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weirdopponent · 11 months

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When she enlisted, Regan thought - she didn't know what she thought. She was there, when the Emperor took her seat. She was there, numb, tired, wondering what use a little girls' words would have for her, what she would gain from a war that wasn't hers. Regan's thought about it a lot since then. She has a list in her head of questions she would ask if she was the right person.

Regan was a butcher. The death throes of men are similar to those of pigs.

Generally speaking, war is boring. This is the first thing Regan learned. She isn't on the front lines, and she isn't a strategist. And if she was, she scarcely thinks that would change the fact. Rumors would have you believe Emperor Edelgard is a suspicious creature who scarcely trusts her own chair, let alone her generals. Regan would never know the battles for the war. And battles scarcely come her way. It's monotonous. It's empty.

Another thing she learned is that Faerghus is not as desolate as the nationalists would have you believe. About half of the propaganda she's seen so far tout it as a frozen wasteland rife with barbarians, that Adrestia can bring the finer things to its people, if they'd only come under her wing. The nearest town is wary of them. But Regan has more in common with the young man holding a chicken by its neck and a big knife in the other hand than she does with the child on the throne.

It is cold, though. It is terribly, terribly cold. The flowers that spring up here must be hardier than the feisty things they cultivate in Leicester, or the large bright flowers that unfurl only in the hot sun back home. Regan has a favorite - they are small blue flowers that grow in clusters. She doesn't see them in the forest, but the young man with the chicken coop has a sweetheart with a garden. They venture out into their homelands' cold spring with bare arms, and Regan wonders why.

She doesn't have a good reason for enlisting. If she'd been born richer, she would have been a painter. Her cheap paper curls under her cheap watercolors, and is covered in small blue flowers. If she trusts the words of a girl who is more likely a liar than an idealist, maybe her daughter will get to live like that. Regan sighs. She leans against a tree. Wishes she had a cigarette left.

She doesn't know why she is here, in an evergreen forest, in a hastily constructed waypoint. She sees only the trees. And -

Regan jolts, looks closer at the shadows, at how they choke out the new greenery, the stubborn snow. Jagged lines stretch out like a farmer's repurposed scythe, or

perhaps a wicked crown, leading to - to a hart. A stately young man with an unseasonal rack. Red as the flag. Regan's hand twitches, she wonders at her bow. But -

The hart leans back. It looks at her with sweet brown eyes. Regan remembers the first piglet she ever held, and the first man she ever killed. She hesitates. She always hesitates. She cannot help hesitating. It will be the death of her.

It is so quiet between the two of them, even the birds do not sing. In Enbarr, when Ionius' family was slaughtered, the city was shocked into vigil. The silence is like a mourning, until a branch snaps, and the hart is startled into flight. It bounds back into the rich green shadows, and Regan wonders - she wonders why the birds are silent.

She is facing the forest, so she doesn't see the danger. There is a clamor behind her, a shout and the sound of swords being drawn.

The beast is shrouded in furs, black and blue and white. Its hair is long and lank, and covers its face. There is - fuck, it's drenched in blood, the steel tip of a lance slick with it. The steel tip turns down, and is driven through Edmund's stomach. Edmund is 19. Regan only watches, frozen. A red hart faces a butcher.

She has an advantage, maybe. If the beast does not look for her, perhaps it will not see her. Regan's bow is sturdy, but her aim has never been the best, and the beast moves erratically - not unlike an injury, or something like an injury. If she could just get a better shot - Regan steps forward, right into a twig.

The… thing… it turns to face her. It snarls, its mouth levering open with some amount of difficulty. She cannot - Regan's never seen anything like it, skin so gray and sunken, so many stitches on someone still living, still shaped like a human. Such a fog in its mismatched eyes. She hesitates. She always hesitates. She cannot help hesitating. It raises an arm and throws its lance.

It hits.

