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skyminsworld · 8 days

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We are of Fire

Rhaenyra Targaryen x Oc Aelyx Targaryen

Rhaenyra Targaryen and her sister-wife Aelyx Targaryen stood on the windswept cliffs of Dragonstone, the ancestral seat of House Targaryen, where the great Valyrian lords had first settled after the Doom. The sky above was a tapestry of swirling gray clouds, reflecting the ancient magic that still lingered in the air, and the sea below roared its approval as waves crashed against the black stone of the island.

The ceremony was steeped in the traditions of Old Valyria, a tribute to their heritage and a reminder of the dragons’ might. Rhaenyra, with her silver-gold hair cascading down her back and her violet eyes shimmering with resolve, stood proud in a gown of red and white. Beside her, Aelyx, her sister-wife, matched her in a similar gown, their hands entwined in a bond stronger than the most unyielding Valyrian steel.

The ritual began at dusk, under the auspices of the Blood Moon, a celestial event said to bless the union of two souls destined for greatness. The High Valyrian words of the priestess echoed through the stillness, invoking the favor of the gods. "Jal Wun Azantys," she chanted, "by blood and fire."

Their dragons, Syrax and Vermithor, stood sentinel nearby, their eyes glowing like molten gold in the dim light. The presence of the dragons was vital, for they were not only mounts but symbols of the Targaryens' dominion and their unbreakable bond. As the ceremony progressed, the dragons roared in unison, sending chills down the spines of all present, a clear sign that the old gods were watching.

A sacred blade, forged in the fires of Dragonstone itself, was brought forth. Rhaenyra and Aelyx each pricked a finger, letting their blood mingle on the blade. "A binding of blood," the priestess intoned, "as it was in Valyria, so it shall be now." The blood was then mixed with fire, a small pyre lit by the dragonflame, representing the unity of their house and their shared destiny.

The final vows were taken in High Valyrian, their voices strong and unwavering despite the howling winds. "Nyke ēdrutas ao," Rhaenyra pledged, "I am yours." Aelyx responded, "Nyke ēdrutas ao," echoing the eternal promise. As the flames flared brighter, they clasped hands, their fingers stained with each other’s blood, and kissed, sealing their vows not only to each other but to the legacy they would forge together.

The feast that followed was a lavish affair, with roasted meats, exotic fruits, and the finest Dornish wines, a celebration worthy of their union. Songs of Old Valyria were sung, and the air was filled with laughter and the roar of dragons. In the great hall of Dragonstone, banners bearing the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen fluttered, illuminated by the flickering torchlight.

As the night drew on, Rhaenyra and Aelyx slipped away to the heights of Dragonstone, where they could be alone under the stars and moon up the sky. The future was uncertain, filled with both promise and peril, but in that moment, they were together, bound by ancient tradition and their indomitable will.

Thus, under the watchful eyes of their dragons and the ancient gods, Rhaenyra Targaryen and Aelyx Targaryen began their journey as sister-wives, their fates intertwined, their hearts aflame with the promise of the legacy they would create together.They knew what will come ,lots of hardship but they had each other

A promise of life ,once a dragon has it's treasure it will keep it to itself burning anyone who tries to steal what is rightfully theirs.

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thedragonlover95 · 9 months

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Ask My Characters! This is a new series where you get to meet and ask questions for characters I created, ether inspired from other series, or came from my own mind. Rules: 1. No heavy NSFW questions please 2. Stick with the world you wish to explore if ether you or your OC liked to explore 3. Fan shipping is fine as long as it isn't abusive 4. You can do Truth or Dare with any of the characters 5. You need support/cheering up, don't be shy 6. Have fun and remember that this is just for fun. Worlds: Rearth. Yoshster, DeathWing, Darien, Bluebrow, Sharp Claw, Kyzer, Shody, Black Horn, Dragoona Sonooka, Grusious the Sage, Titano Draco Wondaria. (Deities)Nightmera, Fridgeta, Flara, Oashai, Forzati, Nightmaria/Dusk Nightmaria, (Warriors)Feardra, Hunter, (Circus)Tricky Trickster, Spiritual/Spooky, Monochrome, Harlafeind, Feral Frost, Quickloons, (Eclipes Sisters) Moonshine, Starlight, BloodMoon, Harvley Moonfest,(Titans) Yume, Akumu, Umbra, Naturlain, Volcania, Cryshiverera, Kairane, Terraluxera, Lux Luraura Fantastic Fantasy Park. Samuel, Lylith, Checkers, Shylet Dazzle, Gordie, Sir Anthony, Silver Arrow, Patches PMD. (Soul Dew) Soul, Psych, Buzz, Heart, Zapss, Shade, Xion, Butterscotch.(Team Flare Blitz) Flare, Aqua, Peppermint, Troops.(Guild)Nightwing, Star, Noah, Edge, Henry. (Stripes)Zeke, Ivy, Savannah Night Dimension. Selph, King Magnum Maxilla, King Jewlious, Lunearus, Catress, Cheshire Wonderworld Theater. Windy Dragon, Thrashing Gator, Coloring Rooster, Scorching Charger, Stealth Shadow, Ghoul Striker, Drawfeild, Clawfurd Phantomile/Volk City. Aero, Scarlet, Arson, Midnight Mobius. Beatrice, Hexter, Demitri, Alexander, Erik, Sherry, Clair Tomb of Nazarik. Ruby the red dragon, Sadus the Incubus, Krush the Lizardman, Scrowl the Kobold Mascot Mayhem. Abby the Lizard Mystical Forest. Sweet Treat the Candy Dragon I hope you guys have fun, and don't worry about asking so many at once, do take your time.

#my ocs #Dragons #pokemon #klonoa #nights into dreams #nights journey of dreams #klonoa heroes #crossover #pokemon mystery dungeon #balan wonderworld

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red-riding-wood · 5 months

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Chapter 3

OC: Aleera

Fandom: Game of Thrones / ASOIAF

Summary: Former protector of the last Targaryens and bastard daughter of the Mad King Aerys, Aleera ventures to Westeros in search of the family she's never known, and finds herself swallowed by a world of cruelty, ambition and lies... She must leave behind her heart to survive, and, like her ancestors, forge her path through fire and blood. Madness and greatness, they say, are two sides of the same coin, and may the world hold its breath to witness how this coin lands.

