#mother 2 oc

[commandernachos]

Meet my new MOTHER oc, Monsieur Bile! He sucks.

[kngrose]

hii! I love your bully!Sevika headcannons sm

what if she finds reader beaten up and on the brink of death in some long forgotten alley one day?

and reader be like: came to finish me off, huh?

𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘! 𝐒𝐄��𝐈𝐊𝐀

when someone touches what’s hers

WARNINGS: minor depictions of violence, mentions of abuse, implied power dynamics

from roselí. ᡣ𐭩 : anon this was suuuuch a good idea. i put my own little twist on it.

It’d been a long day.

The usual hussle and bussle of the undercity; dealing with the volatile gang ordeals, organizing shipments of Shimmer, cleaning up after Silco’s blue haired mess, and of course getting into close details with Silco himself.

It’d been a very long day.

She would frequent the brothel in her free time, trying on different bodies everytime she went. It was a good detresser— a quick nut after a long day to really end the night right. If not there, she’d be found at the last drop, sipping slowly on brown liquor while she enjoys a few rounds of poker for a bet.

It helped, it did.

But nothing compared to her little plaything.

She’d make it her mission everyday to track down her favorite little target. Her lips always curled into a smirk at the thought of you— shy, fragile, and oh-so-easy to toy with. Hers to provoke, hers to corner, hers to dominate. It was the best stress reliever.

To finally have something to really sink her teeth into. Something to break slowly over time, all in her control. It felt nice to have control. To finally not be under someone’s wing. It was relieving to take out all that anger, all that sadness, every sadistic urge. It wasn’t anything personal, you’d just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

But today was different.

She didn’t feel that satisfaction as she navigates through the usual chaos—shouting vendors, the clatter of machinery, and the occasional muffled scream carried through the maze of alleyways. Sevika strode through it all like a storm given flesh, her mechanical arm glinting in the faint light.

The alley was dark, the harsh glow of Zaun's neon lights flickering erratically, but it was nothing compared to the storm brewing in Sevika's chest. Her boots echoed like thunder as she stormed down the narrow path, her anger a palpable force that crackled in the air. She had just gotten word that someone had beat her property to a bloody pulp.

She rounded the corner, her eyes scanning the scene. There, slumped against a dumpster, was her victim— bruised, bloodied, and barely conscious. Sevika's jaw clenched. Her heart, if she had one, seemed to twist in her chest. There was a flash of fury, and it took everything in her to restrain herself. Her fingers flexed, aching to crush the throat of whoever had dared to harm what was hers.

No one was allowed to lay a hand on her prey except for her.

You were crumpled on the ground, lip split, bruises blooming across your delicate skin. Blood trickled from your nose, staining your collar. You flinched as you tried to sit up, only to let out a pained hiss.

She marched toward you, boots echoing ominously in the alley. You peered up, eyes widening in fear as if expecting more punishment. Sevika crouched down in front of you, her jaw clenched so tightly it felt like her teeth might crack.

“Who the hell did this to you?” Sevika snarled, her voice like gravel, rough and dangerous. Her eyes scanned the surroundings, but there was no one in sight. She knelt in front of you, a hand gently— but possessively cupping your chin, lifting your face.

You stammered, trying to form words, but her sharp glare silenced them, “I said, who. Did. This.”

Her mind was a mess of confusion and rage. She wasn't supposed to care—not about you, not about the bloodstains on your clothes or the way your eyes barely fluttered open. But she did. She did, and it was making her sick.

"I-I don't know... They... they came out of nowhere. I didn't mean to... to make them angry..." You wheezed in a breath, “Why… did you come to finish the job?” You said, a little snarkily for someone in your position. Sevika's gaze darkened, lips curling into a snarl. "Why didn't you fight back?" she growled, as if the idea that you hadn't defended yourself was a personal betrayal. Her concern for your well-being was entirely overshadowed by her frustration that you hadn't done enough to prevent this from happening in the first place.

She wiped away the blood on your face with the back of her hand, not bothering to hide her disgust, "God, you're so pathetic," she muttered under her breath. "I told you to stay close, didn't I? This is why I tell you to stay put." She spat.

"You shouldn't have been here," Sevika hissed, her voice dangerously low, filled with venom. "You shouldn't have let anyone hurt you." She ran her thumb over your bruised cheek, but it wasn't the soothing gesture it appeared to be. It was possessive. Violent. "I should be the only one to do this to you."

