#oc: myrtis

[wakeofvultures]

Hey !! I’ve finally got some free time from school and re read CITC, was wondering if you had any plans to update ?

Hi!!!

Wow, that's so nice to hear that you read CITC! I'm really sure that I will get back to it eventually!

Unfortunately (for that fic), I got really sucked into the Hunger Games prequel fandom at the beginning of the year, and it refuses to leave me!

I do have a bit of the next chapter written that I occasionally stare at, feeling a little bad that I haven't updated in so long! Maybe, I'll try and spruce it up to publish at some point! I really do plan on finishing this fic, haha! And I'm so glad to hear that you're still waiting on updates!

Anyway, thanks for the patience! I really hope I can at least army crawl out of this other brainrot to deliver something to you before the end of the year!

[sweeteastart]

💫KHOCWEEK 2023💫

Day 4 - Alternative Universe

@khoc-week

Mikana

Blue Island AU

Welp, it got dark all of a sudden.

So, to explain this piece a bit : I've been working on an AU for quite while now named Blue Island. To put it simply it's a kinda a remix of magical girls and kh together with a tad or realism as you can see. Designing the magical girls clothes all the while keeping the spirit of each character original ones was tough but gratifying !

For this piece I really wanted to illustrate the vibe of "oh we are in trouble. Huge trouble". In this AU, Sora, Riku and Kairi are pushed into this new world of being protectors of light without much training sooo... Let's just say the first few fights aren't pretty. I hope it's not too graphic I tried to keep it down

Myrti

Vampire AU

They looked at each other without really seeing. Eyes locked yet blind. Deep inside, numerous feelings were eating at both of the woman. Old, crumbled up memories crashed against each other in a silent cacophony.

Myrti was out of words. Out of ways to express everything. Larxene was too full of questions. All of them rushing to her head all at once, making it impossible to ask any. So they continued to look at the other. Like a stranger. Like a lover. Like a foe.

Everything rang true yet one was oblivious to the truth and the other refused to give it. And the blond vampire, truly, deeply wanted answers. To put reasons being the angry and vengeful actions of Myrti. To have a sentence -even a single word- to respond to the numerous "why" that had kept repeating in her head over the last years.

She opened her mouth. To say it. Say her piece. Or maybe just something. Anything. Anything that could break the silence and hatred. But the young woman before her didn't let her. With neither words nor action. Only her eyes.

The blond didn't remember the before. Before being Larxene, she was nothing -or at least that's what her inexistent memories told her-. Before being a vampire, for her, she didn't exist as a human. All this time, she reasoned herself.

"why care about it ? I don't remember it anyways."

Surely if she had been loved, if she had been cared about, someone would have looked for her... And no one came.

Looking back, it sure was a stupid way to think. A way of coping. Of not regretting. Of not staying stuck in the eternal loop of searching for the ghosts of those she didn't know about. Really, all she ever did was blinding herself. Turning away and running the furthest away from any possible problems.

Sure, she lived to the fullest. A life of excess and joy, the life of a creature of the night. She did as she wanted without a care and never did she regretted it. Not for a second. Not until she met her.

All along, she knew. She knew they were entangled one way or another. There was this pull, this mysterious invisible thread that always lead her back to Myrti. Yet she didn't question it. She didn't question the hate. The bitterness. The plain and obvious hurt. The blond covered her eyes. She played dumb. Just as she ignored the clear consequences of her past actions -even if she didn't remember them-, she also decided to not acknowledge her eyes.

The eyes she now gazed into. Full of pain, agonising loathing and regrets. She saw it. She saw for the first time the full extent of it. From the flamming hate... to the burning love. The care. Even the affection she tried to deny seeing in the other vampire.

Myrthi both loved her and hated her. One as destructive as the other. Both consuming her in every actions she took until now. And Larxene knew. Understood. She had to accept : she was the catalyst of all of it.

And that's it for today ! I hope it was nice to look and read ! Today's is pretty grim/angsty but zhwt can I say ? That's my jam !

[felixravinstills]

Taking the time to plug my unfinished Twilight Volturi OC fic on my tbosas blog for no reason other than why the fuck not? And also Felix Ravinstill brainrot is probably the reason this fic is still unfinished… so I need you to know what I could be writing instead:

(Below the cut have some context and my current favorite scene in that fic (1.5K words) and one of the reasons I started writing it in the first place… also considering this was the first fic I started writing, one of the reasons I started writing fic full stop period)

(There’s so much context that I don’t have time to give, but just know Children of the Moon are different from what Jacob is (and it’s kinda problematic how it’s all handled in canon rip). This fic takes place currently centuries before canon. Vampires are basically superhuman statue people who can heal super fast and sometimes have superpowers. My OC has such a gift and it’s death precognition basically. The Volturi (the vampire government) took her in after she got turned into a vampire because of her handy gift. And before this scene, someone important to the Volturi died while she was away so she couldn’t predict their death. Also yeah, if anyone here knows Twilight, I made Caius a girldad… For reference, he’s kinda like my Max in that fandom… I’m torturing him through his adopted child.)