Warnings: (for entire story) angst, graphic violence, gore, cursing, sexual assault, graphic sexual content, incest, torture... standard GoT stuff. I'm not holding back with this story so if you're not a fan of dark or disturbing content this is not for you. Also future Ramsay x OC and Petyr x OC and those two are their own warnings.

~ Combines content from Game of Thrones TV series and the ASOIAF books. Some canon changes are made to suit the story. ~

I had ridden ‘til my back ached and my thighs wobbled as I dismounted my steed; I had been sure to take the same one Illyrio had provided me, to give the Dothraki less of a reason to follow. But soon enough, I would be across the Narrow Sea, and they would not follow me onto ships, for they feared any water their horses couldn’t drink.

The mare snorted, dark nostrils flaring as she chewed at her bit, restless. A veneer of sweat collected on my fingers as I brushed them across her muscled neck, and yellow eyes flashed at me, wary and wild. I stared into them for a moment or two as I stroked her neck, and something in them that I couldn’t quite explain stirred all of my pain to the surface – the pain that I had been doing everything in my power to force down, to shield myself from. I swallowed a knot that formed, thick, in my throat.

Fingers of dusk light caught the bright of her coat, the dapples that shone almost iridescent across the palomino. The horse was beautiful, and she rode well, but I would have to part ways with her if I was going to cross the Narrow Sea.

Escaping the Dothraki horde hadn’t been as difficult as I’d thought; once their khaleesi had left the tent, silver hair standing out in the sea of dark, they were too enamoured to notice me slipping away to the horses.

It was the sea that would prove difficult. I would need to smuggle myself on board a ship before the next dawn, in case Viserys or Illyrio or the Dothraki came looking for me. No ships would depart this late; they would wait ‘til the morrow, to sail with the sun in the sky and the seas calm.

The dragon egg weighed heavy in my satchel as I led the mare down to the docks, winding through the markets of peddlers, shop owners, fishermen and hunters and seamstresses, still bustling with activity early into dusk. I stood out a sore sight, with the palomino and its yellow tasselled saddle, and my bruises and my torn red tunic.

Past the almost overwhelming aroma of spices and tonics, and the reek of sweat of the peasants and travelers, I veered to a small stable. The owner, or perhaps stable-hand, ceased his mucking when he caught sight of the palomino, and leaned on his pitchfork.

“I’m looking to sell this mare,” I told him, taking care to choose my words and instill my voice with confidence. I used the common tongue of the Seven Kingdoms; if he asked, I was travelling back to Westeros.

The man’s eyes scoured my appearance, and he asked, “Did she buck you?”

“I am unaccustomed to the unruly terrain of the Pentos outskirts,” I said. “I stumbled down a rocky hill. The mare is quite capable; she has never bucked nor spooked.”

He took another look at my bloody, bruised knees and scuffed face, and nodded. We bartered, back and forth, but briefly; the more I watched the sun’s forked fingers slim on the horizon, and the more shops I noticed closing for the night, my unease grew. I settled on the far low price of five golden honors, a common currency of the Free Cities.

With those coins, I had my wounds tended by a healer. She dribbled wine and salved honey on my cuts, and I refused milk of the poppy, a painkiller she sold for an exorbitant price. She asked how I came to bear these wounds, and I told her the same I had the stable owner.

At the seamstress, I traded my silver-mouthed scabbard to buy one of nothing but boiled leather, and a roughspun tunic of a muted, brown colour typical of peasants in Essos. She asked me what became of such a fine tunic I wore, and I once more told my story in as few words as possible. I allowed her to take it to repair and do with as she liked, but for its condition she offered no more than a mere shawl to protect my hair from the sun. I accepted, for I would use it to hide the unmistakable shade of crimson.

By the time I walked the winding street again, with the yarn of my tunic itching my bruised flesh, I was fifteen again, before Illyrio had welcomed me into his home. My stomach growled in hunger, and I kept a sharp eye for bread and cheeses I could thieve, and a sharper one for criminals that might emerge from any corner. Old habits did not go so willingly into the dark.

Only, for the first time in my life, I fought and survived not for the younger sister who awaited my return to be told a bedtime story, nor the older brother who I would’ve spoiled with a nicked finery in a desperate act to please, but for myself. For the first time in my life, I was well and truly alone.

Not for long, I assured myself. Soon, I would be in the loving arms of my true mother. And I kept telling myself this, until the scars burdened for my family didn’t sting so hot and the pendant round my neck didn’t burn so cold.

Pulled sharply from my reverie by the roar of a nearby crowd, I chastised myself. One moment and one moment alone not on my guard, and I could’ve been dead – or worse.

Thankfully, the commotion only seemed to be from a crowd of theatre goers, clustered around the final act of a play. One of the mummers wore a white, thinly spun wig that patched the balding of his forehead, and his eyes seemed to sink into his face from the weight of the crown atop his skull. He sat in a chair made of dyed wooden planks that jutted from the seat at every odd angle, lined in iron swords. Curious, I eased closer, weaving my way through the ring of peasants round the paying customers.

Another actor, clad in ridiculous wooden armour stained a garish gold and a white linen that had been fastened at his shoulders to resemble a cloak, addressed the crowd. In the background, others worked to run giant props of painted fire across the stage, settling behind two men whose jaws gaped in silent screams, their knees dropping to the floor.

I had glimpsed several plays depicting the Mad King before, but Viserys had always told me their characterisations were wildly distasteful, that witnessing one brought a stain to the Targaryen name.

The armoured man said procured a glint of silver from his pocket, and said, “Greatness and madness, you see, are two sides of the same coin.”

The crowd fell silent with a hush.

“Each time a Targaryen is born,” the false knight said, “the gods flip a coin and the world holds its breath to see how it will land.” Taking a dramatic pause, he then flipped the coin into the air, and arms tangled around me, greedy fingers reaching from fevered limbs for the silver. I squared my shoulders and took a step back, allowing them to converge around me but keeping my gaze fixed on the actors and their silly little play.

And when at last someone had snatched the coin from the ground, and everyone settled like hens after a wild dog had been let into their coop, the knight said, “The gods must have dropped the one for Aerys Targaryen.”