#frankenstein au (wip)#wip #fire emblem three houses #feth #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #he only appears a little bit lol #since this parts mostly from a minor ocs perspective #lol when i was writing this i asked ren if regan should die or live and he said die and then got UPSET AT ME when i killed her!!!!!!!!#it was so silly. i was honestly kinda proud since i figured that meant i made her likable in the brief time you get to know her #i dont think the death n violence in this is so bad as to warrant an entire tag community or otherwise

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vickyshinoa12 · 2 years

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Fun Fact: Claude is the only one to marry and have a family with Victoria in two different timelines! Talk about a smooth talker getting what he wants!

#fire Emblem #fire emblem three houses #fe3h #feth #fire emblem warriors #fire emblem warriors three hopes #claude von reigen #Claude x oc #he’s got his morals straight y’all

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cinlat · 1 year

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OC Kiss Week: 2023

Thank you @dingoat for offering up Ahuska! I had the perfect mental picture of how this would happen immediately and it’s been killing me to keep it secret!

Kiss Type: Platonic Word Count: 766 Fandom: swtor

“What the fething hell are you doing here?”

Fynta winced at the Bothan’s sharp tone. She’d pushed Ahuska to swear a few times, but rarely upon greeting. Still, Fynta offered a lopsided grin. “I could say the same about you. Last I saw, you were shoveling tauntaun osik on Hoth.” She spread her arms to encompass the dessert at her back. “Tatooine is a long way from home.”

Ahuska snorted and turned her back on Fynta. “I’m not only a tauntaun caretaker. I specialize in a few breeds of husbandry.” Something rumbled behind the locked door Ahuska had caught Fynta trying to slice her way into. A chill raced along her spine. Ahuska must have sensed it because her snout pulled into a vicious smirk.

“So,” the Bothan prodded. “Your turn.”

“A job,” Fynta answered, though she was still staring at the locked door and trying to keep her imagination from running wild. Finally, Fynta looked at her not-quite friend. “I need to kill someone inside that palace.”

Ahuska’s features darkened, lip curling to display the tips of her canines. “Maybe I should have let you break into the cage. It would save the galaxy a lot of trouble.”

“Probably, but this guy deserves it.” Fynta retrieved her datapad to pull up the information on her mark. She didn’t always agree when Nox chose a target, but she’d been able to dig up enough on this one to know that he wouldn’t be missed. Fynta scrolled through the data and highlighted the bits that would be of interest to an animal lover like Ahuska. “Pretty sure he’s actually a bad guy.”

After a long stare, Ahuska snatched the datapad from Fynta’s hand. Her eyes narrowed at the screen, then widened when she reached the part about the underground womp rat fighting ring he ran out of the Hutt’s palace. It was by invitation only with a closed list. Fynta had failed for two weeks to get herself added, so she’d opted for an old-fashioned break-in. According to the blueprints she’d purchased from the sleazy Twi’lek in the market, that cage led to a secret tunnel.

Ahuska handed the device back to Fynta, then crossed her arms. “You’re here to kill an animal fighter? That seems a little below your pay grade.”

“It is.” Fynta had no idea why Nox wanted the man dead. Only that she was supposed to kill him. “He got on the wrong side of a Sith, but that helps, right?” She gestured with the datapad to remind Ahuska of what it held.

Another long bout of silence before Ahuska rolled her eyes. “Fine, but I’m not helping you. I’m helping them.” Fynta could live with that. She followed Ahuska to the cage and watched as the Bothan placed a hand on the scanner. “Stand back and don’t move.”

Fynta obeyed, and Ahuska swung open the door. Fynta barely restrained her bladder when a figure three meters tall loomed out of the shadows. Ahuska ignored the slobbery fangs and claws that could shred rock, speaking in soft tones while she patted the baby rancor on the chin. Finally, she glanced at Fynta. “You can come in now.”

“And yet, I don’t want to.” Fynta hadn’t moved from her spot, eyeing the darkness behind the baby and wondering where its parents were.

An amused Bothan was a funny sight. Ahuska offered what Fynta could only think of as a wolfish grin. “There’s a tunnel that leads into the lower levels of the palace in the back. It was the breeding pen, now it’s a nursery. You’ll have to climb once you reach the end.”

Caution momentarily forgotten, Fynta stepped into the cage. “You’re not setting me up?”