It was daunting really, her way of thinking. How dare she? Stomping in here like she cared. Like she actually cared about your well being. Her concern was twisted—contorted into something dark, something dangerous. She wasn't concerned about your safety, your pain. She was concerned about how this made her look. How it threatened her claim on you. This was hers. You were hers. Goddamn it this was the only thing—!

Sevika's anger didn't fade. In fact, it boiled hotter now. How dare you go off and get yourself hurt like this? She had always been there to make you feel small, to bring you down to your knees, to remind you who you belonged to. But this?

This was your biggest show of audacity yet.

Sevika dragged you to your feet, her hands firm but rough. She forced you to meet her gaze, her eyes wild with fury. "Don't you ever let someone else touch you again. You hear me?" she spat, her voice thick with a possessiveness that bordered on madness. "You're mine to hurt, mine to break. No one else gets that privilege." She pulled you close, your battered body cradled against her. In that moment, there was no tenderness, only a suffocating, possessive need.

“But don’t worry,” she murmured, cracking her knuckles, “I’ll make sure they never even think about coming near you again.” Her smirk etched its way onto her face, sharper than ever. “But you? You and I still need to have a talk about how you let this happen.”

Without waiting for an answer, Sevika turned, already plotting how to make an example of whoever crossed the line. You sat there trembling and confused— you could only watch her disappear into the shadows, fearfully thinking of what that ‘talk’ would consist of.

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[doctorsiren]

Mama Edgeworth anyone?

[almostthursdayy]

cringe death note oc posting what’s new

BIG PIECE of mello & my dn oc, M, more info about her right here 😈😈⤵️⤵️

i love her sm and i WILL talk extensively about her the second i’m given the chance. she’s literally the reason i got into death note so everyone say thank you M!

[jelliclechoice]

Treating bro better than his family for his birthday

[arolegos]

todays my birfday i drew my ocs guys!!!

[spasikonik]

me if making fanarts of fictional bands was a job

[guardianoftheearth]

Mother 2 30th Anniversary

I don't care if its late this took me WEEKS

[blondeaxolotl]

Milf drop part 2 and we're hitting it with another demon mom, say hi to Miss Annafellows (Hannah's mother).

Bonus doodle:

[gr3yart]

Concept design for a goddess oc (god of creativity and stories/fates), doomed plots my beloved<3

[artnijna]

Night watch on the grounds of the Phantomhive Estate

Aka Annie spending time with his mother while they look for any fool that steps on the grounds.

[thealmightyven]

researching chimerism

[kngrose]

Do you mind writing more about bully!sevika?

𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐈𝐊𝐀 𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘! 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐄𝐃…

harassing you at the bar

WARNINGS: bullying, harassment, degradation, humiliation, implied dacryphilia, slight violence. be safe, heed warnings!

from roselí. ᡣ𐭩 : THE AMOUNT OF ASKS FOR THIS. y’all are depraved… i’m here for it ^^

The dim, oppressive atmosphere of The Last Drop seemed heavier tonight, or maybe that was just the weight of Sevika’s gaze boring into you from across the room. You’d been foolish to come back here— it wasn’t exactly a safe haven for someone like you. And Sevika? She’d made it her personal mission to remind you of that every chance she got.

You didn’t notice her approaching until her mechanical arm slammed onto the table, the impact making your drink slosh over the rim. You froze, feeling her looming presence before you dared to look up. You suppose now that thinking a secluded table in the corner would’ve been enough to conceal you was silly. She’d always had this weird sixth sense when it came to you— somehow always knew of your presence before you were made aware of hers.

“Still showing your face, huh?” she drawled, her voice dripping with mockery. “Maybe I’m not making myself clear enough.” You forced yourself to meet her gaze, but the smirk tugging at her lips made it hard to hold. She loved this, the little game where she chipped away at your composure like it was some cheap toy she’d grown bored of.

“I’m just here for a drink,” you muttered, closing in on yourself, voice quieter than you wanted it to be. “I’m not here to cause trouble,” you tried, but your voice cracked slightly under the pressure. She scoffed tilted her head, her sharp eyes scanning you from head to toe like she was appraising a broken machine. “No… you know better than that.”

Sevika smirked, sliding into the seat across from you. The motion was fluid and unnervingly casual, like she wasn't even trying to intimidate you-she just was. "You look worse than usual. Rough day? Or did you just wake up that way?"

Your chest tightened, but you kept your eyes fixed on the tabletop; you knew better than to rise to her bait. You tried to focus on your drink, anything to avoid meeting her gaze, but her sharp fingers grabbed the glass and slammed it back down on the table.

The ice rattled in the cup.

"Don't ignore me," she spat. "You're not that special."

The ice rattled in the cup.

