculate strategies and analyze data at lightning-fast speeds. When he speaks, his voice is gentle and soft and highly inquisitive.

5. Ewan Gilian, 20, poly agender person | A werewolf who’s spent most of his life collecting peculiar items, Ewan is a travelling merchant who brings his wares to far-off countries for a great price - and perhaps some juicy gossip as well. For the right price, Ewan will tell you how the people far away dance till the sun comes up, or how Miss Augustine down the road frequents the bar a little too often before she has to teach classes. Ewan also has a way with words, which has gotten him out of a few situations regarding the police, capitalism and the royal guard. Every so often, however, Ewan’s signature merchant’s carpet won’t be found at the marketplace, and by that logic, it is safe to assume that he’s either sick as a dog (*cough cough*) or just simply out having a nice date night with his partner(s).

*this is only a very short list of who i have set up. there’s also faun people and fairies and much much more in terms of npcs and characters.

i also have a concept for a religious faction to divide the town - those who believe in the Goddess of Steam and those who believe in the Goddess of Science.

[caktoz]

Its them steampunk gays, a fast doodle of them at least

Jacob © @cynwrig

Alexander © me

[crashboxtime]

Some steampunky ink and pencil illustrations

[talesofthevoid-abandoned160417]

TO DMITRI

I know you’ve seen it too.  You forced your way there and now you suffer as I do.  You know what the truth feels like.  How its pins push at your scalp from the inside, how it swells in your joints and boils out of your mouth like hot thick tar. They have diagnosed me as a madman because that is what they think they see but I know, you must even know, they are blind.  They see nothing compared to the wonders we have gazed unto brother.

This was not the intent of my letter to you, I have lost myself.  I am writing to ameliorate your qualms in regards to my treatment here, though I must question why I am taking the trouble of writing to you at all, brother, as you’ve offered me no sign in the past that you care at all.  Of late they have shied away from their usual methods of curing my insanity in favor of grueling didactic lectures.  They make me purge and bleed to rid me of my sins.  They make me repeat back to them with monotonous repetition the same sentences for what surely must be days, but that is the worst I have endured in the last months.

Of course this cant erase the feeling of a metal pick being inserted through my eye socket and raking at the front of my brain like rabid claws, cutting and stirring.  I still know what it feels like to be administered liquids that make my body shudder and convulse, that make my mouth taste like metal, that make my lungs breathe moths.  

I can’t tell which option is worse, the torture or the moral sermons.  Both strip my consciousness from my mind until I’m standing in the dark corner watching myself from across the filth strewn room mindlessly regurgitating religious bull to a smiling nurse.  No one understands the true nature of this universe, I feel not even the gypsies understand the viscera of this worldly static or how the mallet of its cruelty taps up my spine and scrapes the bottom of my feet.

Brother if you love me send me Drafts. I can feel my body tremble, my legs move slower than I command them to.  I laugh I’m smiling I’m shaking I’m weeping why do my hands grip my neck as if they are not mine at all I tell them to stop but my thumbs dig in until my vision closes in.  Such brightness has graced my eyes but the darkness here scorches and I see the empty space dance.  I carve the shapes I see into my arms and my legs so that my skin can dance too.

Don’t understand me wrong Dmitri.  I could leave at any moment that pleases me, but there is something about the precarious physical balance this place provides.  I am in a limbo between control and hopelessness. This state is validity. It confirms the intangible truths that have ravished my mind.  It rivals the callous destruction of this reality.

To gaze upon the void is truly a gift, don’t you agree brother?

With love, Cain

[talesofthevoid-abandoned160417]

Journal of an Unknown Heretic

My mothers raised me firmly in the scrictures of the Keepers and under the way of the Higher Power.   I was raised a child of the religion as we all are in our fair City.  But I’ve seen evils, you know.  The Keepers, head of each District, where were they when my family’s bond contract ended?   I was eight years old when I joined that ragtag group of orphans… too many, there are too many… we would tear apart the flesh of dead horses on the roadside scavenging for bones to sell.   If we saw bones we really liked, bruised just the way we wanted or split sharp like a rapier, we would wear them.  As if we fooled anyone into thinking we had any riches to be boasting. 

The old man who ran the music shop drowned himself in so much [CLOCKWORK] three fortnights ago his aging heart burst from the overstimulation.  A sick irony it is to die a man of the art addicted to an elixir that makes him move too fast and hastily to pluck any strings, or hold a bow, to press any keys.

Those damned Drafts, the damned Keepers that bear them.   A gift given to them, for establishing The City as the world was falling apart.  The Drafts were entrusted to them as they had already borne the weight of our sins, they could carry this bottled wickedness for us; use these gifts to protect us all.  I will write this but the pen in my hand is heavy with hesitation.  I have seen evils.  I have seen evils.  With people now holding these gifts for themselves, as each months brings new ways to brew Drafts, what power do the Keepers hold over the people?

I can feel the ties that hold The City splitting, like untying a corset.  More and more people turn their back on the scriptures.  And I do not blame them.  They see the fear churning, fear of Higher Power.  Fear of the Keepers.  Fear of sin, fear of being caught, of being trampled in the streets, of disease, of the watch, fear of being ripped apart by witches for your bones…bones…bones.   The bones that forge the power that slinks through this place.  Power….  Doesn’t it all just come down to power?

I now myself hold [INDULGENCE] to my lips.  My writing suffers from shaking hands. I fear my speculations to be true.  I just want the truth, if this forsaken City falls apart then so be it, if all our lost souls are truly alone and pointless so be it.  I will not be a tool to these zealots, a mindless mannequin in these games of fear… fear. 

It feels like nothing else, [INDULGENCE].  By the bones around my neck, I am a sinner.