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thekingofthenameless · 6 months ago

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Tell me your top 3 OCs

Thanks for the ask!!! :D

My top two are definitely Merlin and Charlie!

(I have other ocs of course, but I have no thoughts about them rn because I’m writing a oneshot specifically centered around these two, so I’m just gonna talk about their bond for the third lmao.)

1. Merlin:

Merlin (full name Merlin Caledonensis Ambrosius) is a Black transgender aroace man! (Specially non-partnering, as well as being romance and sex repulsed.) He’s also neurodivergent: he has schizophrenia, psychosis (as a symptom of it), misophonia, and Complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

He has a carefully crafted image of himself that he’s made as a way to survive, and no one besides Charlie, Ganieda, or Vivian will know his true self.

He hides it all under being a very mellow person.

He’ll smile easily, make shitty puns, converse with most people he comes across, give advice and trade knowledge freely without there being any catch, unlike some others out there.

Many consider him a friend, one of the most renowned protectors of magic, and one of the most famous magical beings, that everyone at least knows the name of. (Despite the demons that apparently have plagued his mind for centuries.)

But both he and his dragon are shrouded in myths and legends that no one knows are true or not, and he’ll never confirm or deny, simply dodging the curiosity or asking about the questioner with a smile.

(Unless it’s about being secretly married, because then he’ll go on a disgusted rant about being thrust into romance, and how he’s never been in a relationship, and he doesn’t need it, he has Charlie and his sister and his friends.)

His secrecy isn’t just limited to his past; it’s to the point that he feels exposed if someone simply finds out something he likes.

He usually doesn’t think about the fact that he’s constantly hiding parts of himself to make him seem more palatable, but when he does, he resents it. (And understands, because he’s hard to deal with. He has no idea why Charlie still loves him, sometimes.)

Just a few of the secrets he holds close to his chest are being naturally left-handed, hiding it behind the mask of ambidexterity that he taught himself. His complete and utter lack of romantic or sexual attraction, to the point of being repulsed at the idea. His aversion to a frankly maddening amount of sounds, and being born a girl, who hadn’t wanted to change his reproductive organs because they didn’t make him feel distressed and not at home in his own body like his breasts.

The voices in his mind tell him that everyone knows, no matter how hard he’s tried to hide them, and that they’ll hurt him again; Charlie has to constantly reassure him that no one else knows besides the two of them. (But not that he’d never betray him by revealing them. He’ll always trust his familiar, and Charlie knows that.)

Art Dump! (And an excerpt of his appearance from another character’s point of view because I’m lazy lol)

Click on the pictures for better quality and to see the whole thing! (The old one is his first, older design; the second one is his current one.)

[Amos] tries not to stare, taking in his appearance nonetheless. The man who is apparently Merlin seems to be only a couple of inches shorter than him, even from where he’s standing. Long white hair, that shines like freshly fallen snow, rests halfway down his back. It’s locked into thick strands that remind him of strong rope, tied up into a mid-high ponytail. Every side of his head is shaved, showing softer but still coarse hair that glimmers like frost. “Merlin,” Uther calls. “I have someone for you to meet.” He turns, revealing his face. He’s beautiful. He’s Black; his skin is a warm, dark brown. Several scars (one on the left side of his forehead, above his eyebrow; another spanning from his forehead to his nose, ending a little below his eyes; and the last across his left cheek) darker than his skin adorn his face. His eyebrows, eyelashes, and beard (which has a coarse, curly texture) are as white as his hair. His almond shaped eyes are a lighter shade of blue, with orange rings around his pupils. Eyebags darker than his skin, but a different shade than his scars, are under them. The bridge of his nose is prominent, making it curve. An aquiline nose, if he remembers correctly. He hasn’t seen anyone who has it in a while. He’s wearing a dark green bliaut, (that shows some of his chest, and he has to quickly look away) brown pants, a long, hooded blue cape, and brown heeled boots. A necklace, which is only a gem held with black string, rests against his neck. A bracelet is on his right wrist, and a ring is on his right hand’s second finger.

2. Charlie:

Charlie (full name Charlemagne William Ambrosius) seems a little rougher around the edges than his wizard, but he’s still nice (once he gets to know someone).

If he doesn’t know them yet, he won’t hide the fact that he stares them down while gauging their character. And even if he does, if they aren’t Ganieda or Vivian, he’ll still give them the same stare if they say or do something that could register as a possible threat to his beloved. (Yes, he calls Merlin that now. You’re welcome.)

He’ll say the things that Merlin thinks but won’t say, and doesn’t care that he comes off as mean or blunt sometimes either.