This time, Ahuska curled her lips in disgust. “Don’t be stupid. Just because I want to kill you doesn't mean I actually will. Besides, someone needs to help those poor creatures, and I don’t have access to that part of the palace.”

Fynta chuckled, closed the distance between them, and grabbed a started Ahuska by the snout. She planted a sloppy kiss on the side of the Bothan’s nose and danced away before the baby rancor could get agitated. “You’re the best, Fluffy.”

Fynta started towards the yawning darkness in the back of the cage at a run, mostly to avoid Ahuska’s retaliation.

“I hope you step in rancor osik,” the Bothan yelled after Fynta with a healthy amount of snarl in her voice. No doubt she’d suffer Ahuska’s wrath the next time she was within the Bothan’s reach. Until then, Fynta had a job to do.

#swtor #oc kiss week #sith fynta #mandalorian #sith assassin #in the literal sense #dingoat oc: ahuska #bothan #very much too good for fynta #XD

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twisted-wonderland-but-gayer · 2 years

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people are weird like hes literally lookin like sans undertale, 2000s creepypasta oc, adopt me emo,nagito komeada stan, he looks like he has a body pillow of kronya from feth

He's a little quirky

#idia slander #KRONYA WAS DONE DIRTY WHAT WAS THE POINT OF HER #not writing #not requests

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biologicalfandomhippo · 1 year

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Okay hang on I need to establish some OC ages because the timeline is not lining up right now. So the world ended 20 years ago at the start of the stories and everybody is as follows

Jamie: 25 (old enough to remember the before times but in a very hazy way)

Spider: 45 ish (an adult during the end but doesn't remember it because magic, presumed biological immortality but it doesn't come up much)

Spiders wife is about the same probably

Kiran: 33 (old enough to have distinct memories)

Chicago: 19 (named after the city his parents were from, born afterward but not by much)

Now here's the weird ones because these characters are not really human and were asleep for a few centuries:

Mech: 31 ish, ages at one year for every two (young adult before the sleeping)

Captain Caution: 22 (ages pretty normal, born 3 years before the sleeping)

Feth: 42 (ages normally, an adult at the sleeping)

The Green Guardian: appearance is about 30, but possibly ageless

Archive: completely unclear, behaves a bit like an old man?

Nameless: ? (old enough to be Jamie's parent, hard to tell)

Kath: 68 (aging pattern unclear, old enough to have been married for a while before the sleeping)

#there may be some angst about Mech aging slowly #but at the same time the apocalypse is so goddamn dangerous it's just kind of assumed that any of them could die at any point #including her #so there's not really that much angst about outliving people because of the aging thing

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distortedplatinum · 7 months

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FE OC Week - Day 2: Relationships

Not a fan of their faces but here we aaare, my brain is melting for this couple since 2019.

@fe-oc-week

#fe oc week #ksenia arnim #anaxagoras #jigos ocs #my art #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #fire emblem oc #fe3h #fire emblem three houses #feth #fire emblem

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the-fab-fox · 1 year

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Fellow Fire Emblem Fans,

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#fire emblem merch #fire emblem fanfic #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #fire emblem: three houses #fe3h #feth #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #edelgard von hresvelg #claude von riegan #fire emblem dimitri #fire emblem edelgard #fire emblem claude #fire emblem x reader #fe3h x reader #x reader fics #x reader #self insert #fire emblem oc

