#Nomads oc

[dark-overlord-of-rainbows]

1: Drawn Aug 1st 2024. This was on my birthday! Just so happened to land on a day that Nomads would update this year :] Doodles from memory, with a bonus Molly Blyndeff (from Epithet Erased). I like the goofy looking Mikah 2: Drawn Aug 28 2024. Love the outfits on current banner. I drew Lance as well and also shaded both but you don't get to see any of that. this is all I feel like sharing They were also initially traditional sketches, I lined over 'em digitally to try that method out instead of what I did last time I mentioned trying a style more realistic than I normally do this was the second drawing doing that 3: Drawn Aug 31 2024. I love this new outfit too!! Continuing experimentation from this post 4: Drawn Sept 1 2024. The two nomads ocs on tumblr! Just some very quick scribbles The girl with black/white hair is Leelae Ryzinion (belonging to @kutie106) and the girl with blond/brown hair is Olivia Valora (belonging to @rion-isnot-an-ai) Nomads is by @captain-juuter

[rion-isnot-an-ai]

Olivia's main weapon is a gun. She doesn't particularly to like using it, but she knows damn well how to 💪

tags :D @larz-barz @shycroissanti @kimetsu-chan @pinkwisteria

[kutie106]

I have descended to the purest form of nerd 😔😔

So ofc I made a Nomads oc 😜😜!!

I love the little passport photo it’s really pixelated but so cute ‼️‼️

[wigglybunfish]

just a girl and her mutated goats

[rhymewithrachel]

Latest sculpting project with my oc Lia ⭐️

[ozziyo]

shitposts that will have me thinking about their insane height difference for the next seven years

[tohakumaru]

[project page]

>walk away, go with the nomad. i love you.

since you cannot cry, you make an effort to push the stale air out of your lungs, a poor imitation of a sigh - i guess bad habits really die hard. if the nomad has noticed, then it pays you no mind and simply carries on. casting one last lingering glance at the water and the sky above, you dutifully follow. after a short while, it becomes clear that something has changed. the nomad has picked up its pace, moving in erratic strides. here and there, you find it dashing across the sand, beak and head angled upwards, as though searching, or following an invisible thread in the air, one that you can feel, but cannot quite grasp, like a long forgotten name - always on the tip of your tongue, yet never to be spoken aloud. at times, you struggle to keep up. it's so hard, you're so tired, it's too much. your eyes burn with fatigue. you want to scream, to beg the bird-thing to slow down, but the words evade you everytime you open your mouth, and the nomad does not so much as look at you. a hot and bitter pressure builds behind your nose and muffles your ears. once again you feel yourself falling apart - but the blanket wrapped around your frame and the water sloshing in your hollow stomach seem to work against your body's trajectory to disintegrate, two forces swirling inside and all around you, like a wicked pendulum that propels you forward despite, despite.

i won't let you go, should have known that from the start.

---

tenderly her eyes made their pilgrimage across the mounds of glass and steel, mourning perhaps hunger is a cure for insanity, shut-you-up-real-nice knowing full well being alive is a horrendously beautiful thing while the dogs, blood stained snouts dig out the madness, turn it into a five course meal heaving, a still-beating heart melts like butter on their lips as poorly clipped nails fumbled and fussed,

just enough to make a day-ride.

---

in this fashion, you and the nomad dance across the white sand for some time, until a hillside comes into view. upon closer inspection, you are awed to realise it is made entirely of roots. at the foot of this strange hill, a grove - an incredible indent in that tangled mass that is the tree-hill - opens up and presents an even more curious sight: 12 creatures, each bearing the likeness of a bird, but is clearly not one. they stand stock-still and solemn, with multitudes of dried flowers and glittering gemstones at their feet. their faces, elongated and coming to pointy, beak-like ends, are not dissimilar to the nomad, but much more haggard; and so immobile, it is easy to mistake them for statues, has there not been the occassional puffs of dusty smoke and shrill noises, like a kettle boiling over, coming from their beaks and throats that betray any hints of liveliness about them.

the nomad slows its steps, and looks down. it keeps its eyes to the ground as you get nearer to the grove. it occurs to you that it is avoiding the living-statues' gaze. surprisingly, they reciprocrate the gesture. Ever so slightly each of them turn their head, so their eyes fall off the nomad, and onto … you. you, who does not belong you, who comes on a leash, believing it to be choice you, who dies, and nothing changes

to your bewilderment, the statues came to life, all at once. they grovel at the flowers and gems, and toss them in handfuls at you as the nomad leads you through the grove, leaving a trail of petals and stones. when you pass the 12th statue and come to the end of the opening, everything suddenly shifts: slowly, mechanically, the roots shape themselves into a winding stairway, leading you up the hill.

calmly, the nomad signals you to go up.

what do you do?

[previous chapter]

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

hiiii can you do whiskey w/ steve rogers that involves spanking/light bdsm? reader wants to try something new in the bedroom and steve's a little more hesitant at first but he gets into it

Darkness.

warnings - smut. cursing.

you know I had to use another nomad gif... it's the long hair with the beard... it gets me going man. I kind of went a little rogue with this request, but it just happened. apologies.