No one else’s opinion matters as long as Merlin is safe.

Anyone trying to separate the two of them, no matter for how long, immediately comes off as suspicious to him. People have attempted to take advantage of his familiar’s illness in the past, by convincing him that their actions weren’t real and were things he hallucinated or imagined. Sometimes, they also do the opposite and make him remember things that never happened.

And there’s the separation that still haunts both of them in different ways.

He’d been out hunting (which takes hours, since he’s a 3,000 pound dragon that eats a lot, but at least he only needs to eat every 4-5 days) leaving Merlin behind with their mutual acquaintance, Mordecai. His familiar had been feeling slightly tired, but neither of them were too worried; he’d hopefully sleep it off.

When he returned, Merlin was gone.

After hours of frantically trying to contact him through their telepathic bond multiple times while tracking his scent, he found a monastery.

His companion’s scent led him down to a dungeon, which had a chair with blood at its feet. And it continued in a trail somewhere else.

He had to quell his rising terror and fury to focus on finding him, following the blood and still strong scent upstairs.

Finally, he’d found the door that Merlin seemed to be behind, and he entered quietly when he only heard silence.

Even after seeing the blood, he still wasn’t expecting Merlin on a bed, sheets under him bloodied and stained, two corpses on the floor.

He was curled into himself, staring off at nothing.

They’d tortured him, broken him.

He never wants to see his beloved look that like again.

Art dump and excerpt:

(Like Merlin, the old one is his first, older design; the second one is his current one.)

(Charlemagne stares at [Uther] the whole time, red eyes almost glowing in the dim light.) How is no one else unnerved by him? He’s entirely unsettling, with those red eyes, (at least they have white sclera; that helps with making him look slightly less monstrous) giant, feathered wings colored like lava, and thick-furred body colored like soil and fire. (What kind of dragon has fur and feathers, anyways?) Besides that, the mark of being a familiar adorns his leg, for lack of a better word, unable to be hidden.

Their bond:

(To help with some things, cambions and dragons both age extremely slowly! Cambions age one year in every five years; dragons age one year in every fifty-five years.)

Yes, I did math for this lmao.

(Dragons also turn fully adult at five years old [two hundred seventy-five chronologically]. At a year old [fifty-five], they’re still too small to open their eyes. Five years later [60], they’ve opened, but their teeth haven’t grown in yet. Ten years later [70], they’re able to be weaned off milk. At two years old [110], they’re able to speak. From there, the main changes are their bodies slowly changing into adulthood.)

Merlin and Charlie have been familiars for a long time: over 4,000 years. (I don’t have an exact year yet. 😓) The two of them have been best friends, and inseparable for most of their lives.

Merlin, pre-transition, as a thirteen year old (chronologically 65) on the cusp of puberty, found him abandoned by his parents in the woods. They didn’t think he’d survive for much longer; the only reason he wasn’t classified as a runt was because mammalian dragons only have one offspring at a time.

At a year old (chronologically 55), he was too small to even open his eyes, but he could hear. Merlin’s hands gently ran over his fur, murmuring soothing words, getting him used to the feeling, voice and scent of human, before he gently cradled him in his arms and took him home. The little kit would be eaten by anything opportunistic enough if he didn’t.

Adhan was used to her son’s empathetic nature, but she never expected him to bring home a dragon.

Eventually, she was convinced, though.

Merlin fed him cow’s milk from a wooden bowl, hoping that he would able to digest it. (He was, fortunately.)

He looked down at the kit, colored like soil and fire, and lava all in one, and decided to name him Charlemagne William. He wasn’t going to give him his last name just yet.

Merlin always knew he was more intelligent than an average animal, no matter what anyone else thought, and talked to him as though he was human even back then.

Soon, it became commonplace to see the two of them together, Merlin either holding the little dragon in his arms, or carrying him in the blanket that he wrapped around himself.

Charlie became more affectionate as well, always curling against his side or on his chest.

By the next five years, when Merlin aged into fourteen, there was no concept of the two ever separating, but there was confusion when Charlie stayed the same size and age. (He’d opened his eyes only recently, and his teeth weren’t coming in; he couldn’t eat solid food as a result.)

Amidst Merlin’s worry over his dragon not seeming to grow, puberty slammed into him.

And he didn’t feel like a girl. It wasn’t his clothes; he’d always loved outfits that go down to his knees or farther. It was his body.

He felt too feminine, felt like he was all blossoming curves and soft features. He hated seeing his breasts grow, and he began to bind them, hiding the fact from everyone; fortunately, his healing factor helped offset any negative effects, and everyone was focused on getting Ganieda and Vivian together, anyways.

