#I did this many oc asks in an afternoon just to flex on you specifically

[vonkarma2]

3 + 6 + 20 + 40 + 44? For oc asks

3. Have you ever adopted a character or gotten a character from someone else?

Not that I can think of I’m trying to think… I guess the closest would be making Meat City characters in a collaborative world, but I don’t think I’ve ever like made an oc together with someone else to my knowledge, + I definitely haven’t paid for an adopt or been gifted someone else’s character. I could be forgetting something but I don’t think so no :P it would be cool though maybe sometime in the future

6. Two OCs of yours that look alike despite not being related?

David and Tiago look somewhat similar for now, but I think I’m going to redesign David to make him stand out a bit more/convey his personality better. Rocio and her dad both look a bit like Shamash. Outside of that though I really try to contrast people’s looks so I don’t think many of them look that similar?? Maybe they do lol idrk

20. Do any of your OCs sing? If they sing, care to share more details (headcanon voice, what kind of songs they like etc)?

Saida: Originally, she wanted to play guitar, but she quit bc it was too difficult, + singing was ofc much easier so she decided to focus on that instead. She has been like actively studying for a while and she’s in the chorus of her school. She ofc likes punk rock/hard rock type music. She’s not like super talented or anything but she is pretty solid at least for her age, and she’s good at like not holding back and putting a lot of power in her vocals.

Melanie: She isn’t particularly good at singing whatsoever, but she does really like doing it for fun. She thinks it is incredibly embarrassing, however, so only does it when she’s alone. She likes a lot of genres of music, but she actually prefers pop + r&b style vocals over those of rock music.

Remy: In making pop music, he does have to sing sometimes, + his alien species has both like highly improved hearing and wider vocal range than humans, so he is considered really good. That being said, he doesn’t find it particularly enjoyable, he’s more of a dj/electronic musician, so he’ll like heavily modulate or like distort his vocals in some way to make them more interesting to him.

40. Any fond memories linked to your characters? Feel free to share!

Mostly talking abt them with people shout out to anyone who’s ever talked abt ocs with me even if it was only for a little bit I always love doing it. Staying up late to work on writing for them was also really fun, and ofc I’ve made some drawings I’ve liked of them that were a lot of fun. Artfight as well

44. Something you like about your OCs in general

I have to come up with another one rip 😔😔😔 I should have saved the masc women thing for this one. Has anyone actually read all of these to get that reference I feel like I’ve done 500 even though this is literally the fifth one. Ok anyway this is like a personal taste thing but I like how for the most part most of my ocs are generally nice people, like don’t get me wrong I love terrible evil mean characters in general and making them sometimes as well, but it’s nice to think abt these people who all want to help each other and would probably get along. Super super corny I know but I like to think about it nonetheless. Here are the biggest exceptions to this rule

Joanna

Rocio

Aya

Salem

Tora

Henry

This other girl whose name I haven’t come up with yet she’s the one who looks like this

if anyone who has read this far has an idea for what her name should be please comment with it lol

[higuchimon]

[fanfic] Fair Won Prize:  Chapter 1

It wasn’t much of a tavern, really. One room, a dozen or so tables scattered around, all of them battered and knife-scarred, and the chairs set before them not that much better. On one side a fireplace kept the room warm, or made a reasonably good attempt at such anyway. The chimney was in good enough condition that the smoke wended its way out of it instead of into the tavern itself.

Vector sniffed at the sight of it, lip curling. “There isn’t anywhere better?”

“Not around here,” Durbe replied, catching the eye of the tavern owner and gesturing him over. “And not that we could get to before that storm breaks.”

“Are you sure it’s going to be a storm?” Vector wanted to know. He wasn’t pouting by any means; this place just looked like trouble waiting to happen.

Vector had no problems with trouble. He just preferred to be the one starting it.

“Gilag is and that’s good enough for me,” Alit said, hands on his hips. “You wanna argue about that?”

Vector sniffed once again but subsided, for the most part. He followed the rest of the group over to the largest table, suitable for seven people only if they were close enough to one another.

Vector made a point to sit next to Mizael. He’d made a point of doing that everywhere they could for the last three months, since they’d formed their little band of adventurers. For one thing, Mizael was the absolutely prettiest of the seven of them, and Vector saw no reason to deny himself an attractive view.

Sitting here also provided him with the chance to remain hidden from most of the other people in the tavern, because they weren’t alone there. With Mizael in his sight and the various groups of thugs, mercenaries, and dimwits out of his sight, Vector thought spending the time of the storm here might be tolerable.

