#oc: odile

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

It's Wednesday my dudes :) Thank you @chiqita @silly-little-diary @labskeever for tagging me! Great to see your cool stuff :)

Tagging: @theoneandonlysemla @pocket-vvardvark @changelingsandothernonsense @scholarlyhermit @sulphuricgrin

@hircines-hunter @ladytanithia @firefly-factory @heavy-metal-dick @sanzas-reverie @dirty-bosmer (I know your super busy bestie so no pressure)

@saltymaplesyrup @captain-of-silvenar @lucien-lachance @friend-of-giants @thequeenofthewinter @umbracirrus @pyre-of-pages

I've gotten a bit more hair done, progress has been slow on him, decided he'll get done when he gets done. But I have gotten a lot of writing done! This is a snippet from Chapter 4 of Changing Tides (which I'm hoping to post this weekend). Both 4 and 5 are done and Chapter 6 is underway!

Under the cut is Visdros being a dickhead to Odile's neighbour and this neighbours drops an important piece of information for her:

The other mer gazes lingers longer on Visdros than her so she introduces them. 

“Ah Baelyn,” she uses his first name. “This is Visdros, I found him wounded and now am trying to help him find his way.” She chuckles nervously, distinctly leaving the revenge-seeking out. When the Bosmer says nothing, the two just exchanging looks that puzzle Odile, she decides to get on with why she’s here. “I was wondering if we could trouble you for a ride to Leyawiin, if you are still going today.” 

“A ride in what?” The injured mer mutters. “A walking tree?”

“My boat,  twelve feet, single sail. Modest but perfect for going up river.” Baelyn almost sounds defensive, even more so when he adds, “Not for attacking others like some brute.” Visdros’s eyes narrow as the sneer which looks all too familiar by this point, dawns his face once more. 

“I will never set foot on a vessel controlled by one like you.” 

“Do you got a problem with mer like me? I thought you’d like it, maybe you could even steal from me, I’m sure you’ve done a lot of that.” What in Oblivion?

“You’re not worth my time nor the effort,” he does a stabbing motion with his hand. Visdros spits on the ground, offers one more glare and then turns to walk away. “We will walk.” An even more familiar feeling occurs in her chest, where it always did. Anxiety grips her lungs as she cycles through fear and confusion. 

“It’s a two day trek! It would be so much…” She stops mid-sentence. I can’t ask Baelyn to help us now, not when he has been so rude. The Bosmer had choice words of his own but Visdros did insult him first and most importantly, unprompted. Yet, he was already eyeing him, too frequent to be just curious… She turns to address her neighbor, muster up some apology for his behaviour as though she is responsible for him. I am. “Oh Mr.- Baelyn, I am so sorry for him. I mean absolutely no offense, I don't know what…” Her eyes drop to the ground as she grows even more confused. In a way she shouldn’t be surprised given how brash he’d already been but, that did not cease to make it jarring. Thankfully the other does not blame her.

“I’m not offended, Odile. Don’t worry about me.” That does ease her fears, but the confusion only grows when he speaks next. “I suggest you be careful traveling with one of those fish.” Fish? Is he alright? Has he been injured too?

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean...” He sighs, pointing to the mer who is now leaning against a tree, almost making a show of avoiding looking at them. “We don’t see them in these parts but they are notorious along Valenwood and Summerset.” Baelyn looks back at her for what he says next. “He’s a Sea Elf, a Maormer if you want to use the Elvish. They come from an archipelago far south. Their lot are either pirates or soldiers, both equally ruthless." A Maormer? So he’s not a Dunmer but, but something else? “I suggest before you go anywhere with him, you think on if he’s worth the hassle.” I am worth the hassle. Her principles of good will were worth the effort, wherever he is from does not change that.

[bluecoolr]

𝐀𝐬 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐕𝐔𝐋𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐏𝐒𝐄

matchy art of my oc Darrell and @solmints-messyocdiary 's Odile

[solmints-messyocdiary]

Little sketch interactions with OCs friends from the vamp AU

Odile and Theo are mine while Catherine belongs to @bluecoolr and Fox belongs to @probably-a-plant-thing

[kuulyyra]

Remember to kiss your wife after retrieving the Crown of Karsus to your ex

Juicy version on Twitter

[cosmicharm]

🌙✨🌿

Finished the ground floor in Odile's newly acquired house in The Mist and I couldn't be happier... Now, time to work in the second room!