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umbylievable · 2 years

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OC Masterlist

Demons

Umbre Ishnabi - Demon Lord

Kehkna Ishnabi - King of Ishnabi

Yinde Ishnabi - Queen of Ishnabi

Michichi Ishnabi - Son of the Demon Lord

Ashe Ishnabi - Son of the Demon Lord

Meiyana Ishnabi - Daughter of the Demon Lord

Gaja Faebre - Wolf Tribal Leader

Cameron Lakeishi - Lead Diyande Kuum

Christien Trace - Exorcist

Astheron Torquen - King of Cats

Svallan Parciva - Queen of Whales

Hanbe Nyal - Anointed One of Serpents

Nyal Feth - Beloved of Hanbe

Rydanthium Overcourt - High Priestess of the Church of Yzzbet

Therin Thorkin - Lord of Bears

Mikka Daubbin - Lady of Birds

Lycanthe Lycabre - High Howler of Wolves

Morose Konkorda - Queen of Rats

Prier Ayundais - Vashullan Stag

Kith Auchokoven - Queen of Foxes

Manni Rae - Lady of Leporidae

Urdun Forre - Queen of Dragons

Arlethon Baudinia - Lord of Bats

Baeluun Nadinne - Governor of Elephants

Adi La Jonkil - Demon Lord’s Consort

Damien Damifyeno - Smuggler

Matthew Damifyeno - Smuggler

Hargrave Damifyeno - Smuggler

Orchid Damifyeno - Priestess of the Church of Yzzbet

Amnivelle Svellet - Deristian Lord’s Wife

Heil Da Marr - Actress, Activist

Evyrmir Fraun - Actor, Activist

Isze Abrenauven - Inventor

Tuyet (last name expunged)

Deristians

Briton D’Avershiya - Deristian Lord

La’Sol A’Lavonshi

Krey Thorne

Derek A’Dennia

Isaac L’Avershon

Charlotte L’Shaun

Scott L’Aubren

James L’Dasson

Jackson L’Dasson

Russell L’Jorne

Kendall L’Jorne

Olivia L’Rasson

Alejandro L’Mira

Joseph L’Revlin

William L’Shaun

Marisol L’Naunin

Gods

Alec

The Drist

Yzzbet

Manna

Luun

Brennae

Aifiehr

Miscellaneous

Joss Byzantan

Zweihander Austin

BJ Hudson

Jenny Shaffer

Bebe Reese

Ringo Byzantan

Reina Byzantan

Dwayne Austerlitz

Sabel Austerlitz

Gabriella Mason

Brooklyn Byzantan-Austin

Leila Byzantan-Hudson

Zion Byzantan-Austin

Anja Reyes

Theo Reese

Noah Shaffer

Mei White

Yuki White

Sierra Williams

Tiana Williams

Tiara Williams

Lollie Newsome

Misha

Dmitrii

Dragon Age Fancharacters

Xavaleinn

Dawn

Anthony

Rajiva

Peony

Kassaanda

Smith

Comedian

Commander

Alkata

Stairs Ashaad

Ajaaya

Badger

Cricket

Druffalo

Nugget

Herah

Yasmina

Kosti

Nazaari

Faith

Killer

Mica

Mona

Honey

Setup

Seven

Autumn

Demar

#flipping kitchens #sorry for stretching out your dashes but I need this to not be under a readmore

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keikaru · 2 years

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Crimson Skylark (OC & Sylvain) - FE3H

Blood matted her hair in unruly knots, but she peered through them to see a gauntleted hand outstretched, as if to pacify her into surrendering.

Reines von Norheim knew she served a king that fought a losing war against the Empire. To find salvation among a field of carnage was a fool’s dream. But the hand that reached out to her was the closest gesture to heaven she could find.

She dreamt of better days, of skies filled with fireflies and lanterns instead of war banners. For now, she chose life over annihilation.

Reines clasped onto Sylvain’s hand like a prayer.

She relinquished all fealty for survival. Dignity was no longer a concept to someone who walked the land as a husk of a person.

At the very least, she could chase the shadow of a skylark one last time if she fell in service to the Empire. To die a dog’s death here would have been the same in any other field.

But today, the din of death receded.

Sylvain gently nudged her arm across his shoulder. He helped her to her feet, not as a general taking a prisoner of war, but with the tenderness of a friend leaning against another.

Supported by him, she wobbled forward. It was then she realized the extent of her injuries. Left hand pierced by an arrow, right shoulder nicked by a javelin, clothes singed by Bolganone, and—ah. She forgot about the kaleidoscope of wounds underneath her armor.

Her head throbbed as she reached a trembling hand to her temple, but Sylvain held her wrist and shook his head, guiding her to his horse with slow steps.

“You’ll get blood on your face,” he explained quietly.