(Ugh, romance.)

But what he would be if he wasn’t a girl? A man? (Yes, is his answer, deep down.) That was ludicrous.

This would pass.

(It did not pass.)

At night, when everything was quiet, he vented to his dragon about everything, gently cradling him in his arms. How he didn’t feel like a girl and didn’t feel at home in his body. How certain sounds set him off, and people thought he would outgrow it, but he wasn’t, and how he was terrified of telling his family these things. He had to be a good daughter.

(Charlie would nuzzle him, understanding every word, purring as loudly as he could to comfort his beloved wizard.)

Charlie finally started growing more teeth when Merlin was sixteen, chronologically eighty years and six months then. He slowly weaned his dragon, introducing him to different types of meats and other foods. Apparently, they’re omnivorous, but it’s usually easier to just eat meat instead because of their size.

Despite the relief at the fact that his dragon just aged very slowly, his body dysphoria refused to leave. He knew that it wasn’t normal to hate looking at yourself in the mirror, and hate becoming a woman. (Especially since Ganieda accepted it, and loved it, happy to grow older so she and Vivian could marry sooner.)

Sometimes, when he was sure that everyone was asleep, he’d shapeshift into a man under the moonlight streaming through his window. He’d stare at himself, reverently running his hands over his face, quietly walking around his room in the body he so desperately wanted.

But he pushed it down, keeping it a guilty secret. Womanhood was still important to him; he had to be a good daughter, a good sister, and he loved them too much to just leave. But how would they react, if he did tell them?

(Charlie always treated him with the same love, man or woman, affectionately nuzzling him and purring. His eyes held an understanding that he wished everyone else would have.)

Maybe… he could broach the topic with his mother.

He did, eventually, and she gently stroked his steadily growing locs as he curled against her, speaking in nothing louder than a whisper the whole time. (Charlie rested against his feet, quietly watching them both. Adhan easily believed her son about his intelligence, now.)

She didn’t have any advice, in the end. But she kissed his forehead and told him that she’d always love him, no matter what. And if she did end up having a son, then she’d be blessed with the most amazing one she could have.

Twenty-five years later, at twenty-one (one hundred five years old), he shapeshifted into a man again, this time using his magic to make this form his true one. He cried when he was finally able to have the body he’d wanted for so long permanently.

Charlie wrapped around his legs, nuzzling him, and he picked him up, holding his dragon close. He purred loudly, sweet and comforting, even as Merlin’s tears soaked his fur.

Another seventeen years later, when Merlin was twenty-four (one hundred twenty-two), and Charlie was two (one hundred ten); Merlin was reading by the fire, and Charlie was curled against his right side.

Charlie looked up at his wizard adoringly, letting out soft purrs. He wanted to speak, talk to him just as much, and thank him for everything he’s done.

Merlin’s hand reached down to gently scratch his head, and he leaned into the contact, wishing he could speak even more.

Maybe… he could try.

“Merlin?” He said quietly, doing his best to not wriggle in excitement so the surprise wasn’t spoiled.

His wizard looked up at the unfamiliar voice, brow furrowing in confusion. After searching the room, his gaze went back down to him. “Charlie, did you hear that?”

“Yes,” was his simple answer.

Merlin’s mouth dropped open, eyes widening in shock. “What- You just talked.”

He smiled proudly, tail thumping as his wizard’s brain broke. “You can talk.”

After the subsequent reveal, and excitement had died down, they had long conversations that lasted for hours. At the end of it, their bond had only strengthened, and now, they knew things about each other that no one else ever would.

Twenty-three more years later, when Merlin was twenty-nine (one hundred forty-five), his schizophrenia began to set in.

He began to hear people calling his name when they hadn’t; began seeing things out of the corner of his eyes, with nothing being there when he turned around, confused. His food began to taste terrible when he knew it was the same as everyone else’s, and he became terrified of it being poisoned.

Then the voices and delusions started.

They started out positive, but over time they began to tell him crueler things.

His delusions told him that someone has invaded their home and is walking around (he can hear their footsteps), bugs were crawling on his hands in the dark until he turned a light on, or touched Charlie so his glowing spread to his hands.

And they happened over, and over, and over again, but every time it was real until he came out of it and remembered that they aren’t.

At least they usually didn’t last for that long.

But his hallucinations started getting worse, and instead of just hearing nonexistent voices, people and creatures appeared.