“What can I get for you fine folks?” The tavern owner asked once they’d settled in. “Gotta tell you, we probably don’t have what high-born folks like you are used to.”

Durbe offered a smile. “You might be surprised what we’re used to. But a good round of ale should do for a start.”

Mizael cleared his throat and Durbe chuckled. “I’m sorry. A round of ale for everyone else and if you have some sort of wine, my elven friend here would much prefer that.”

The tavern owner peered at Mizael, who peered right back, head held up high and with a light tilt to his head, asking without words if there were some kind of issue to his presence there.

“A genuine elf? We don’t get many of your – we haven’t seen too many elves around here in the longest time,” the tavern keeper declared. Vector did not like the sudden switch of words, nor did he like the way the keeper kept on staring. Granted, Mizael was attractive, but he was also Vector’s.

He just hadn’t gotten around yet to admitting it. But Vector had plans on that score.

Before the tavern keeper could scurry off, Gilag raised his hand for attention. “Could you bring me some water?” His hand dropped back down, petting Ponta, and the keeper’s gaze followed that way, blinking at the sight of the tanuki.

“O-of course, sir! I’ll be back right!”

He hurried out of sight, eyes still a little round in surprise. The tavern just had one room, but a curtain hung in between the majority of the room and where he presumably kept his stock of liquor. They could hear him moving around back there, pouring out ale, wine, and water.

“So you’re an elf.”

Vector turned back to see half a dozen grungy guys, who looked as if they at best had a nodding acquaintance with a toothbrush and a comb, but probably hadn’t bothered to see a tailor about mending their clothes in some time. Patches and stitched up tears were all done in a very slapdash, haphazard fashion. But to make up for that, every one of them stood a minimum of six feet tall, with muscles on top of muscles, and they all wore nearly identical sneers.

The one in the front, who’d spoken, had his eyes burning toward Mizael, who barely gave them so much as a look. Alit, however, grinned mischievously.

“You’re an elf, Mizael? Why didn’t you tell us?” He reached over to poke at the blond. “Do we really know you, then?”

Mizael rolled his eyes. “I would’ve thought the evidence would be obvious.”

The leader of the intruders glowered at them both. “I was talking to him. No one said you could interfere.”

“You were talking at him,” Ryouga said, his voice dangerously quiet. “I don’t think any of us are interested in a conversation with you.”

Mr. Muscles – as Vector mentally dubbed him, for lack of neither knowing nor caring what his actual name might be – glared at them all, rolling his tattered sleeves up to expose his arms. “I wasn’t talking to you, either!” He took a better look at Ryouga, then started to laugh. “What are you, some kind of a musician? Get out of here with that kind of junk.” He turned his gaze back toward the others. “Can any of you put up a decent fight? It gets boring around here when the weather gets bad.”

He sneered for a moment. “Well, any of you except the pretty elf and the musician.”

The looks exchanged were quicker than lightning and ended with Ryouga rising to his feet.

“Oh, no, I said not you!” Mr. Muscles laughed raucously. “I wouldn’t want to break your delicate hands!”

Ryouga sounded more annoyed than anything else. “If you want a fight, you’re going to get it with me.”

The whole bunch of toughs laughed even harder. Mr. Muscles shook his head and cracked his knuckles hard. “Well, if that’s the way you want it. Just don’t blame me when you can’t warble a tune or play an instrument anymore.”

Vector leaned forward, a gleam of mischief in his violet eyes. “Let’s make this more interesting. I’ll wager a silver that Ryouga puts you on your back in under three hits… and that you never lay so much as a finger on him.”

Mr. Muscles stared at Vector as if he’d never seen someone like him before. “You’ve gotta be joking! What, are you new?”

One of his buddies leaned forward as well. “I dunno, boss, I think we should take his money once you’re done.” A greedy smirk twisted his lips. “I say we take all of his money when you’re done.”

Vector smirked right back at him. I am going to kill you. “Let’s see how this fight comes out first.”

Mr. Muscles and Ryouga moved to the center of the room, Muscles’ minions moving the other tables and chairs out of the way to clear a space. Muscles flexed.

“Remember, all the pain you’re going to have is your own fault. Don’t blame me for it,” Muscles declared. “Got it?”

“Got it.” Ryouga looked more or less bored with the whole thing. Vector wondered where their ale was; it couldn’t take that long to pour out their drinks.

Then Muscles threw a fist at Ryouga, a hit that if it had connected would’ve probably hurt most people.

Ryouga stepped back and moved around, still looking as if this were the worst way to spend an afternoon he could think of, and not out of fear of being beaten up.

Muscles snarled at Ryouga’s near-effortless dodge, and the three or four that followed. “Stop running away! You’re not fighting!”