[mordeawearybone]

𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒂 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒗𝒆

[goldrose-star]

@solmints-messyocdiary look! ☺️

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Hi everyone, it's Wednesday <3 Thank you to @silly-little-diary for tagging me :)

Tagging: @theoneandonlysemla @pocket-vvardvark @dirty-bosmer @sanzas-reverie @changelingsandothernonsense @thequeenofthewinter @friend-of-giants @labskeever

@firefly-factory @sulphuricgrin @scholarlyhermit @ladytanithia @saltymaplesyrup @lucien-lachance @heavy-metal-dick @hircines-hunter @captain-of-silvenar @chiqita

Picked up old boy again, got some more of his hair done. Went into last weekend like "I'm gonna finish this" and then I didn't 🧍‍♀️

But I did get a lot of writing done, working on my Maormer OC/Breton OC fic Changing Tides (2 chapters out now!) my drafts for Chapters 3 and 4 are done and being edited so have this snippet from Chapter 3 where Visdros has woken up to find himself in the care of a strange woman. Forgive him he's confused also prone to violence

“You are who.” Not a question but a statement, unrelenting and she manages to get an answer out. 

“Odile,” she mutters. “My name is Odile.” Her eyes dart down to where his hold on the weapon is still firm so she speaks again. “I-I found you, you washed up on the sh-shore.” What? His facial expression must change from suspicion to confusion as suddenly she becomes more confident in her words. “I thought you were dead at first, but you still had a pulse, very faintly though.” Pieces from his half-conscious state start putting themselves together, the glow he saw… Is she the reason I live? 

“You save me?” Curse this tongue. Qraalaro had always done the talking, rarely did he have to say more than a few words. Thankfully he understood more than he could speak, yet understanding was only half of communication. The woman, this Odile, nods vehemently. 

“Yes,” she repeats it more firmly, “Yes I did.” 

The dagger no longer fills the space between them, returning to his side yet not sheathed for many questions lay unanswered. It was also his nature to be on guard, he was his elder brother’s right hand, his muscle. Visdros was not unlike the weapon he held, held it like an extension of his own arm; to Qraalaro he was that too. Born a decade after, he had never known a time without the other, their mother had always had a hard time separating them. Where is he? Has something happened to him? As he is about to ask her more questions, most imperative being had anyone else been found, when his head seizes in pain. 

“Fucking oblivion.” Not caring for her language, this comes out in his as he grips where the throbbing ache radiates from and to his surprise, he finds it sticky. A thick viscous liquid and rough skin above his right ears. A wound. Odile is quick to help. 

“Here,” she uncorks a bottle. “Take this, it will help with the pain.” Had it been any less painful, he would have refused. Embarrassing to need to rely on the help of an outsider enough as it is, he did not believe in numbing pain. The wounds of battle should be felt if you are so careless as to be injured. It was respectful towards your opponent, as he had internalized from his father’s teachings. One of the many philosophies he lived by in his naval career. But as the ache wanders into his eye, the back of his neck, and even begins to migrate down into his right arm, he concedes. Angrily he swipes it from her hand and she flinches. 

Whatever it is made of works almost instantly, a pleasant sensation running over his body causing his eyes to close in peace. 

“Did that help?” 

“Yes.” She softly smiles. 

“I’m glad. That’s a pretty nasty cut you have there,” Her hands are outstretched towards him when she asks for permission. “May I?” He nods, tiredness starting to overcome him. They are soft, her hands, yet not too soft. Slight calluses on her fingertips indicating she does not live a life without labour; though perhaps he could have gathered that by looking at her home. Bits of magicka come from them as she casts a spell, the glow from before just ever so visible from the corner of his eye. “I was so focused on dealing with the drowning that I didn’t get time to attend to this before you awoke.’ Drowning? “Not that I’m upset you woke up, the opposite really.” I was drowning? Visdros doesn’t notice when she’s completed the spell, does not hear her say “hmm, that looks much better", nor when she asks him “how do you feel now?” for his mind is a million miles away.

[bluecoolr]

For Life or Until Fault

Alt Timeline 2.0 - Odile x Darrell Part 8

Odile belongs to @solmints-messyocdiary Darrell is mine 🩷

Their days went on that way. Odile would tidy up the house, Darrell would cook. They slept intertwined by the fire. When he went away for work, she would mend his clothes. Sometimes, she would try her luck in finding flowers. Sometimes, she would even join him on his rounds, and they would stroll arm in arm, pretending the graveyard was a park; forgetting the roles they were supposed to play.

They spent Darrell's off days together, learning about each other, careful not to prod where things were too delicate. Neither of their pasts were brought up in conversation. For lack of memory on Darrell's part and a lack of willingness on Odile's.

They were content with what they had.

Afternoons rang with passages from their favorite books, which they read aloud to each other. The stories sweet and dark like molasses. Odile rediscovered her love for music, which she listened to on Darrell's Walkman, her head resting in his lap. She sang him to sleep at times. Her arms thrown about him, holding him to her heart.