…

“It’s not your fault,” Caius began, shakier this time. “It has never been your fault. There is but one person to blame and that is—“

But Myrtis was beyond hearing, and all words drowned out in the face of her sobbed apologies.

As if there were enough ‘I’m sorry’ to make things right.

She crashed forward, crying tearlessly into the inky black of Caius’ cloak.

Caius, for his part, was trying his best to lie to her.

There were more ‘it’s not your faults’ and ‘you couldn’t have knowns.’

His pleas for her to believe his lies about her innocence continued more frantic than the last until finally he pulled her from his chest and looked into her eyes.

“Listen,” he commanded her, but she could not.

She felt her eyes glaze over.

She had gotten distracted.

“Aro—“ Caius was saying.

In her panic, she had frozen.

Gods.

Then, remembering how to move, she pushed Caius away from her as hard as she could.

Caius stumbled back.

“Wha—“

Myrtis regained sight of reality and saw the confusion etched into Caius’ face just as the dark blur of her visions slammed into her.

A clawed hand ripped through her stone skin like she was human, and Myrtis screamed.

The lupine bulk of a Child of the Moon pressed her down into the snow.

The smell was terrible, but the pain was worse. Spittle rained down on her face and into her eyes as she struggled to keep her head out of its gaping maw.

The liquid ate at her skin.

Her gloves were in shreds.

Black dots appeared in her vision, and the last thing she truly saw before being submerged into the frenzied sights of her gift was the moon poking out from the cloud, full and glowing silver.

Her hands grasped and tore and scratched.

She could see it clearly. The sharp, yellowing teeth biting through her neck. The acid working at the flesh until venom could no longer works its miracles. There would be no bringing her back.

Her arms cracked. She could feel them about to give. She would have hissed or snarled back at the beast if her mouth could pull itself away from screaming.

Her gift cocooned around her in a panic.

The death rattle of her mind asked where was Caius. As her limbs shook from the strain, she let extended her gift with equal parts dread and hope.

The exertion was unnecessary.

The vision before her faded. Her eyes were still screwed shut, but hands were tugging her up by the armpits. A moment of pure fear made her struggle until she heard a familiar voice.

“It’s alright. It’s me.”

Caius helped her stand, but again, they were separated.

The wolf-beast was back, or perhaps, it was one of his brethren. Now that she was no longer pinned by its appendages, her visions expanded to showcase their numbers.

Wolves had always been pack hunters.

Myrtis dodged the a clawed swipe, left and right.

She would not survive another tackle from these beasts. The fractures in her arms were still healing.

“Myrtis.”

She moved towards the sound. She stopped when her back pressed against Caius’.

The wolves encircled them.

Caius’ hand grasped her arm. It grounded her.

Her eyes were closed, but she searched for a way out nonetheless.

“There’s a gap,” she said as her gift weighed their chances.

“I know,” he responded.

She heard shifting in the snow. He had bent legs, preparing to sprint. His own hand enclosed around hers.

A vision flashed before her.

“We won’t make it.”

“Have a little faith.”

Myrtis shook her head, taking her hand away from his.

“We won’t make it.”

It took Caius a moment to realize what she meant.

“No,” he said.

His’ voice was harsh, punctuated by the howls of the wolves around him.

He had turned his head to look at her, and that had been his mistake.

He had shown a lack of attention, a weakness.

With her gift pounding through her head, Myrtis moved on instinct.

To her great shame, she moved away from Caius and watched in her mind’s eye as the wolves pounced.

She strangled the scream that tried to force its way out of her throat.

Visions came and went, and she felt like she was choking.

Something landed near her skidding across the snow. She picked it up, knowing what it was.

Move, she told herself, as she held Caius’ right arm to her chest. Move.

She couldn’t fail again.

She couldn’t fail Caius.

Myrtis gave herself a running start before sliding herself into the tangle of limbs and fur.

She wanted to cry, but she bit her bottom lip and crawled.

The wolves were piled on top of each other, reaching for something. The labyrinth of paws and legs was so dense, and she was so weak.

Still, if they had been a little more organized, she would not have stood a chance. They crashed into one another and jostled amongst themselves.

The pain in her wounds and in her skull was nearly unbearable.

But she could not fail.

In her desperation, she could think of one solution. She bit into the legs that penned her in and hampered her movement.

The blood was bitter. She had to fight the urge to spit it out, but slowly, she felt the flesh of her arms knit themselves back together.