I looked again upon the wilting visage of the Mad King, milky eyes staring almost blankly at the burning men but chapped lips slightly parted and curved into a sick smile as his chest heaved a few silent laughs. I’d never met my father, but I couldn’t help but wonder, in that moment, what it would have been like to stand in that room, to hear the laughter of the king and the screams of men as the flesh melted from their bodies, to choke on the heat of the flame and the billows of smoke. Though he had existed long past the extinction of our last dragons, he had still ruled through fire and blood. The infamous words of our ancient house.

The knight drew his sword, stalking towards the king as he turned his back to his guard. The false blade was shoved between the arm and the side of the king, as the elder actor’s head flinched back, milky eyes going wide, shaking fingers curling inward as he collapsed to his knees. I recognised the knight now as Ser Jaime Lannister.

“Kingslayer!” Someone shouted with virulence at the stage, and the knight wore a gloating smile as he turned, blonde threads of his wig falling before his eyes as he turned to face the crowd.

A red fruit splattered across the gold of his armour, and he flinched, smile falling from his lips. Its juices leaked like blood down his breastplate. “Guards!” he called, voice having lost its bravado.

A few leather-clad sellswords emerged from the outskirts of the audience and dragged the seething man, kicking and yelling, repeating the word over and over at the man in gold. Something crawled beneath my flesh, and I began to remove myself from the event, butting shoulders with a couple of annoyed commoners.

I knew the rest of the story. I’d heard it a thousand times from Viserys, how the Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, had thrust his sword through my father’s back as the usurper and his men marched on the Red Keep and claimed the great city of King’s Landing for themselves. How they ended the greatest dynasty the world had ever seen.

His words were imprinted so firmly in my memory, it was almost as if I was back in the depths of the Free Cities, hearing the tale from the tongue of the man who’d once been my brother. I remembered every inflection of spite in his tone, how he loathed the Lannisters and the Baratheons and the Starks, how he thought himself above them all because of his birthright.

And to think, how I would’ve followed my unworthy king, across the Narrow Sea, and slain those who raised a sword to him, and lived and died for him and hoped that someday he would love me for everything I had given him.

“Viserys is no dragon,” my sister had said. And he was no king, either. And maybe, someday, my blade would cross with his, and if he were to drag me before his throne and make me bow, I would answer him with fire and blood.

My heart beat viciously in my chest, and a tear crossed the cheek of my burning flesh.

“At times… I fear you more than Drogo.”

My sister’s words came to me again, in my flash of wrath, echoing in my pounding skull, and in my hollow chest threads of darkness sprouted from the shattered remnants of my heart and seemed to strangle me from the inside out. Black, they were, black as the pitch of the eyes that landed on me from across the square from a woman in red robes.

A priestess of the Lord of Light had stopped to let her gaze linger on me, pierce through me, as if she see the black tendrils around my heart, as if she could feel the fire roaring to life in my fractured soul. The dragon’s egg in my satchel weighed heavy against my shoulder, and my amulet still burned wretchedly cold against my flesh.

I blinked, eyes caught in hers, devoured by the pitch black that seemed to reach so curiously for me, before pulling my shawl tighter round my red hair and continuing downward, towards the docks.

The scent of the ocean grew stronger, the rot of seaweed left on the beach in the harsh sun that died now, slowly, along the rolling waves of the horizon, and the salt and brine that clung to the cloths of the fishmongers crinkling my nose as they brought in their last catch of the day. Kegs of ale, fish and fruit were hauled across the wooden docks, to and from the ships.

I had barely set foot on the first board when something caught the corner of my eye, the dark robes of four men who carried no trap or net nor barrel, who covered their faces but on the hilts of their swords could not disguise the unmistakable glint of Lannister gold.

My heart froze in my chest. And I paused, my fingertips running along the boiled leather of my scabbard.

There was only one reason the Lannisters would be so far from home, that in favour of muted robes they would not wear their cloaks of red and gold so proudly.

And though I loathed Viserys for what he had done to me, and though my heart still splintered from my sister’s betrayal, I could not find it within myself to make peace with the images of their blood on the assassins’ blades, of their lifeless corpses keeling over like Aerys had.

Though I had fought their battles all my life, though a smarter woman would’ve turned her head the other way, I found myself drawing my blade for my unworthy king and his perfect queen one last time.

NEXT CHAPTER

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#game of thrones fic #a song of ice and fire #game of thrones #asoiaf #fanfic #asoiaf fic #my writing #fanfiction #a song of ice and fire fic #got #got fic #series

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dienette-666 · 9 months

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[GUTS SPILLING OUT] - Unit S.L.E.D.G.E Leon S Kennedy x OC

Pairing: Leon S Kennedy x OC Tags: cheeky, flirting, sexual tension, building of a relationship, strangers to lovers, injuries, mental health, past trauma, TW: graphic description of wounds, overcoming trauma, emotional bond, Summary: A sarcastic and even more so traumatized BSAA Officer found her peace of mind in the lucious green of Woodkirk's forests, where BSAA authorities had "kindly" established the rehabilitation and training camp "ReTra" vor all soldiers too messed up and broken down to be immediately sent back into yet another suicide mission for the greater good. However, a slash to her guts later along with a marathon to run for her life and a missed swoosh to the head of a mysterious blonde with her coat rack, the brunette found herself acquainted with Leon S Kennedy himself.

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PART ONE - Guts spilling out

The dawn of this very Sunday - it was April - had announced itself mightily, by silencing the chirping birds and striking the pale, blue sky with its suffocating clouds of an ashy grey color. Even the moon had been greedy with its glow – merely scattering weak beams of light upon the busy highways and rural areas.

In the pulsating darkness of that night, swollen puddles marked the sodden gravel paths, cold drizzle tickled the calm surfaces of nearby waters and the whistling wind lulled even the most reluctant visitor to the "ReTra camp" in Woodkirk to sleep.

The sun hadn’t even set properly, as its golden rays were harshly swallowed by dense towers of clouds and the first droplets of rain had started falling, right when General Brooks was busy locking the entrance to the camp with two thick chains and called in the last soldier, who hadn't stopped running his legs sore since afternoon.