When he found out that she liked to sew, Darrell set off on a trip to town. He bought her needles and thread in all colors and yards of fabric that a good seamstress could use to make five dresses. But Odile took the best threads and decided to embroider Darrell's jacket instead, ornamenting the cuffs with bright flowers - pink carnations in full bloom, saint-white stargazers.

It was Odile's way of asking, "Please, let me stay." And a prayer, "Please, don't let it end."

For as long as he didn't tell her to stop, she kept adding embroidery to his clothes: Tiny bunny rabbits with fluffy tails, flower wreaths, nesting birds, bounding deer. Her favorite, and biggest design so far, was the pair of swans on the back of his jacket.

"They mate for life," she told him once.

He loved her art. It made him feel cared for and claimed, like she had sewn pieces of herself for him to carry everywhere. He delighted in every stitch, every well-thought out scene. Even if Ilya claimed that the designs were too girlish, as he watched them grow more numerous and elaborate by the week.

Odile didn't remember the last time she had been to the town. The idea of going back hadn't even crossed her mind till now. It made her skin crawl.

Darrell had asked her if she wanted to go on a date. Her on a date with him! "Thought we'd do something nice… together," he'd said. The month's paycheck had arrived, and she could tell he was eager to get out of the graveyard, even if just for an afternoon. This was no way to live, among the dead.

He sensed her misgivings when she fell into a tight-lipped silence.

"What's the matter, princess?"

"Darrell darling, I… I don't think I could."

"Why, my love?"

"W-what if… they recognize me?"

After some quick thinking, Darrell remembered there was a small city a bus ride away. It was highly unlikely that they'd be recognized there, full of weary, disinterested people as it was. Before long, Odile was convinced, and she put on the muck boots that Darrell had found and given to her some time ago.

The walk to the bus stop was a long and desolate one. Not many passed by the cemetery. The road was unpaved - like most rural Moldovan roads - and led to nowhere, essentially. Perhaps, if you kept following it you'd end up in Ukraine, passing by the Carpathians. Sometimes, a lost cow would amble up from the wasteland, rattling her bell with every step.

"What are you thinking about, love?"

Darrell's arm was draped around Odile's midriff, keeping her close as she sat facing the window, her feet up on the seat. She watched the world speed past, her sleepy head resting on his chest.

She looked up at him with her eyes brimming with light and love. "How I'm so happy."

Overcome with admiration, he kissed the apple of her cheek. Nothing more than a chaste peck, but he kissed her again, right at the spot beside her lips.

The bus came to a halt just inside the city limits and Odile perked up at the sound of the doors unlocking. They got off on a pretty busy street. People passed by with their shopping tucked under their arms. Not a single one even glanced at Odile, and suddenly, the trip wasn't so scary anymore.

She laced her fingers with Darrell's, quite eager to explore the flea market with him.

Among sundry items - some new but grubby, others noticeably old - Darrell spotted a pair of nude pink ballet flats. He picked it up and called Odile, who was digging through a bin of wooly cardigans.

He showed her the shoes and offered to help her try it on. Some of the shoppers watched disdainfully as Darrell knelt to slip the shoes over Odile's feet, taking time to tie the ribbons in perfect bows. "Like them?" he asked. Odile nodded, her knuckles pressed to her lips.

Darrell bought the shoes along with a cardigan Odile had fished out. She was, however, more keen on wearing his jacket for the time being.

Eventually, they came upon a salesman with a tableful of silver and gold jewelry. "How about buying a ring for your girl, huh, mister?" He held out a bunch of bangles. "How about some bracelets?"

Darrell stooped to pick up a pair of lockets, each elliptical and about an inch and a half big.

"Those are really pretty, too," urged the salesman. "You and your girl can match. I'll give it to you for 200 lei."

Odile gathered her hair to the side as Darrell put the necklace on for her. “There." He stepped back. "You look beautiful."

Odile noticed he was cupping his hand by his face, apparently shielding his eyes against the light of the storefront window. She found it rather odd. The light wasn't too intense. She wouldn't even call it a light; more of a glow. It bathed the religious icons inside with a somberness you could almost touch.

At the very back of the display, there was a sinister, life-like crucified Christ. There was also a wild panic in Darrell’s eyes. Odile had seen that look many times before. She could feel the pulse on his wrist, pounding like a little fist demanding to be let out.

He was afraid.

Odile pulled him past the store and into an embrace. She could feel his frantic heartbeat against her breast. Thinking fast, she gently placed her lips on the tender junction of his neck and shoulder. Then, without warning, clamped her teeth onto his skin - not enough to draw blood, but enough to distract.

Darrell cried out, but she cut him off with a kiss. Her first full kiss.

She pulled away only when she felt Darrell’s heartbeat stutter to a slower cadence. He looked confused and shocked beyond belief. For a moment, she wondered if she had done the right thing.