Sometimes it made absolute sense that a stranger was in their house. And they weren’t a threat, simply doing things that made him inquire why they were there.

Charlie, who was up to his knees now, was determined to help his wizard.

He suggested putting bells on the door so Merlin can think back and remember if they rang or not before he panics about a stranger being in their house. (It isn’t foolproof, but it does help.)

When the gaps in Merlin’s memory began to get worse, it didn’t matter. He’d remember for him. He’d eat some of his food first so that he knew that it wasn’t poisoned. He’d stay awake when he was afraid of falling asleep.

Merlin took care of him first. It was his turn.

After they fought in battles, and Merlin’s sensitivity to loud noises increased, along with new trauma, his stance didn’t change.

He’d breathe on him instead of calling his name so he doesn’t get as startled, and he’d walk across a room (in the rare occasion of that) instead of yelling for him. He’d do his absolute best to not yell at someone making him angry, no matter how much he wanted to.

He’d understand when Merlin got snappy because of his senses being bombarded with too much, and never blame him for it. He’d lay his head on his stomach as a comforting weight when panic became too much.

He’d say that he loves him, and he’s not going anywhere, he never is, and repeat those words over and over again, as many times as he needs to.

Merlin was sixty-five (three hundred twenty-five), when he became immortal. He could’ve used the spell that makes aging stop at thirty, like Ganieda, but the main reasons he didn’t was because he wanted to have natural white hair, not just changing his hair color, and he thought looking older would make him seem more distinguished. (If he’d aged badly, he would’ve shifted back to his younger appearance and kept the white hair. He didn’t, though.)

Charlie was a fully grown adult at five years old (three hundred thirteen), and just his head was as big as Merlin’s torso.

They went flying together now, and Merlin had crafted a saddle himself. Sometimes it was just a slow, leisurely fly for the sake of it; sometimes it was high speed, filled with loops and falling through the air. They still hardly ever argued about anything, but in the very rare occasion they did, they’d stay in the same room, spending time together in silence so they can calm down and see the other’s point of view. They always, always talked things out in the end.

They share the same feelings towards each other: I love you. I love you so much that I can’t fathom spending time away from you unless it’s absolutely necessary, and I’ve willingly chosen to stay with you for the rest of our lives. This bond was formed by a labor of love, and nothing can ever separate us, except for death.

I know things about you that no one else ever will. Typical familial terms like father figure or brother don’t fit us, because our relationship is far too complex to dilute it down into one role.

Soft whispers and gentle touches define us.

I am not leaving you. I am never leaving you.

One morning, after they woke up intertwined together, like always, there was a mark of swirls and leaves on Charlie’s right front leg, and when Merlin looked at his own body, there was one on his right bicep.

No one knew what they meant, until Merlin’s throat was slit after an ambush.

He didn’t die immediately. He choked on his own blood for at least ten minutes before he passed out, terrified of dying, hoping Charlie was safe, and would be able to recover in the end.

He woke up in a meadow filled with flowers, any signs of his violent death gone.

Before he could panic, a voice called his name.

He turned to see a being with completely dark, blue-ish gray skin.

Her hair, braided in a fishtail, long, feathered wings that almost dragged on the ground, and eyes, subtly glowing, were all completely white.

Golden earrings pierced her ears; a necklace of the same color with a red gem rested against her neck. A circlet that matched both was on her head.

Amara, goddess of life.

He immediately knelt in front of her, averting his eyes. He knew the legends, had seen paintings and murals of her. But why was she here?

Charlie appearing out of nowhere startled him. Completely forgetting about proper etiquette in front of a goddess, he ran to his dragon, stroking his fur and hugging him tightly.

Charlie hadn’t been hurt at all, unlike him. He didn’t know what had happened; he’d been trying to find him since their separation, and suddenly… he was here.

Amara had been quietly watching, smiling. She offered to explain, making both of them look at her; Merlin sheepishly apologized for his lack of decorum. She laughed and waved it off, understanding.

Charlie rested his head against his chest, and Merlin carded his fingers through his fur after they sat down. Amara explained that Merlin wasn’t going to die permanently: his heritage of being the former Anti-Christ had given him resurrective immortality. It was far more pragmatic than to make a new Anti-Christ every time one died. The markings on the two of them were from them becoming familiars, a bond of a precious animal companion and a wizard.

Charlie had received some of Merlin’s powers without them realizing it, which meant that if one of them died, they both would, and they would resurrect together. They also had a telepathic bond, like Merlin and Ganieda.

There was no spell to perform for them to become familiars. It was because they loved each other that much.