While ReTra therefore proceeded according to its daily protocol, everyone stationed there knew how to behave and peacefully settled into their cabins as dusk fell, rushing tires screeched wildly across the asphalt of the adjacent highway, hurling themselves through the sticky mud of nearby dirt roads and finally, coming to a silent halt at the edge of the Woodkirk forest – smoking with frictional heat.

Between its untouched treetops and massive rocks, no roaring truck and no agile bike could fit, but only the brunette with her body's exhaling strength.

The dripping wet leaves of shrubs along her path clung to the tattered sleeve of her dark green plaid button up, while the cold rain settled around her shoulders like a stinging breeze, drawing an icy chill into her skin and causing her muscles to stiffen.

The hem of her flared jeans soaked up the muddy water, that she flung up the narrow gravel path with each disoriented step.

She was not a prepared hiker, a secret agent in a tight black outfit, nor a brainless teenager, seeking adrenaline in the shadows of the night.

For if she were a hiker, she'd be lugging a heavy backpack, lacing sturdy trekking shoes with a rough profile around her feet, and throwing on tactical pants with a cheeky camouflage print, instead of hurrying around knee-high grass in nothing but a plaid shirt and way too fancy bell-bottoms, tearing her elbows on the rough bark of ancient trees.

The panicked brunette seemed out of place and completely ill-fitted in the overgrown wilderness that surrounded her like a pitch-black cave.

The only thing that even remotely aired her true purpose, was a leather weapon holster that strapped tightly around her thigh, but was yelpingly empty.

However, her determined steps, the straight path she steadily took and the committed glance she cast, before turning in yet another direction, revealed that she couldn't have been lost after all.

Calculated yet staggering weakly, she turned left when she had to and held her course until a right fork called out to her.

The flat heel of her neat Chucks sank deep into the dirt and rose from the slippery ground again, this time stained by mud, while her hurried steps began to lose their span and pace.

Each breath squeezed her chest tightly, only to puff it up widely again in the next moment - forcing the forest's moist air into her lungs.

Her calves began to toughen like over-chewed gum and the white tank top under her button-up became so wet, that she gradually grew unable to distinguish the rain from her bleeding wound.

It was an oozing wound, her brutally torn skin in the shape of three barbaric claw marks and the fleshy red color, which melted into the fibers of her simple white top.

With every of her snorting breaths and each time the muscles of her abdomen spasmed into a cramp, its ribbed fabric got stuck in the throbbing gash and plucked at it to the brunette's suffering.

The wide cuts stamped themselves into the cloth of her white tank top, yet gradually washed away with the pattering rain.

So, the top wrapped itself tighter and tighter around her shaken ribs, whereas the browned blood slowly soaked itself up to her bra and exposed the paleness of her cold skin underneath.

Eventually there came a point, when she no longer knew to make out whether the wetness around the waistband of her pants came from the insatiable rain, or if it was the gore pouring out of her own guts.

Therewith came black dots flickering in her vision - a shallow drift from consciousness to unconsciousness - and yet the brunette kept tramping through the undergrowth, until the forest’s dense trees gradually thinned out and the pitch-black outline of the training camp appeared against the pale night sky.

Her temples were undercut with blood, her upper lip viciously torn on the right side, and the inside of her cheeks completely chewed up by the grinding bites, that the pain coaxed out of her.

With the brunette’s lips trembling as if she was freezing terribly and her left arm wrapped around her crunching ribs, she ducked under the wetly dripping chains of the entrance with the last strength of her numb legs - already plotting out the way to her cabin in her fogged-up mind. The edge of her delicate shoe tore gravel along, whilst her weight stirred up the swollen ground under her soles into narrow streaks and left irrevocable traces of her presence. And yet, she met her silently planned route to the meter.

Thus, however, the moment of unbarring pain announced itself, where the overflowing aches of her torn skin began to mimic the beating of her very heart and the searing burning became more overwhelming, than the brunette could have ever been able to endure.

The nipping of her teeth into the sore flesh of her cheek, the embattled grip of her pointed fingernails into the sides of her torso, and the harsh growl that escaped her throat like a bestial snarl, were nowhere near enough to express the pain and terrified panic within her.

Although the seriously wounded brunette did not want to arouse any commotion, let alone wake any of her sleeping comrades, her unbearable suffering chased any of those rational thoughts out of her mind a unbarring pain and replaced her initial cautiousness with an animalistic instinct of survival.

The staggered sleeping cabins were built across a large courtyard, that was meant for the locally stationed residents' morning runs, whereas the panting brunette hardly even arrived at the corner of the guard house in the entrance area of the ReTra camp.

Eventually, her knees blocked from advancing, begging for a break, right as they let out a rusty crack and inevitably forced the brunette to halt and clamp her red-stained fingers around a rusty rain pipe for a brief moment.

The stained metal tube vibrated under her fingertips, as masses of water washed through, giving her a new sensation to focus on.

However, it would never be cold or rushing enough, to quench the infinitely deep ache clawing at her waist.

Losing her balance on one of her heels, the brunette therefore grasped the rippling pipe all the tighter and ultimately couldn't take it anymore.

Each of her vertebrae curled into a quivering hollowed back, while she pitifully reached her right arm to the ground, trembling bitterly, until finally a thundering scream tore itself from her throat, which she had tried to suppress for so long.

It made her lips twitch and her cheeks tremble - a frothy thread of saliva dripping from her split lips as she contorted her face for a moment, to unravel the true despair inside, leaving her torso to hang down inevitably exhausted.

The pain-distorted scream, that got louder as her suffering reached a new high, echoed across each pebble amongst the soaked dirt, moving every little puddle, and yet the courtyard remained silently still.

Before her arrival, the brunette had managed not to sob and to even forget the wound on her stomach, due to the ferally pumping adrenaline in her body.

But now, as she already saw the safety of her little cabin from a reachable distance and knew to soon have reached her destination, she was given no other choice, than to be caught by the sheer horror that marked her abdomen.

Thus, the intolerable rumbling in her guts continued to plague her, but the brunette finally gave herself a firm jerk away from the downpipe, stumbling for a few steps at first, but then compulsively catching herself and fighting against every throb of her wounds.

