#ff16 odin

[overlordrae]

Been a while since i drew Barnabas.

[owarinaki]

Final Fantasy XVI - Odin and the Sea

[dunderella]

the waloeders

(available as stickers in my shop!)

[olgipolgi]

▪️ Odin ▪️

[skullssy]

Odin your tiddies why are they so big

[hiebies]

hold me (i wish that we were laying in the same sheets)

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | desc; to love is to hope, to hope is to hold, to hold is to be secure- until it isn’t.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | pairings; barnabas tharmr -> x gn!reader

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | mlist

sweet air on a spring morning. sweet like dew on blades of grass and honeysuckle blossoms birthing into bloom. not like powdered sugar, not like perfume or incense, not like slathered honey dripping onto your tongue.

sweet air on a spring morning and cold cotton sheets that swathe generously over naked skin, an arm stretched out over an expanse to trace an empty hand and reaching fingers to a place no longer occupied. of course, why would it not be unoccupied? no one lays there to leave an indentation in the sheets, there is no reason to anymore. pointless.

the reaching fingers drag the empty space, adoring in their caress, arcing back to the body of their owner to curl against a chest. the fingers tap against the chest of the body, pressing against skin, hard enough to meet the resistance of muscle and bone, to feel the staccato rhythm underneath.

a sigh. cotton sheets ruffled. body awakened.

feet press to the cold ground without much protest, scuffing quietly against the floor. the careful machinations of the hopelessly ardent hands lift the body encasing the soul that remembers all, feet sliding over wood until a sudden stop is made at the mirror on the far side of the room.

tired eyes are reflected back through the mirror, lips curled into a frown and face appearing puffy. hands, ones that are practiced in their art, poke and prod at the face until the articulated smile sticks.

a knock on the door. a sharp tap followed by a pause, then three more sharp taps. familiarity breeds contempt for the memory of this. the head that appears when the door twists open is out of focus from the mirror; good.

“are you ready?” speaks the voice from the body in the doorway, achingly familiar.

you cast me aside, says the soul in a hateful whisper. i am cast, far out to sea, sinking within the froth of the waves you have created. the soul consumes itself in its grief, in turmoil as the face slides more into focus.

“give me a few moments, won’t you?” answers the voice from the body, swallowing the cries of the soul, letting itself be consumed. “close the door.”

the face becomes clearer in the mirror, just barely, darkness of the room creating pleasant shadows. hand pushed against the smoothness of the door, the person by it is clear now, frowning, seemingly something to say on the tip of the tongue. say it already. eyes clash in the mirror and then shatter apart. the visitor is silent.

“could you not find a better time than this?” asks the voice, level in volume but not its intent. stagnation permeates the air, carried across the space, cutting through the particles between them and being consumed into ears that are reluctant to listen.

footsteps approach. a hand brushes against a shoulder of another. silence.

the articulated smile flares and muscles tense, stretched thin like rubber bands, preparing to snap back to their fixed state; away from the visitor. the visitor speaks again in reply, “now is best.”

another sigh, the soul gasps for breath in the crushing waves stirred by the open wound the heart bares; only because it suits you. the body contracts, moving away from the visitor once more, one final time.

“Your cause has cost us everything, I am lost to you. I stay, because you’ve buried me in responsibility here I can’t shake.”

sour air on an autumn evening. twilight reflecting on fallen carpets of leaves left to rot and nurture new life, the contemptuous finality of changes made. like footsteps leaving an occupied room with the soul of the body left behind. like the merciful end of familiarity caused contempt hidden within the changing of seasons.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | notes; okay so,, i wrote this originally to b able to b read with multiple ppl, original plan was to write something able to be read for clive, barnabas, dion, benedikta & cid,, haha whoopsies it ended up being barnabas solo :’) this is really about nothing, but references past conflict- honestly that’s all i had in mind, i apologise incredibly if it doesn’t make much sense<3 on a final note!! i start a diploma soon (yay!) so activity will be diminished (i plan to finish asks before then, iv jus been swamped irl i am v sorry to reqs sent in & so far unanswered)

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ hiebies 2023 ©

[tsckcside]

ODIN ━ The Warden of Darkness who rides into battle atop his six-legged steed, black blade in hand. His latest Dominant, King Barnabas of Waloed - a man scholars believe to be a descendant of the ancient Motes of Darkness within whose line all Dominants of Odin are born. However, they have as yet been unable to prove this point, on account of no records of any Odins before Barnabas Tharmr having come to light.