When he turned to look over his shoulder, Odile pressed her hand to his cheek to urge him to meet her eyes. “Mm-mmm.” She shook her head.

“I’m… I’m here,” she assured him. “D-don’t be afraid… I’m here.”

Darrell’s lips drew into a tight smile, as if he was fighting back tears. He shut his eyes and pressed his cheek against her palm.

“Sorry, I… I don’t know what came over me,” he said softly.

He trailed off, realizing what had just happened, and blushed a deep shade of red. Odile was even redder, tracing her mouth with her forefinger, where Darrell’s plush lip had been moments ago. She grew even more frantic as Darrell closed the space between them and returned the kiss, urging her forward with a hand at her nape.

Everything seemed to melt away - the city, the crowded cobbled street. Odile felt like her stomach was doing cartwheels, and she began to laugh. As she pressed kisses on Darrell's neck, dangerously close to his jugular, she felt like she could eat the world raw.

[goldrose-star]

@solmints-messyocdiary this gives me Odile vibes 👀👉👈

Chackbay, St. James Parish, Louisiana.

[kuulyyra]

Drow-half-elf women getting married and being happy🖤

[riverin-stories]

* shows up late to ISAT function * how do you do, fellow saviors

[goldrose-star]

@solmints-messyocdiary I saw this and this made me think of Odile ☺️💕

[vampireopossum]

i can be trusted with characters

[cosmicharm]

Last Odile of 2024. Happy New Year, everyone! ✨

[skyrim-forever]

WIP Wednesday

Hi everyone it's that time again <3 Thank you to @silly-little-diary @saltymaplesyrup @sulphuricgrin @firefly-factory and @umbracirrus for tagging me :) Awesome to see your stuff!

I'm tagging @theoneandonlysemla @pocket-vvardvark @changelingsandothernonsense @dirty-bosmer @thequeenofthewinter @sanzas-reverie @hircines-hunter

@labskeever @ladytanithia @scholarlyhermit @captain-of-silvenar @friend-of-giants @lucien-lachance @pyre-of-pages @sunsettemplar @heavy-metal-dick @chiqita

I decided to go insane and embroider MK's Tribunal drawing, so far we got 1/3 done! Vivec desires to be many things and now they are embroidery :P

I've also got some writing done (special thanks to @sulphuricgrin @hircines-hunter and @captain-of-silvenar for our writing sprints <3). I had the idea for an OCxOC story set around the time of ESO, really it's my chance to play around in the world with some characters that are quickly overtaking my brain <3 Meet Odile and the (currently unconcious) Fish Mer under the cut:

Standing over the figure now, she would have thought him dead; his skin not unlike that of early decay, pale blue like that of bloat. Unfortunately, Odile was familiar with death, the way the flesh would double in size. However, he did not look bloated. Not at all. Aside from the pale, blue-gray hue of his skin, all other forms of decay were absent, the only injury she could see was a decent sized gash on his head, bruising around it. The initial shock of finding a body now wore off, the woman can see other features of him better, silver gray hair approximately shoulder length, pointed ears and an angular face indicating his was mer. Dunmer? She thought that could explain his skin colour, as well as the strange armour he wore. Various straps of somesort of leather across his torso, leaving most of it exposed as it only covered his arm with straps reaching to the other shoulder. He is very… fit. She shakes her head. Do not oogle the dead. She really should try and get out more. As her eyes gaze over him, accessing the situation she can see one only one boot on his foot; it too was a similar material, with bits of metal along the sole. The other was likely lost between wherever he came from and the shores of Blackwood. Whoever he was, and wherever he came from, the fellow did deserve a proper burial. As she goes to grab the body by the arm, bending her knees to adjust to weight, she considers if she should cremate him. If he was Dunmer then that would follow within traditional custom, even if the smell would be terrible. Any and all thoughts of this mysterious stranger's burial are tossed aside as she feels a faint beating while reaching for his wrist… he’s alive. 

The mer’s limp body returns to the marshlands as she tries to feel for a heartbeat, the gentle thud in his chest is stronger than the pulse, but not by much. An ear to his torso, Odile can also feel extremely shallow breaths. The healer had treated many ailments, one of the few in Cyrodiil who had been soaked in the blood of others having never held so much as a small dagger. However, she had never been on her own to save someone from death. Her mother had always been there, her mother who had over thirty years experience as a healer, some formal training but Nan was always the best teacher. But Mother is in the Imperial City, trying to earn them enough to last through the deep rains of the fall. And Nan  lay buried in the corner of the homestead, near where she would have put this mer. There would be no one to help, no one to ask for advice. For the first time Odile would have to do it all on her own, and she would not lose her first patient.