The purposeful brunette, who had previously turned nimbly around every tree and ducked just when she had to, turned into a disoriented woman who, from one blink of an eye to the next, was suddenly no longer certain which cabin was really hers.

Her memory deceived her treacherously, as she first tried the small key to her room on the iron lock of one of the six doors and tried to hit the keyhole with her dazed, numb fingers.

Followingly, the grooves of her silver key struck the rusty lock unsuccessfully at first, right before the brunette ended up jiggling at it in frustration.

The old wooden door wobbled on its hinges, but would not open at any price. And that was simply, because it was the wrong one.

With great effort, she spluttered in confusion, shimmying herself to the knob of the adjacent door and crashed into it uncontrollably, as her trembling fingers tried to thread the key inside once more.

This time its indentations fit like a glove and so the dizzy brunette turned the key a few times to her right, before immediately pushing the door open.

#leon kennedy #resident evil 4 remake #resident evil 4 #resident evil #leon s kennedy #bloodbath #cw: gore #fanfiction #fanfic #fluff #female reader #oc

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sargauths · 10 months

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oc asks: character design edition

(asks are from this post!)

FACE & FEATURES

glance: At first glance, what stands out most about your OC's appearance? What's their distinguishing feature?

For most people it's definitely the scales, but for lizardfolk specifically it's their colors. Blackscale lizardfolk are widely believed to be descended from black dragons, while Poison Dusk lizardfolk have the unique ability to shift the colors of their scales to either blend in with their environment or stand out, attracting others to them (or drive rivals off) with vivid displays. Because Bash can't shift the color of his scales, he's essentially peacocking all the time.

face: Describe your OC's face. What's their smile like? Are their orbs cerulean? What would someone notice first when looking at them?

Bashmuz has a broad and short snout, rounded at the edges in contrast to his parents' longer and pointier faces and streaked with black scales. This, combined with his hefty jowls, gives him a relatively soft (by lizardfolk standards) looking face, though his general disposition does a lot to undo that first impression.

He's not exactly known for the warmest of smiles since he has no lips to shape them with, so typically he just flashes his teeth in a stiff grimace - the more the merrier, unless he's hissing at you.

His eyes are probably one of the first things people notice - they're an unusually bright, sickly green that almost looks like they're bubbling at certain angles, with black sclera and slit-like pupils. His resting face is so flat and laser-focused that people tend to feel like they're being pinned under a layer of glass if they're not used to it.

Second thing people tend to notice is his tongue - dark blue, forked, and frequently tasting the air (or words?) as people speak.

stature: What's your OC's body type? How tall are they? Do they wear clothing to accentuate their look or do they try to mask it?

I looked to tegus, iguanas, and monitor lizards when designing his body type: short, thick limbs, stubby fingers with long claws, long rectangular torso and a broad, chunky tail.

He's much, much shorter than the average Blackscale lizardfolk, and a great deal taller than the average Poison Dusk, it still ends up putting him a full foot shorter than the average lizardfolk at 5' flat.

motion: How does your OC move? How does their clothing help or hinder their range of motion? Are they flexible, coordinated, clumsy?

His movement is far more stiff on land compared to water, though in general he tends to move slowly if there's no sense of urgency (or danger) nipping at his heels. His claws can often be unwieldy when it comes to using smaller tools, but years of practicing medicine on himself and Dim have otherwise given him a preternaturally steady hand, and whatever he lacks in flexibility* he makes up for in decisive lunges when hunting. *His tongue is a different story.

stillness: How does your OC act while still? Are they fidgety? Do they have any common gestures or tics? Does their clothing affect how they hold themselves while at rest?

Bash is definitely a lot more fidgety when he's in Waterdeep - or in any place where the Dragon's Wards are prickling underneath his skin. One of his most common surface tics is scratching; the intensity of it and location are a pretty reliable barometer for how much discomfort he's feeling, with the elbows and forearms getting the worst of it.

There is, of course, the classic tongue flick, meant to measure and taste the truth in someone's words, the flaring of the ear fins when startled by sight or sound, and the asynchronous blink of his eyes as he stares at someone. The ear fin is the only intentional threat display of the three, though all of them tend to leave most strangers mild to moderately discomfited.

Cheeks are for digesting information and/or feelings, puffing them out to make room for them and tapping at them with his claw to help speed up the process.

The tail tapping is an instinctive movement he makes when chasing after a lead or planning an angle of attack; the vibrations on the ground are thought to attract glowworms and other prey to the surface, and it's also something he's picked up from his dearly detested (and very dead) landlord.

In general, he tries to avoid excessive movement that might strain at already worn seams in his clothing; the tics he does have are limited in motion and range, and often done slowly.

canvas: Does your OC have any scars, piercings, tattoos, or other markings? Do they display or cover them up at all?

None yet, though now that the gang has a little bit more spending money Bash is definitely going to get some piercings for cool sensory/pain/aesthetic reasons and, if he's able to find the right person for it, etch some magical runes on his scales for similar reasons + spice up his life and get his hands on some magic that isn't from Semuanya for once.

CUT & CLOTHES

night: What does your OC wear to sleep? Do they have a favorite pair of PJs, or are they more the birthday suit type?

Unfortunately for everyone Bashmuz is a pussy out kind of lizard, but he does make up for this by burrowing himself in as many layers of blankets, clothing, and miscellaneous detritus he's accumulated from adventuring as possible.

day: What does your OC wear on a normal day? Why do they default to those clothes? Do they wear similar things, or do they change it up?

On a normal day Bashmuz wears as little as he can get away with, which is usually just his scratchy pants made of a 60/40 blend of sackcloth and patches, and a coarse. Until he started adventuring with the Dreamers, clothes were a frivolous expense in his eyes when the Sargauth had enough bodies floating downstream for him to fish up whatever he needed. He's very much a creature of habit and sticks to clothes and textures that are familiar to him, so he'd rather patch what he has to the last fraying thread than try something new.

formal: What's your OC's formal look? Do they like dressing up? Do they have different looks for different occasions?

Whatever Cressida or the more fashionable Dreamers put in front of him. Until very recently Bashmuz didn't see the point in dressing up - and though Mina has convinced him there's at least some benefits to making an effort, he'll only do so if he thinks it's "necessary" and/or if he'll otherwise get turned away at the door.

informal: What's your OC's lazy-day look? How do they like to dress when they're winding down?