He lifted her up carefully and joined the saddle behind her. Once she settled between his arms, he held the reins and spurred his steed on. His horse neighed, low and mournful, as it trotted across the field ravaged with craters, corpses, and the tattered flags of the Holy Kingdom.

Reines remembered her own pegasus. Glossy black feathers now tinted red with carnage. She reminisced about racing across the blue skies with her partner, rather than being a general that led a brigade of dark fliers.

Before Sylvain arrived, she summoned the last of her strength and casted a light gust of Excalibur. She forced her pegasus to fly far, far into the paper gray clouds despite her steed’s cry. In her condition, she couldn’t manage another flight.

Let us meet again…in another life.

She averted her gaze when Sylvain’s horse passed by her fallen comrades. Grief pooled in her eyes as her heart lurched with soundless despair.

“Edelgard spared you,” Sylvain started absentmindedly, close to her ear, “because you said you believed in a society not governed by Crests, nobility, or a holy power. But a world based on merits, truths, and humanity.”

“But why did you spare me?” she asked numbly, turning back briefly so her orchid eyes caught a pair of bronze marks.

Sylvain’s voice barely rose to a crescendo of a whisper. “I’d be lonely if you died too.”

His expression grazed the depths of her soul and revealed an unfathomable melancholy. She returned her gaze to the front, more rattled by his stare than the injuries that adorned her body.

Again, he spurred his horse on. It waded through a bed of ivory petals, and she tasted the sweet fragrance of flowers on her lips.

Reines dropped her eyes and saw a line of crimson trickling down her fingers. A petal wilted when her blood beaded it. Its beauty haunted her; its ephemeral nature reminded her of the fragility of human life.

Graphite clouds billowed above while the sky wept a light film of mist. Reines’ mind operated at half capacity; her vision reduced the world to smudgy blocks of color.

Slowly, she tipped her head heavenward and blinked.

“Have I ever told you,” she murmured, feeling faint, “why I enjoy the rain?”

“Stay with me, Reines. Clerics are in Empire territory, so please,” he replied, his tone softened considerably, “please tell me why you love the rain.”

She felt herself slip forward. Eyes fluttered, a lapse in consciousness.

Sylvain yelped and immediately caught her in the crook of his elbow.

Cool armor touched her cheek as she opened her eyes again, unfocused. He held her close to his chest, face hovered above hers, and she couldn’t parse his expression. But the way he gripped at the reins betrayed his calm disposition.

Droplets touched her face.

The rain, she heard him prompt again, his voice nearly muted by a cacophony of thunder. Around them, a steady drizzle transformed into a downpour.

I admire it, she thought, as she felt herself being pressed against a tangible body, because what I lack, the sky rains a thousand heartbeats. To remind myself I am a person and not a weapon.

A soul. Not an automaton.

Slowly, the world around her dissolved into a pure darkness as thick as death’s cloak.

When Reines opened her eyes again, two thoughts surfaced. One, she betrayed the Holy Kingdom. She severed honor and chivalry and chose to cherish the life given to her—knighthood be damned.

Two, Sylvain’s face drifted to mind. While gods and devils wore the same faces, she believed the hand that pulled her to her feet was divinity personified.

Again, she blinked and absorbed her surroundings. Reines stared up at an olive tarp—inside a tent, perhaps. Outside, the fusillade of rain was relentless.

Her body protested as she sat up. The thin blanket fell away and pooled around her waist. Her eyes followed the bandages that trailed down her body and slipped under the covers. Despite her exhaustion, she recalled the battle from earlier.

After Arianrhod fell to the Empire, Rhea ordered her to defend the outskirts of Tailtean Plains while Dimitri fortified the Kingdom’s defenses for one last triumph. Despite being cognizant of her death march, she rallied her dark flier brigade. Escape was futile, but as she led her troops, she was comforted by the fact that if she died, she would die beside them.

But only she remained with their legacy.

She gritted her teeth. When the war ended, a proper vigil would be held for her sister in arms.

For now, Reines breathed deeply and looked at her hands.

She flexed her fingers, only her right hand moved. Slowly, she drew her hand in front of her. Thin, spiderweb like scars stretched across her palm and arm, a testament to her use of Thoron. The last vision her opponents saw were the brilliant, brutal pillars of light.