“All right, if you insist.” Ryouga shrugged before he powered one fist directly into Muscles’ chin, packed with every ounce of his strength behind it.

Muscles blinked. His eyes slowly rolled up to the back of his head and he fell over, not moving. One of his toughs dropped down next to him, hand to his throat. Vector approved of killing a leader while he was down. Perhaps this one showed a little sense.

Then the tough moved back. “He’s alive. He’s just out like a candle.”

Vector mentally sighed. It was so hard to find good assassins these days.

Then he smiled, looking at the rest of them. “I believe I won our wager. Hand over my money.” His eyes flicked from one to the other of them. “I think one silver from all of you will do.” And it would pay for their drinks, too, once the tavern keeper finally brought them out.

Two of the toughs dragged Mr. Muscles out of the tavern while the one who’d spoken up before now started to count out pieces of silver. Vector recounted them openly before he swept them into a neat stack.

“All right. The fun’s over, go away now.” He gave a little flick of one hand before he settled back into his dark cozy corner, quite satisfied with events so far.

The tavern keeper hurried over, carrying their drinks on a tray, and settled it down on the table in front of them. “Sorry for taking so long,” he apologized. “But I heard what was going on and I didn’t want to get in the middle of it and mess your drinks up.”

Ryouga shrugged, reaching for one of the mugs – which at leas looked clean – and tossing it back so fast Vector doubted that he even tasted it. “Sorry for any damages.”

The tavern keeper only shrugged. “Bejt and his group do that kind of thing whenever there’s new people in town. I’m used to it. Your drinks are on me tonight, and just tell me when you want to stop.” He turned toward Gilag, mouth open to ask something else, and froze.

Gilag set the bowl of water he’d been drinking from on their table, while Ponta peered up from where he held the mug of ale in his own paws. The tavern keeper blinked, rubbed his eyes, and then hurried out of sight, leaving them to their drinks.

“I don’t care how much money he could bring in if he’s a real bard,” Bejt growled, staring into the spotted mirror and trying to decide how much of what he saw was because of the low quality of the glass and how much was from that one hit that ridiculous musician landed on him. “I’m going to kill him and I’m going to have fun doing it.”

One of his assistants reached as if to pat him on the shoulder and got a death-glare sharp enough to cut paper from his efforts. He pulled his hand back and managed a quick smile. “Of course you will, boss. Doesn’t matter how good they are, once they finish drinking the good stuff, they’re not gonna be going anywhere we don’t want them to.”

Bejt grinned, showing a mouth that wasn’t nearly as full of teeth as someone without his lifetime of brawling would have. “That elf’s not going anywhere, not until I’m done with him. I’m going to have some fun and then when he’s nice and obedient, I know a goodplace to sell him. He’ll make us enough of a fortune to last for the next twenty years!”

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” One of his other assistants spoke up, a nervous twitch to one eye. This wasn’t surprising; Olan twitched about everything. “I mean, they’ve got horses. And one of them is a winged horse. And all that armor. And weapons.” He shuddered, ducking his head. “They look like they know how to use them.”

Bejt shrugged. “They wouldn’t be the first traveling mercs we’ve taken down. Won’t be the last, either.”

“I don’t think they’re just mercs. I mean, winged horse?” Olan shuddered again, staring up at his boss. “I think they’re heroes.”

“Yeah, right.” Bejt snorted. “The whole bunch of them don’t look like they’re together enough to kill a slug, let alone a dragon.” Heroes did things like that. At least they had in all the stories Bejt had ever heard. Killed dragons, rescued princesses from ravening monsters – or monsters from ravening princesses. He’d heard a lot of weird stories.

But that bunch? A musician, a pretty elf, what looked like a priestess, some short kid with maybe half of Bejt’s own muscles and too much of a sense of humor for Bejt’s tastes, someone in armor who might’ve been a down on his luck knight, some guy who had even more muscles than Bejt did but spent his time talking to some sort of fuzzy raccoon thing, and that idiot in the back who never let anyone get a good look at him.

That wasn’t what heroes were made out of it. Heroes had lots of good armor and didn’t stop in places like this, no matter what the weather looked like.

They might’ve thought pretending to be heroes would keep people off of them, but Bejt wasn’t most people. Once they had two or three rounds of the house special, they wouldn’t be awake enough to do anything at all.