Her presence loomed over you like a storm cloud, heavy and oppressive. You couldn't breathe with her so close, her mechanical arm casting shadows on your face as it clicked ominously beside her. She leaned forward, resting her chin in her human hand as her metal fingers tapped rhythmically against the table. “You’re pathetic.” She snarled, noting the way you avoided her eyes.

You clenched your fists under the table, trying to steady your breathing. "Why do you even care?" Her grin returned, wider, predatory now. "Care?" she repeated, her voice dripping with a mixture amusement and defensiveness. She sat up straight, towering over you and blocking out the flickering neon light behind her. "This isn’t about caring, idiot. It’s about entertainment.”

"Oh, you've got a drink," she said mockingly, plucking the glass from your hand before you could react. Her metal arm shot out, grabbing the edge of your drink and sliding it toward her. She held it up to the light, inspecting it like it was beneath her. "What is this? Some watered-down piss? Figures. Suits you."

"Give it back," you said, your voice low but trembling.

Her laugh was sharp and cruel. "Give it back," she mimicked, her tone dripping with condescension as she placed it back on the table. She sniffed it, then shoved the glass carelessly, the contents spilling onto the table with an exaggerated flourish. The room seemed to grow quieter, the other patrons glancing your way before quickly returning to their own business. No one in Zaun was going to stick their neck out for you.

“Oops,” she said flatly, her grin morphing into an ice gold glare. “That was unnecessary,” you said, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. Sevika’s expression darkened, and she leaned in so close you could feel the heat of her breath. “Unnecessary?” she echoed, her tone low and dangerous. “Let me make something clear: You might think your voice matters, but it doesn’t. Someone as weak and useless as yourself doesn’t get to decide what’s unnecessary.”

“I’ll tell you what is necessary though,” She offers, gesturing towards the spill on the table, “It’s necessary that you clean up your fucking mess.” It wasn’t a suggestion. You felt your blood boil, but you knew you couldn’t do anything about it. That just served to make you all the more irritated.

“But, I didn’t—” She raised a single eyebrow, a look that said: Are you questioning me? You heeded her warning, reaching over for the tub of napkins placed conveniently on the table.

The sting started slow, but it picked up rapidly, a feeling like fire washing over your cheek. You barely had time to register that she’d slapped you. “You should know better than that.” She spat, shoving your hand away from the napkins. “You think you deserve anything that dignifies you?”

You distinctly remember feeling small when she’d shoved your face into the table, your nose crashing onto the wood painfully. The drink was cold as it met your face, making your eyes sting as it slid through your eyelashes. Her grip in your hair was excruciatingly tight, your scalp burning where her hand held you. “This is how you deserve to clean up your mess. You lick it up.”

You physically grimace as she rolls your face around in your own drink, a choked sob finally rolling from your throat. The one you’d spent your own money on. The one you just wanted to sip slowly and enjoy.

You didn’t need to hear her snickering to know that she was, but you could.

You struggled to free yourself from her grip, but her fingers were like iron. She pulled your head up by your hair, dragging your face closer to hers, her words searing your skin.

"I could snap you like a twig if I felt like it," Sevika purred, her mechanical arm moving with precision as it hovered over your shoulder. "But no... that would be too quick. You don't deserve a quick end. No, I'll drag it out. I'll make you beg for mercy before I'm done with you."

The words twisted like knives in your gut, but you couldn't look away. Fear rooted you to the spot, and that made it worse. "You're lucky I don't find you too boring yet," she added, releasing your chin but running a finger down the side of your face. It was cold, and you flinched at the touch, but she didn't care. "Maybe you'll earn some of my respect. Maybe you'll fight back, or maybe you'll just keep looking at me like a lost puppy."

She took her free hand and smeared the drink over your face some more, "But probably not. You'll just keep letting me walk all over you. And I'll keep enjoying it." She turned to leave, offering you one last once over, her eyes glinting with what looked like satisfaction.

"Now," she patted your cheek, "Why don't you do yourself a favor and crawl back to whatever hole you came from before someone decides to make an example out of you?"

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[m4carunes]

kumatora if you can hear me please save us kumatora please save us

lil extra of my oc where i attempted to draw her in the mother style😭

[residentialsinyomakai]

Hello hello!!! Guess what. Yokai art dump below the cut!! So cool and shiny wow

Its true, I do >u<

I'll try and section these and give the usual explanations below! Image ID for more drawing specific inksplanation.

Click for full image! Since a lotta these are weirdly shaped they were cut off....augh...