Honestly Bash doesn't really have discrete categories for clothing like this; he either wears his clothes or he doesn't. And for the sake of the Dreamers, he's better left keeping them on.

outerwear: What's your OC's outerwear situation? Jacket, sweater, cloak? What sort of weather do they deal with most and how do they protect themselves?

Early on in Bashmuz's adventures he salvaged a handmade cloak from the sewers, lovingly crafted by Malik's grandmother, and right now it's the closest thing he has to outerwear. Skullport has a pretty consistent climate with humid air, and while the lower levels run a bit colder, the Guts and Garters typically had enough warm bodies to help him get through the winter months.

Going to Luskan and other places with extreme cold or dry air will definitely be a challenge for him, and he'll have to get himself something more durable and more suited for inclement weather than the shitcloak.

footwear: What does your OC wear on their feet?

Nothing! Bashmuz has never lived or walked anywhere that his scales couldn't handle, though as the party moves on to colder places like Luskan he's going to have to figure out how boots work.

road: What does your OC wear while traveling? Do they have high-quality equipment, or are they making do? What does their gear look like?

Travel gear is currently not different from his day gear, though he's definitely going to get himself more durable/travel friendly clothes before their next big adventure.

armor: What kind of armor does your OC wear? Is it well kept? Bonus: where does it come from? Is there a story behind it?

His scales are his armor! And he'd prefer to keep it that way - armor is cumbersome and slows him down.

arms: Does your OC have any weapons? What weapons do they carry, and how do they wear them when they're not fighting?

It used to be just teeth and magic that carried Bashmuz through earlier battles, though now he has a mace to help him hit things without getting ichor gunk in his mouth. When he's not fighting he just loops it in his belt, ready to pick it up again whenever he needs to.

roots: Is your OC's look inspired by any specific style of clothing or fashion trend? What are the roots and/or inspiration for their look?

Bashmuz's looks are heavily influenced by crustpunk and leatherdyke subcultures, adapted and filtered through a setting and era appropriate lens with some bone jewelry as a nod to his lizardfolk roots and upbringing. I very much wanted him to look like someone who hasn't spent a copper on his clothing and either scavenged or made everything by hand in season 1 of the campaign.

Though old habits die hard, I'm excited to see his look grow and evolve in season 2 and beyond as he gets a bit of money to invest in gear more specifically tailored to his looks and tastes.

texture: Does your OC favor any specific kinds of cloth or textures? Is there anything they can't wear or don't like? What sort of fabrics do they prefer?

Bashmuz actually has a preference for coarse textures like hemp or sackcloth; especially in Waterdeep where the Dragon's Ward is inflicting constant sensory hell, wearing rough fabrics helps keep him grounded. This doesn't mean he'll turn up his nose at smooth fabrics, though - leather is another favorite of his, thick and weighty and a good heat insulator to help with thermoregulation.

While he's attracted to the finer fabrics in life, Bashmuz has never really been one to take good care of his clothes, so they often get shredded or quickly gunked up by the Sargauth or whatever ichor corrupted being showers its blood over the party.

wardrobe: How big is your character's wardrobe? Do they wear things threadbare, or can they afford new clothes often? Are they any good at mending and repairing their own clothing?

Pretty big all things considered, but mostly as a consequence to hoarding years' worth of threadbare junk and mending it down to the last fiber holding it all together. Even though he's able to afford newer and better clothes now, it'll take some convincing for him to part with his coin (though the threshold is a lot lower for a skilled and fashionable caster like Mina or Eminae.)

ACCESSORIES & ACCENTS

bling: What jewelry does your OC wear? Does it have any meaning?

Bashmuz has a handful of lizardfolk teeth strung around his neck, donated from his father's skull. There are a few characters etched on it in Draconic that suggest they were once enchanted with a minor Guidance spell, perhaps meant to aid in concentration or prayer, but the magic has long since dried up.

He also has a couple studded leather armbands after noticing that patrons at the Guts and Garters who wore leather often shared the same interests (biting) as him.

hair: How does your OC wear their hair? Does it have some kind of meaning?

Bashmuz is crestless and has no (feather) hair which means he's double bald, but it's the one bit of asceticism that he can get behind so he's not bothered by it.

makeup: Does your OC wear makeup? How often? What kind? Why do they wear makeup, and do they like it?

Very, very rarely - he's only ever worn it for ceremonial purposes and the association is too strong for him to consider wearing it for any other reasons.

favorite: Does your OC have a favorite article of clothing or accessory? What is it? What's the meaning behind it? Do they wear it all the time or do they wear it sparingly to keep it safe?

The shitcloak is currently his favorite article of clothing, and Bash wears it everywhere he goes. While he has more than enough money to get another cloak, it's one of the first fancy mage things he found and got for himself, so he's reluctant to let it go. It's a testament to his friendship with Dim that he was willing to offer it in exchange for help with a cure.

change: Has your OC ever drastically changed their appearance? Significant haircuts, big tattoos, complete wardrobe swap, etc? Why? How do they feel about the change?

Complete wardrobe swaps are avoided as often as Bashmuz can help it, but water damaged and moth eaten clothes looted off bodies don't have the longest shelf life. That said, he's been pretty consistent with his current outfit choices outside of formal events, though once the party moves to Luskan I'm sure he'll be absolutely thrilled (not) to have to find a whole new wardrobe to avoid getting hypothermia.

alternate: What would your OC's alternate universe look be? If they're a fantasy character, what's their modern look? If they're sci-fi, what's their fantasy look? What AU would you want to see your OC in, and how would they dress themself? Bonus: Prompt an AU!

Cybergoth. Club kid. Leatherdyke. Crustpunk. Mash it all in a blender and that's what modern Bash would look like. I think in a sci-fi setting if the tech was advanced enough he'd definitely try to make himself into a cyborg or some kind of AI consciousness because what better way to achieve immortality than through transhumanism?