As if on cue, a bolt of thunder shattered the silence. Lightning illuminated a figure near her cot.

Eyes closed; Sylvain rested his head on folded arms. His body gently stirred while he slept. Long eyelashes casted feathery shadows across his cheeks while dark rings rested under his eyes. He appeared as pale as a phantom.

Her limbs throbbed as she reached for Sylvain’s face. Was he tangible or truly a ghost? Just then, eyes the color of a crackling hearth opened. Immediately, he became alert but slackened with relief.

“Hey there,” he breathed softly. “You sure took your time waking up.”

When she didn’t respond, he gestured for her left hand. Mechanically, she reached out. Sylvain murmured an incantation, and a white light illuminated the injury. A warm feeling coursed through her veins as the wound slowly mended itself.

“If I studied faith more, I could’ve fixed your hand better. I’m sorry I couldn’t prevent the scars.”

“It’s OK,” she murmured, startled by his kindness. “They are a testament to survival but…”

Reines remembered the bandages around her body. She pulled the blanket to her chest, uncertain of his gesture.

He released her hand and quickly spoke. “Oh. I asked a female cleric to change your bandages. I swear I didn’t—what’s wrong? Does it still hurt?”

“It’s bearable. It’s just—you act so friendly.” She paused and assessed how familiar he acted with her. Her hands curled into the sheets. “I’m a traitor to the Kingdom, yet you treat me so delicately. If Edelgard is using you, I have no information.”

They stared at each other as a turret of raindrops bombarded the tent. A beat of silence passed before he carded a hand through his hair and sighed.

“My kindness isn’t tepid.” He started quietly; expression replaced by a melancholic one. Sylvain leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs, hands clasped together. “Even when he fought, you seemed reluctant. Like you knew the Kingdom sent you to your deaths. That your brigade was expendable. But to me—you’re not.”

“Does that explain why,” she managed out hoarsely, throat parched as the Red Canyon, “you look like you’re about to cry?”

He offered a smile as faint as a flickering flame. Behind those eyes lurked another emotion.

“It’s because your expression,” he choked out, “says you don’t want to live anymore.”

Her chest tightened, and for a long, long moment, she didn’t respond.

“What will you do after the war ends?” His inquiry resembled a plea.

She studied the ground. “My parents died of old age. Even if I return, no one is waiting for me in Faerghus.”

“Then let’s go back together.”

She caught his gaze, perplexed by his declaration. “My parents were minor nobles, so I have nothing to offer.”

“Your company is all I desire. It scares me more leaving you alone.”

“There’s too much uncertainty even if I stayed.”

“Then for now,” he pleaded, “stay by my side. Rebuild House Gautier with me.”

Gauntleted fingers brushed against hers. He bowed his head, and carefully brought her right hand to his lips. “Once reconstruction is done, we can run through grassy plains that resemble the ocean. We can skim our fingers along seafoam and taste saltwater on our lips. So please…”

His eyes gleamed with solemnity as he clutched her hand in his like a vow.

“Let’s catch a skylark’s shadow together.”

Her left hand twisted into the blanket and trembled.

For five years, the world turned on its axis and collected sunlight to nourish the earth. But the light never reached her eyes. Every day she prayed to the goddess to make her eternity feel like a heartbeat, but her prayers were only met with silence. So why? Why did her vision blur now with warm tears, not by the rejection of divinity, but by a gentle hand that belonged to no gods except for man?

Her expression revealed it all. She wondered how Sylvain remembered her wishes from half a decade ago.

“How could I ever forget?” Sylvain mused softly. “Your eyes held such tender dreams.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she leaned toward Sylvain. “Thank you for remembering.”

He moved closer, pressed his forehead against hers, and grinned. Even if Fódlan didn’t find peace today, Reines found it within Sylvain’s reach. Within this pocket of calm, the azure skies she chased felt obtainable.

“How do you catch a shadow?” Her eyes glistened with emotion.

“You start with the bird,” Sylvain said, and he held her hands. “I finally caught you, my crimson skylark.”

(Master Post | A03 | Tip jar)

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