McKraken and Maddiman related doodlesssss they're some of my faves <3 i will always love them even if they're not my focus characters atm (well. McKraken kinda is rn but also Babblong so YAY)

Misc. Yokai and ocs! The frog is Kerosque, the guy w the swirly pompadour thing is Swiss, and the monkey is Romono (although he's a Regretevator OC from FOREVER ago, he's still my son <33)

SWISS STUFF RAUGHHHH ! inconsistent style will be APPARENT here try not to notice shuhhhhhgh

Height for main yokai in my AU/on Casp's team! (In the anime it's just primary summons then wwwww)

Some yokai practice/design hcs bc my friend asked!! I was so happy to share 🤭 LOVE YOU CHERCHERRRR

Some of my little guys once more! Rawry' prob one of my faves yokai to draw, easy and fun to do show-accurate or stylized.

OCSSSSSS. AND BADDINYAN. MY EVIL CAT <3333 the guy next to the frog in the middle is an oc idea but idk for what yet =▽=

AUGH. THERES AN IMAGE LIMIT? Well in case you're wondering it's 30....post the rest after I get tomorrow's doodles. See you then and thank you for looking at and reading about my arts!

[strayrockette]

The Dragon & The Griffon: The Ripple in the Path

The Dragon & The Griffon: Where the Path Leads- A Taste, The Beginning of the Path

Summary: Takes place a week and 1 month after Irene Atreides gives birth to Amina Targaryen.

Warnings: Bene Gesserit schemes, mentions of death, foreboding feelings, unease, tense environments, and a simple planet named Draconis (hehe my brain hurt too much to come up with a more complex name for the Targaryen planet, so do not come for me please ❤️😂)

A/N: This took a while to write. There were a lot of ideas and so much to filter through. Not to mention getting the details right or making it feel seamless. Hope you enjoy! ❤️ Revised 9/7/2024, 9/9/2024

The Reverend Mother's Unease - A Week After Irene’s Passing - Reverend Mother’s Chambers

The dimly lit chamber of the Reverend Mother was thick with the heavy scent of incense, its smoky tendrils curling around the ancient stone walls and faded tapestries. Each breath pulled the weight of the room deeper into her lungs, mingling the aromas of burning resins, candle wax, and a hint of spice. Seated in her high-backed chair, the Reverend Mother’s eyes were half-closed, her face calm and inscrutable as if carved from the very stone surrounding her. But beneath her composed exterior, a flicker of unease simmered, hidden yet unmistakable.

The silence of the room was broken by the creak of the chamber door. An emissary entered, his steps careful and his face drawn, shadows stretching behind him in the flickering light. He bowed deeply, his voice strained as he delivered his news. “Reverend Mother, urgent word from Draconis. Lady Irene has given birth to a child—a daughter of House Targaryen. And… all the sisters sent with her have been killed.”

The Reverend Mother’s expression did not waver, but the atmosphere in the room thickened, charged with tension. She remained silent, letting the words sink in. Irene’s mission had been unequivocal: infiltrate House Targaryen and eradicate its last remnants. Instead, Irene had not only failed but had birthed a child of Targaryen blood, and the sisters sent to ensure the mission’s success were all dead. A chilling ripple of unease coursed through the Reverend Mother. The implications were vast and dangerous.

She drew a slow, measured breath, her senses reaching out into the vast, unseen currents of the universe. A faint shiver ran through her, a sensation that was neither fear nor surprise but a deeper, more unsettling awareness—an understanding that something fundamental had shifted, altering the fabric of fate itself. There was a disturbance, an ancient power stirring that she could not yet fully grasp, and it was tied to the birth of this unexpected child.

Her gaze turned to the intricate tapestries that adorned the walls, each thread a silent testament to the Bene Gesserit’s long, calculated rise to power. But now, the once-familiar patterns seemed to writhe and shift in the dim light, vibrating with a dissonance that mirrored her inner turmoil. House Targaryen, nearly extinguished, had defied them. This was not just a failure; it was a harbinger of a larger, more perilous struggle.

“How did the sisters die?” she asked, her voice sharp and controlled, though a shadow of anger tinged her words.

The emissary hesitated, his eyes darting nervously. “It was swift and precise. The reports are conflicting, but it seems as though the planet itself rose against them. A force beyond what we anticipated… something ancient.”

The Reverend Mother’s eyes narrowed. The sisters sent to Draconis were among the best, their loyalty and skills beyond question. Their deaths were not just a setback but a sign that House Targaryen had defenses they could not have foreseen. Worse, the birth of this child—whose name was still unknown—was an ominous twist, a new variable in a game the Bene Gesserit had thought they controlled.