#ask meme #about

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obsessivecelestial · 10 days

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It’s lazy, it’s messy, I hate perspective, I hate crossed arms, why tf are her eyelashes so funky? Idfk. Don’t ask me. Art is hard 🥰🥰

#hehe #I can’t draw perspective #how tf do people do it 🥰#TSaMS OC #OC’s #OC art #tsams #sams #my art 🩵#Sirius Star OC #Sirius Star #Dusk Flare #Dusk Flare OC #Dusk #hey google how do I learn perspective with ADHD and a lack of will to thrive?#inconsistent posts? pshhh #…#yeah

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darkstudios · 7 months

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New video out :3

#oc #flipaclip #youtube

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raysartsncrafts · 4 months

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Another cover I made for my projects on novelist. This mught just be the main point of the plot spoiled. Oops i guess

Also yes i inow there are no skulls, but there were skulls before! We removed them and are too lazy to create a new name for the project

#skull cats #we need a new name…#my art #art #cat #my ocs #digital art #digital illustration #digital drawing #dragon art #dragon oc #cartoon dragon #cartoon cat #cartoon #Dusk (character)#Scorch (character)#Kerill (character)#Flare (character)

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prettyswellaus · 1 year

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Originally I posted this on my art blog, but since I decided to just make her part of the Eddsworld Monster High AU instead of Monster High in general, I'm reposting her here.

Originally I was going to make Blaze a fire elemental, but that's already been done twice with Holt and Heath (not that's there's anything wrong with making same-species monsters) so I decided to make her a Phoenix, a species that's rare since there's only one character that's a phoenix (and a hybrid(?) no less), Flara Blaze. Anyways, onto the bio!

Bio, abilities, bonus notes, version without text and skullette, and skullette below!

Bio Parents A Phoenix Age 16 Killer Style I prefer coats and jackets, even if it’s really hot. Shorts are always my go-to pair of pants, I’m a fan of sneakers and boots, and I can’t go wrong with some fingerless gloves. I don't know what you'd call it, perhaps "causal but adventurous"? Freaky Flaw I get easily frustrated, whether it be too many people or things overwhelming me, something doesn’t go according to plan, or someone is giving me some unwanted sass, It’s easy to get me fired up, but hard to keep my cool. Pet I have this adorable cat named Felix, he’s still young, fiery (quite literally!) and feisty but he’ll cool off at some point. Favorite Activity I like to draw, listen to electronic music, and play video games, I especially like platformers and RPG games. But if we're talking about a more specific one, I love to fly! The feeling of freedom soaring through my heart and the touch of winds gracing my wings makes me feel so...alive! Pet Peeve When people give me lip for acting the way I do, It's none of your business if I'm being introverted, desperate, feisty, or sensitive sometimes! Did nobody tell you you can't control a fire? Favorite Subject Art, you can say that I’m the creative type. Film, Horror Literature, and History of the Undead are also pretty interesting. Least Favorite Subject Any classes that are really boring tend to get an slight ire out of me, But out of all of them...Swimming. Not only do I struggle with swimming, but the water doesn’t do my feathers any good. Favorite Color(s) Orange (and Black) Favorite Food(s)

Oh that's a toughie. But my current favorite is macaroni and cheese, especially if it’s homemade and a bit spicy. My favorite drink is lemonade in case you’re curious.

Friends Edd Goldberg Tom Ridgewood Matt Hargrove Tord Karlsen Holt Hyde Elle Eedee Robecca Steam Twyla Dusk Evans (OC)

Abilities

Pyrokinesis As a phoenix is made/born of fire, Blaze has power over fire, usually from her hands.

Flight Blaze is able to fly using the wings on her back.

Longevity Phoenixes can live for 500 years

Immortality Blaze is technically immortal, as she, like all phoenixes, cannot permanently die. See below for Reincarnation.

Ash Resurrection and Reincarnation When phoenixes die, they disintegrate into ashes. From which an egg (or for humanoids such as Blaze, a baby) will rise from them. However, when they reincarnate, they have no memory of their past life or identity.

Bonus Notes (More to possibly be added in the future)

Blazes wings and tail (and on rare occasions her entire body) will flare up if excited, angered, or lovestruck. The intensity of the flames depends on the intensity of the emotion

#monster high au #eddsworld aus #eddsworld au #eddsworld #eddsworld oc #ew oc

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rozetheeuwu · 11 months

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Ordell theme teams:

Nightclub theme teams for my boy Ordell.

Normally I avoid putting oc stuff in the main tag if canon characters/story beats aren't referenced in it but there are some references to some of the characters in there lol.

Aloha to the Alola:

Ashen Beach, singles

Primarina Nickname: Star (Torrent, Bold, Choice Specs, Surf, Moonblast, Psychic, Hidden Power)

Incineroar Nickname: Belt (Intimidate, Brave, Leftovers, Fake Out, Flare Blitz, Darkest Lariat, U-Turn)

Decidueye Nickname: Step (Shiny, Long Reach, Brave, Leftovers, Nature Power, Shadow Sneak, Sucker Punch, Leaf Blade)

Lycanroc (Dusk) Nickname: Rocker (Tough Claws, Adamant, Life Orb, Rock Slide, Brick Break, Crunch, Stomping Tantrum)

Alolan-Raichu Nickname: Pancake (Surge Surfer, Timid, Life Orb, Thunderbolt, Psychic, Calm Mind, Dazzling Gleam)

Dusk Mane Necrozma Nickname: Lightshow (Prism Armor, Jolly, Ultranecrozium Z, Sword Dance, Photon Geyser, Sunsteel Strike, Outrage)

Blast from the past:

Holy Field, doubles

Eevee Nickname: Pearl (Shiny, Anticipation, Timid, Eevium-Z, Last Resort, Baton Pass, Substitue, Stored Power)

Ribombee Nickname: Polaris (Shield Dust, Modest, Magical Seed, Pollen Puff, Dazzling Gleam, Nature Power)

Minior Nickname: Fallenstar (Shiny, Shields Down, Jolly, White herb, Shell Smash, Rock Slide, Acrobatics, Self Destruct)

Garchomp Nickname: Bark (Shiny, Rough Skin, Jolly, Leftovers, Dragon Claw, Earthquake, Stone Edge, Iron head)

Aegislash Nickname: Hero (Stance Change, Adamant, Leftovers, Iron Head, Sacred Sword, Shadow Sneak, Sword Dance)