[ageha-sds]

Woden Worhte Weos

[a-s-t-a-r-i-o-n]

ODIN | Barnabas Tharmr

[achillean-knight]

AAAAND THAT'S 2 FORMS DONE!

I WAS thinking of doing the final boss form right after this, but I want to save that for when I... well, have ideas for the entirety of the story so ik what I want to strive for. NONETHELESS, I got the rough design of an Odin form done atleast! Unfortunately, I think I made him resemble Bahamut more than Odin lmao but yolo.

Next up is Frisk-- I'm torn for the designs colours specifically for them, because Bahamut- the summon actually used for Frisk, is pretty mute in colours, so I'm wondering if I go mostly grey??? but hhhrgggg it'll take a bit and a lot of trial and error. ANYWAYS enjoy Asgore in both his normal king form, and his Odin armour >:3 I had alota fun with these! And yes, his horns do extend more when he's... in his Odin form shghsdsd bc alot of Odin designs in FF have wacky ass, very curly and large horns :>

[kingofreddragons]

Eikons of Light and Dark

[sawyarts]

Hits Barnabas with the gainax pose beam

[owarinaki]

Barnabas Tharmr -ODIN - The King of Waloed

Final Fantasy XVI

[battleonthebigbridge]

I'm ngl this is kinda driving me insane what are they so big for king

[hyperboreandad-82]

[hiebies]

can i get a kiss? (can you make it last forever?)

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | desc; to share in a gentle passion, the press of skin to skin in the most authentic way one knows how.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | pairings; barnabas tharmr : benedikta harman : joshua rosfield : hugo kupka -> x gn!reader

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | mlist : p2

kissing barnabas is like the waging of a battle. the beginning comes as the aftermath of careful planning, the cunning wit of a man all too familiar with the realities that can come from the crusades he commits to feel your lips on his. his lips are warm, dry but not chapped, at first a press of skin to skin- lips to lips, testing the waters. his hands follow his lips pressing to yours, calloused thumbs pressing and dragging over the apples of your cheeks and over your jaw. he spends his time breathing you in like the brine of the ocean air- present, yet alert to you. always you.

when joshua indulges himself in kissing you, he is always mindful, always aware, always present. his lips somehow always taste like berries, perhaps it is because of his hunger for the sweet fruit- or maybe perhaps it is because of the salve he once bought on his travels when they began to chap terribly one winter.. perhaps it is simply a combination of both. kissing him is a reprieve, a slow lull like the setting of the sun on the horizon, plush of his lips to yours and tongue tracing the seam of your mouth tentatively, as always, he tastes like berries.

benedikta’s kisses are always just a bit different from their predecessors. some are teasing and so fleeting they are simply brushes of her mouth- to yours, to your cheeks, to the tip of your nose, to your jaw; anywhere she can reach in the moment. other times the press of her mouth is incessant, coated in sticky product and leaving smears around your mouth- the direction of her tongue dragging over your bottom lip, the way she prefers to direct such a like a puppeteer would. sometimes, in quieter moments, her kisses are slow- languid, not fleeting nor incessant, lips warm and hands seeking only to cradle your face close as hearts beat together in seperate ribcages.

when he so deigns to, hugo kisses you like he is a man starved for air- like your lips against his is a sensation he cannot live without, that your lips are a need and not a want. he needs your pretty lips, puckered and puffed out as his hand squishes at your cheeks and he tips his head back in laughter, other hand resting on your waist where he has you splayed out over his lap. his kisses are like he is starved, like you are his oasis, plentiful in the bounty that is his to claim and the happiness it grants him upon stealing a kiss from your mouth.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ | notes; i’m so totally very most definitely not biased at all for anyone, totally. (it’s barnabas, he gives me cuteness aggression.) i hav a pt 2 w everyone else leftover, it should b posted over next few days :]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ hiebies 2023 ©