3k celebration post here. 3k masterlist here.

He's dreamed of women like you.

Strong, independent, resilient.

Women that take what they want, when they want it - regardless of the repercussions.

But he never could have anticipated your intuition. Your instincts.

You can read him like a book. Plain and simple. And no one can do that.

Steve prides himself on being stoic. Brave. The face of freedom. But it's like you look at him with x ray vision.

"Don't you ever get tired of it?" you ask one night.

Steve's sat on the edge of the bed, watching you get undressed. It's been a long night, full of fake smiles and ballgowns and polite handshakes. Weariness has settled in his bones.

"Tired of what?"

"The Golden Boy thing."

He scoffs.

"It's not a 'thing'."

You scoff.

"Come on, Steven. Don't forget I can see right through you."

"Oh yeah? Then what do you see, honey?"

You stalk over to him, settling down in his lap. Your favourite place.

"I can see the darkness, you know."

His brow quirks. Curiosity.

"Sometimes, I watch the America's Sweetheart facade slip ever so slightly. And I see what's underneath."

"And what would that be?"

A kiss to his jaw. Below his ear. A nip at his throat.

"You're a caged animal."

His grip on your hips tightens. Bingo.

"There's something in here, Steve," you point to his chest. "Something dark. Something raw. Something feral."

His breath hitches. His lungs constrict.

"I wanna see it," you whisper. "Whatever's underneath. I wanna see it."

He chuckles, low and menacing.

"Oh, honey. I don't think you know what you've just done."

You're on all fours in the blink of an eye. Strong fingers twist into the waistband of your underwear and pull, the sound of ripping lace making you gasp.

A smack to your ass makes you jolt, but not with fear. Anticipation. You want to see how far he'll go before he stops himself. You want to see his restraint snap.

"If you need me to stop," he whispers into your ear, "tell me. Or use the word Brooklyn."

He spanks you again before flipping you over with inhuman strength. He undoes his tie and runs the silk material through his fingers. You can see the cogs turning. He just needs a little push.

You raise your wrists and place them against the headboard, giving him a look that says I dare you.

Steve ties you up, standing back to admire his handiwork. He could get used to this view.

He reminds himself that you asked for this.

And he's never been one to deny you anything.

[summeryseaserpent]

I can finally post my piece for the @anachronism-ahitzine !!!! I couldn't decide which character to draw so I said ALL.

[thenomadclan]

Burnout of a Leader

(Unfinished Comic)

Lore Bomb

For those who don’t know or need a reminder, Nomad (Zan’to) is the Clan Leader of a Clan he inherited through Bloodline rights. He is too young to be such a leader but only took up the position because 1.) the og leader Drago, didn’t want the position anymore & 2.) it was his way of getting back to being a honorable Yautja when he was exiled due to this bloodline discovery.

As he continued to go on death defying missions to gain reputation for the clan, his body began to ache and his mind began to crumble at times. He is forced to do these tasks mostly alone for anyone who had honorable status when joining the clan, would ultimately lose it due to affiliation or aiding listed Bad Blood (which Nomad is not or doesn’t claim to be). So one day after a bounty completed, Nomad made his way onto the Nomad Clan Mothership, carrying the head of a Bad Blood. He didn’t speak or acknowledge his Allie’s, only moving forward in a sort of trance.

Some try to check if he is wounded as he’s covered in blood but Black Momba (his adoptive mother) steps in saying how “it’s not his blood”. Nomad would walk to his quarters to see Snow, who greets him at first but then realizes that he’s having “THAT” moment wrestling in his mind. Snow would slowly lead Nomad by his hand in their washing chambers. She would strip off his armor till he was fully bare, and slowly began washing off the blood of the Bad Blood he killed, there she would also see Nomads growing scars, all of which were earned to redeem the clan. While not the most ideal way to spend time with his mate, Nomad enjoyed these quiet and simple moments with Snow. When she finished she would hug Nomad with his head resting against hers, with them just sitting in the raining water.

—————————————————————————

Comic was made by @black-suns-rim

[alexstarksblog]

Well, what is it? The huge machine of love took it, wrapped it around his body and did not let go of the tired old man? -3-

@black-suns-rim

[rion-isnot-an-ai]

Nomads OC!

This is Olivia Valora, a nomad who originated from the Sand Kingdom

Olivia is aloof and a bit naive. She gets flustered easily and is very sweet. She often speaks her mind.

She became a nomad to find a partner. She used to date a guy who was abusive and that's where the scars came from.

Olivia joined Simon's crew when they found her in her (destroyed) boat after she got caught in a storm.

More info to come! ✨

tags: @shycroissanti @larz-barz @kimetsu-chan @pinkwisteria

(also sorry for changing my shading/rendering style so much, but I think the one I used in this drawing is the one I'll use from now on :D)

[mortal-kombattore-115]

Graves and Nomad

[wigglybunfish]

Wherever you need to go, I will walk with you, until your ears tire from my stories and feet weary from wear. then we will rest, and take the road once more.

Drawing the gang from my finding-home story set in nuclear winter Tibet.

[rhymewithrachel]

Attempting to learn 3d sculpting lol

[ozziyo]

variations on a theme