That brought his thoughts right around to the pretty blond elf. Elves lived a very long time, he knew, and he couldn’t help but wonder what that elf had done in his life and how much he could be taught. Bejt looked forward to keeping him for at least a few years. He’d need to get properly trained before he could get sold, in order to make the most money, didn’t he? Bejt hadn’t ever trained someone before, but it couldn’t be that difficult. Smack ‘em when they did what Bejt didn’t want them to do until they learned better, that was it

It would definitely be a lot of fun. He looked forward to finding out just how much fun it was. He’d always had an eye for pretty faces of every kind, and there weren’t too many people prettier than an elf. He’d never had the chance to have one like this before, and he looked forward to finding out what it would be like.

All he needed was another hour or so, and then he and the others would be set for life.

Vector sniffed at the mug, then set it back down after taking a tiny taste of the ale. He’d never been much of one for drinking in the first place, at least not drinks that came from places like this. He wondered if it would be too much to ask if one of their mage-types could do something about the storm so they didn’t have to stay here at all.

We could get some decent food and drinks somewhere else. Maybe even a good bed. He knew that being on the road didn’t entitle him to the comforts of home, but they could at least have some comfort of some kind.

He leaned his head back against the wall and winced at the shock of thunder that rolled on by a heartbeat later. No one else looked bothered by the rain at all. Gilag sat on the outside of the table, closest to the door, and from the way he kept looking out there, it wouldn’t have been too surprising if he got up to wander out there. Druids did things like that, soaking up the rain. Vector had no idea of why druids couldn’t invest in some kind of weather protection. Maybe it was a religious thing.

He’d never wasted his time on religion and until he’d come to join this group, he hadn’t associated with religious types of any sort. But traveling with a druid and a priestess meant that he got more than he’d ever wanted of the whole concept.

He let his gaze drift back to Mizael. He could think of one or two gods he’d like to thank for the creation of the elven race and for Mizael in particular. Along with one or two he’d consider offering up a tribute to in order to get the elf compliantly in his bed, without risking Jinlong having him for dinner or the rest of the group getting furious at him.

Which meant he would have to keep on courting Mizael so that it was all willing on his side.

He wasn’t used to having to ask for what he wanted. Or who he wanted. He’d commented once at breakfast that he’d seen an attractive person the day before in the marketplace and that evening, that same person awaited him in his bed, courtesy of his father.

That had been an enjoyable few months, all things considered. If it had been possible, or workable with his father’s plans, he didn’t doubt that he would’ve already enjoyed time with Mizael.

I think this might be more interesting, though. Frustrating, but enjoyable in the end, once he’d achieved his goal. There was something to be said for getting something desired by hard work instead of being given it.

Vector glanced to the others again, the sound of the rain battering against the side of the building, making it plain they weren’t going anywhere right now. He suspected Rio and Gilag would both insist that they shouldn’t try to mess around with the weather, something about natural causes and not interfering. That made no sense to him at all. What good was magic if you couldn’t use it to twist the world around to the way you wanted it to be?

His eyes narrowed suddenly as he took in what was going on with his companions. He wasn’t surprised to see Gilag’s eyes drooping, let alone Ponta’s, not with that rain. If it didn’t call a druid out to dance in the rain or whatever, it would probably put them to sleep.

But Ponta spent so little time being visible when they were in civilized territory that Vector almost forgot he even existed. There he was, having finished his ale – you’d think a magical creature would have better taste than that! - and now curled up on Gilag’s lap, sound asleep.

Vector checked on Alit: already asleep. Durbe was as well, eyes closed and chest rising and falling evenly. Ryouga still had his eyes half-open, and Rio looked as if she were fighting off the urge to sleep herself.

He looked at Mizael then, and knew something was wrong.

Elves don’t sleep. Not like that, anyway. Mizael had explained it once, but Vector had been too wrapped up in admiring the way the sunlight glinted off the elf’s golden hair to pay attention. He sort of wished that weren’t true now.

But Mizael’s eyes were as tightly closed as the others, even as Ryouga’s slid all the way shut, and Rio followed him into slumber in another few moments.

This wasn’t right in the slightest. Vector’s thoughts raced before he chose his path, closed his eyes, and let himself sag a little more, as if he’d succumbed as well. There wasn’t any use in trying to wake them up. They’d be too sluggish to do anything for too long. Not to mention, Vector had a feeling he knew who was involved in this, and he swore he’d paint the walls with their blood.

He couldn’t see what was going on, but after what felt like forever, he could hear footsteps entering, and a sense of shadow fell over him. He kept himself from moving, no matter how much he wanted to, and listened.

To Be Continued

Note: And now we return to the world of the Order of the Outcasts. This is that little interlude piece to explain something. A larger piece revolving around Yuuma, Kaito, Haruto, and Astral will come at a later point, on SilvorMoon's profile. But until then, I hope you enjoy this.