Salamance Nickname: Skyspectre (Intimidate, Modest, Salamencite, Dragon Pulse. Hyper Voice, Heat Wave, Hidden Power Steel)

One Step At A Time 1:

New World Field, Singles

Delphox Nickname: Fluff (Shiny, Magician, Modest, Magical Seed, Mystical Fire, Psychic, Dazzling Gleam, Wish)

Chatot Nickname: Forgiveness (Keen Eye, Timid, Magical Seed, Boomburst, Heat Wave, Nasty Plot, Encore)

Walrein Nickname: Big Boy (Thick Fat, Modest, Leftovers, Rest, Sleep Talk, Toxic, Aurora Beam)

Umbreon Nickname: Brotherhood (Shiny, Synchronize, Impish, Leftovers, Wish Toxic, Throat Chop, Protect)

Absol Nickname: Dreamer (Pressure, Jolly, Absolite, Sucker Punch, Sword Dance, Mega Horn, Play Rough

Silvally Nickname: Redemption (RKS System, Quirky, Magical Seed, Multi Attack, Dark Pulse, Flash Cannon, Rest)

One Step At A Time 2:

Holy Field, singles:

Audino Nickname: Healer (Regenerator, Bold, Audinite, Dazzling Gleam, Hyper Voice, Wish, Flamethrower)

Sylveon Nickname: Gemstone (Pixilate, Bold, Magical Seed, Wish, Swift, Heal Bell, Psyshock)

Ditto Nickname: Funky (Importer, Quirky, Choice Scarf, Transform, Transform, Transform, Transform)

Garchomp Nickname: Bark (Shiny, Rough Skin, Jolly, Leftovers, Dragon Claw, Earthquake, Stone Edge, Iron head)

Toxicroak Nickname: Spike (Dry Skin, Jolly, Life Orb, Gunk Shot, Drain Punch, Sucker Punch, Swords Dance)

Arceus Nickname: Puppy (Multitype, Modest, Magical Seed, Judgement, Fire Blast, Earth Power, Recover)

New Game+:

Rainbow Field, Singles

Magmotar Nickname: FlameDra (Flame Body, Timid, Magical Seed, Flamethower, Solar Beam, Hidden Power (Ice), Thunderbolt)

Hawlucha Nickname: Halse (Mold Breaker, Adamant, Flying Gem, Acrobatics, High Jump Kick, Sword Dance, Poison Jab)

Yanmega Nickname: Raidra (Speed Boost, Modest, Magical Seed, Air Slash, Silver Wind, Hidden Power (Water), Protect)

Clefable Nickname: Pegasus (Shiny, Magic Guard, Quiet, Leftovers, Moon Blast, Hidden Power (Ground), Wish, Cosmic Power)

Jirachi Nickname: Nerferti (Shiny, Serene Grace, Jolly , Leftovers, Zen Headbutt, Iron Head, Rest, Sleep Talk)

Mimikyu Nickname: Magna (Disguise, Jolly, Mimikium-Z, Sword Dance, Shadow Sneak, Play Rough, Drain Punch)

Hi Hungry, I'm Dad:

Glitch Field, Singles

Tentacruel Nickname: Familiar (Clear Body, Bold, Black Sludge, Surf, Toxic, Toxic Spikes, Rapid Spin)

Ditto Nickname: Funky (Importer, , Quirky, Choice Scarf, Transform, Transform, Transform, Transform)

Garchomp Nickname: Bark (Shiny, Rough Skin, Rash, Leftovers, Dragon Claw, Earthquake, Stone Edge, Flamethrower)

Audino Nickname: Healer (Regenerator, Impish, Audinite, Last Resort, Wish)

Toxicroak Nickname: Spike (Dry Skin, Jolly, Life Orb, Gunk Shot, Drain Punch, Sucker Punch, Swords Dance)

Gardevoir Nickname: Stargaze (Shiny, Synthetic Seed, Stored Power, Focus Blast, Calm Mind, Wish)

References/trivias:

Aloha to the Alola:

Theme Name

Blast from the past:

Holy field in reference to his past in the Sanctum.

Eevee in reference to him owning an Eevee before fleeing to Alola.

Ribombee in reference to and honor of Taube.

Minior in reference of team Meteor.

Garchomp in reference to Solaris.

Aegislash in reference to Mirage Tower.

Salamance in reference to and honor Elena.

One Step At A Time 1:

One step at a time 1 involves all the characters of his past who he is rebuilding bridges with as well as Lin.

New World Field in reference to new beginnings.

Delphox in reference to Ace.

Chatot in reference to Taka.

Umbreon in reference to Zero.

Absol in reference to Luna

Walrein in reference to Blake

Silvally in reference to Lin.

One Step At A Time 2:

One step at a time 2 involves all the characters of his past who he is rebuilding bridges, but specifically the ones that have to do with hiss religious background and dealing with loss/the death of someone.

Holy field in reference to his past regarding religion.

Audino in reference to his father, Hiram.

Sylveon in reference to his twin, Divers.

Ditto in reference to his uncle, Elias.

Garchomp in reference to Solaris.

Toxicroak in reference to Corey.

Arceus in reference to his past with religion.

New Game+:

The name is a play on him restarting his adventure in Reborn who he had left behind and beginning anew. The team references the most important people he met in his journey. (Specifically those who helped shape his journey and those who he is very closest with)

Rainbow field because haha gay joke.

Magmotar in reference to his boyfriend, Cal.

Hawlucha in reference to his girlfriend, Alistasia.

Yanmega in reference to Shelly.

Clefable in reference to Noel.

Jirachi in reference to Anna.

Mimikyu in reference to Shade.

The names of the pokemon are a reference to this from my favorite media.

Hi Hungry, I'm Dad:

This team is a dad joke.

The Glitch Field is used because it's using the older gens stuff.

Tentacruel in reference to his adoptive father, Hal

Ditto in reference to his uncle, El.

Garchomp in reference to Solaris

Audino in reference to his father, Hiram

Toxicroak in reference to Corey.

Gardevoir in reference to Radomus.

#pink talks #ordell hazel #long post #bro this took so long lmfao #anyway #uwu #pokemon reborn

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