She summoned her closest advisors, who entered the chamber with urgency, their faces etched with concern. They bowed before her, sensing the gravity of the situation. “We cannot allow this to derail our plans,” she commanded, her voice cutting through the tension. “Increase surveillance. Strengthen our networks. This child must be watched at all costs. We are dealing with a resurgence that is more than a mere complication—it is a threat to everything we have built.”

The advisors nodded, retreating swiftly to carry out her orders. Left alone, the Reverend Mother stared at the dying embers in the braziers, her mind racing with calculations. The unknown daughter of Irene Atreides and Daeylor Targaryen posed a threat unlike any they had faced before—a convergence of power and bloodlines that could tip the balance of the universe itself.

She could feel the tremors of change deep in her bones. This child’s birth was not a mere defiance of their plans but a declaration of something far more profound. The Bene Gesserit would need to act with swift and unyielding force to contain this threat before it consumed them all. For now, the Reverend Mother did not know the child's name, but she knew that whatever it was, it carried with it a legacy that could not be ignored.

The Message Arrives - Caladan, Duke Leto’s Study - A Month After Irene’s Passing

Duke Leto Atreides sat in his study, surrounded by dark wood and the quiet dignity of a room steeped in tradition. Maps and books lined the walls, their edges flickering in the muted glow of candlelight. The restless sea beyond the stained glass windows mirrored his turbulent thoughts. The heavy oak door creaked open, and a messenger entered, his expression grim. He approached with a deep bow, the gravity of his message evident in every line of his posture.

“Duke Leto,” the messenger began, voice tight. “I bring word from Draconis. Your sister, Lady Irene, has passed… but not before giving birth to a daughter of House Targaryen.”

Leto’s fingers tightened around the armrest of his chair, the wood creaking under the sudden pressure. Rising slowly, he moved as if bracing against a heavy weight. The usual quiet hum of the study felt stifling, each breath dense with the unspoken loss. Irene’s absence hit like a cold wind, stripping the room of its familiar warmth.

He stared into the crackling fire, flames dancing with a restless energy that mirrored the storm brewing within him. Irene’s death was a wound he had not anticipated—more than just a loss, it was a fracture in the foundation of House Atreides. Yet amid the grief, a spark remained: Irene had left behind a daughter, a merging of Atreides and Targaryen blood.

Leto moved to the map of the universe, his gaze tracing the lines that connected Caladan to distant, hostile worlds. The implications of his sister’s child swirled in his mind. This was no ordinary birth; it was a bridge between two powerful but isolated houses. Where others might see danger, Leto saw potential—an uncharted path that could redefine alliances and power.

The Targaryens, formidable and fiercely independent, had long been a looming presence. But now, with the birth of Irene’s daughter, they were no longer untouchable. Leto knew this was a chance to shift the balance, to turn an unpredictable situation into an advantage for House Atreides. He crossed to his desk, pulling a fresh sheet of parchment, the quill scratching across the surface as he penned his thoughts with urgency.

He crafted his words carefully, expressing grief for his sister’s loss while hinting at the possibility of a future bound by shared blood. This was not just an offer of condolence—it was a proposal for dialogue, a subtle yet unmistakable gesture toward a potential alliance. Leto’s mind worked like a seasoned strategist, weighing every phrase, every implication, setting the stage for a new chapter.

Sealing the letter with the Atreides sigil, Leto summoned the messenger, watching as the wax cooled, solidifying his intentions. As the letter was whisked away, he returned to his chair, eyes fixed on the fire. The flames seemed to flicker with renewed purpose, reflecting his resolve.

Leto’s thoughts turned inward, assessing the risks. The Targaryens were known for their pride and suspicion, and any overture could be met with defiance. But Leto was no stranger to navigating perilous waters. This was more than just a personal loss; it was an opportunity to turn the tides in favor of his house. Irene’s daughter, a living symbol of both families, could be the key to a future where House Atreides thrived, not just through power but through unexpected unity.

As the fire crackled softly, Leto made a silent vow: to honor his sister by forging ahead, transforming potential threat into opportunity. House Atreides had always been adaptable, and resilient in the face of shifting sands. Now, with this new connection to House Targaryen, Leto saw the future clearly—a path lit by the unyielding flame of his family’s will and the promise that Irene’s legacy would not fade into darkness.

A/N: if you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! If you’d like to be tagged just shoot a comment and ask! Please comment your thoughts, like and reblog ❤️❤️

Taglist: @aoi-targaryen, @mysticalpandora, @storiesfromafan