They’re still one of the only familiar pairs in the world, even now. Many wizards have animal companions, of course, but none of them have formed that bond created by a labor of love.

Art dump:

THEY ARE EVERYTHING TO ME. YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND.

Artist credits: HappyArt9, cat-gh0ul, NaldThal, heropaws, biposi, and honeyxmonkey!

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mikeyisbrooklyn · 11 months ago

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I FUCKING KNEW SOMEONE WOULD BRING IT UP AAGGGHHH

Spoilers for Bioshock Infinite below

Wanna avoid the spoilers? TLDR:

Bioshock Infinite is not an example of this trope—at least, it isn’t an example that’s played straight. It’s lampshaded, if anything. Bioshock instead shows that oppressors will equate their actions with that of the oppressed, to make both themselves look better and the oppressed look worse.

No you canNOT say Bioshock Infinite! If you would like to critique the story as a whole? Cool, go for it. But Daisy was handled exceptionally well considering the fact that the player character is Booker “War Crimes Are Necessary Sometimes” DeWitt. That scene immediately after Elizabeth kills Daisy to save that kid, pay attention to how both Booker and Elizabeth react. Booker is callous and flippant because he’s a selfish, uncaring man. This is not subtext, this is shouted in the boldest of bold texts from practically the start of the game. Meanwhile, Elizabeth shows an appropriate amount of disgust, discomfort, and concern for what she did.

Why does any of this matter? Because even though Booker is the player character, I argue that Elizabeth is the focal character. Over the course of the game we are watching the innocence of her sheltered upbringing fade. At the start of the game, she pretty much has no thoughts besides having fun and talking about her interests—as if that’s all there is to the world. Then, she sees racism for the first time and says something to the effect of “That’s—that’s odd, why does that happen?” like a child would. Booker unhelpfully brushes it aside (cause he sucks) but what’s important is—even though she drops it—if you pay attention, she’s not satisfied fully with his answer.

Back to Daisy, who is fighting against the oppression of black (and by extension, all) citizens of Columbia. For those that don’t know, the short version of Daisy’s extreme plan is kill the kid of a rich and powerful man to prove a point and make her message heard. Again, extreme, but like the OP post says, the intentions are good (this is undeniable and again, in the game this is said in big bold letters).

In the end, it’s Elizabeth—sweet, innocent Elizabeth—that kills Daisy while Booker is engaging with her. Elizabeth is horrified that she just killed someone. Booker? The ass practically plays OP’s meme straight, accusing Daisy as being as bad Comstock because of the extremes she went to. Like before when she first saw racism, Elizabeth doesn’t like this answer. She’s noticeably more uncomfortable with Booker from this point onwards.

“Wait, doesn’t that mean Bioshock Infinite does fit OP’s post?” NO! Here’s why:

Remember how I called Booker a war criminal? Yeah no that wasn’t a joke. Big spoilers for the game, Booker IS Comstock. Same person. He doesn’t know it at this point in the game cause timey wimey shit, don’t ask, I’ve already been typing for too long. The point is, the game hints at this the whole time, like whole time. Which means Booker is an oppressor himself criticizing one of the people he’s oppressed. Again, not subtext.

This matters a lot because Bioshock is not saying “Daisy was in the wrong for being extreme, she’s just as bad Comstock!” Booker is saying that. Booker, the unreliable narrator. Booker, the brash asshole. Booker, THE VILLAIN OF THE GAME! Booker and his opinions should not be treated as anything but what they are: an oppressor and the fucked up way his mind works.

If you would like to criticize the (unfortunately plentiful) players who did not pick up on this? Be my guest. Wanna criticize the game cause you feel like the handled the topic in a clunky way. Fine! But they did not endorse the status quo. Booker dies at the end! And Elizabeth kills him! It’s not in some heroic sacrifice. He is not glorified as it happens. Elizabeth kills him because she knows it’s the right thing to do. Because even though she can never undo killing Daisy, she CAN do right by her and the people of Columbia by killer Comstock while she has the chance. The moment is clearly emotional for her, but that’s only because she got attached to Booker after all this time (and remember, she was emotional after Daisy too, so the girl is simply not a killer).

can we stop doing this trope

#literary rant #sorry for the rant #I get so passionate about #bioshock infinite #it’s a good game #it’s not perfect #I agree #but this criticism feels so shallow because the game is not endorsing Booker’s actions #again I say #he dies #he fucking died #that doesn’t happen to heroes unless it’s a big sacrificial thing #and it wasn’t #cause he’s the villain #depiction does not equal endorsement #PLEASE people #media literacy #personal rant

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