She bit and chewed, and some of the beasts moved. Others acted like she had not even touched them.

Nevertheless, she crawled forward as best as she could.

Soon, her hands did not just feel snow but also another arm, then a torso. Myrtis was relieved to hear the leg that dragged along with it.

Next was a blond head. She cradled that close.

And finally, there was a snout chewing at a leg.

Myrtis thought that it was a kindness that Caius could not feel a thing as she reached and grabbed at the last bit of him. The slobber that drenched the limb burned her hands. She had to wrench the poor limb from the mouth.

With the loss of their play toy, the wolves’ claws came down around her. She took the gashes with a scream, hugging Caius closer and fighting the stinging behind her eyelids.

She scrambled to drag herself out from under those beasts, counting again one head, one torso, two arms, and two legs.

With everything accounted for, she ran, full-sprint in the direction that she knew was south.

Myrtis dodged trees and boulders and other obstacles, just barely.

Her gift shrieked at her:

One wrong move. One stumble, and she was dead.

There was a morbid comfort in knowing she could rely on her visions.

A sharp pain stabbed from her head to the rest of Myrtis’ body.

Still, She ran. She had always been fast. Better yet, evasion had always been her strength.

Myrtis ran until the howling of wolves disappeared into the wind, not stopping until another terrible sight interrupted her.

The pain behind her eyes continued hammering through her head.

It felt like it was splitting her head open.

It was splitting her head open, her visions told her.

She would die.

Worse, Caius would die.

She dropped him: head, limbs, and torso into a heap.

Her hands grasped for the snow. Feeling all the vulnerability of a human, she wished she had their warmth. Flowing water would have served her better than tiny crystals of ice. Still, she sloughed the stuff onto her face.

She wiped the slush of snow, venom, and that terrible acid down her cheeks. Still, the visions did not abate. She buried her head into the snow, opened her eyelids, and let venom and poison spill to the ground.

The vision persisted.

The liquid was trapped in the crevices of her head.

In the distance, she heard the howls of the Children.

A new vision came into view.

She grabbed blindly into the pile that she knew was Caius. She grasped at the various tears and fractures, the places that the acidic poison had touched and scrubbed at it with snow.

Gods, they needed more blood.

More howls went up, and Myrtis’ head swam.

There were more visions, all different except one. Her head was a terrible mess of stony gore.

Then, the sight disappeared as soon it came. She already knew its remedy.

Another howl.

The Children were getting closer.

She laid Caius’ head gingerly beside his neck.

Perhaps, it was futile to imagine that he might survive if she failed, but she needed the hope.

She breathed two unnecessary breaths. Then, inhaling a third time, she raised her hands to her face. Her fingers skimmed her cheeks past the rough texture that was attempting to stitch itself together and to her burning eyelids.

Myrtis laid the gentle pads of her fingers—the thumbs and forefingers— at the far ends of each socket. She eased them into the pools of acid, venom, and the jelly of her eyes and pulled.

And screamed.

…

Except of Cracks in the Crypt, Chapter 21

[aforrestofstuff]

Here are all the other gods in Cyan’s family I’ve yet to design. Believe it or not, I’ve had the concept for Crises in my head for YEARS now and I can’t wait to finally draw her.

[ilsole]

and myrtus :]

Wooly attacked me so I attacked 3 different people

Sunspot + Tycho by me

Somi by @smoljeanius

Val, SD, and SS by @dazzlingsystem

Priscilla, monarch, Polaris, and theta by @nebuladreamz

Comet by @woolysstuff

and myrtus

myrtus is by @ilsole

[wakeofvultures]

I had a sketch of Myrtis (my oc from my fic) and Athenodora that I really liked. Unfortunately, I decided that they would be under a tree and tree shadows (plus an attempt at the vampire sparkly shine) means that I have to fight for my life with my artistic ability.

Commission Info (if you're interested)

[wakeofvultures]

2 asks in 1

1) How do you picture Marcus’s gift ? Like literal strings (like “red string of fate” type of deal ) or a sort of sixth sense

2) do you have your own personal fancasts for the volturi and Myrtis ?

Whoo! 2 asks in 1!

This is very ramble-y, so I hope it's coherent.

(I'll put my response under the cut)

I picture Marcus' gift as a bit of both. I do think that he sees strings. He instinctively knows what each string means. Mentally, if he's looking for a sort of bond it would appear. So, I guess it would be like a sixth sense that he just mentally envisions with strings? I don't think he would need to manually sort through them, he'd think to kind of input a search (what's this person's bond with X? Does this person have a romantic attachment?) and the bond will present itself. He can also just look at a person and see the various bonds without a specific search. Like he's looking at them, and he can skim through the various threads floating around if he wants. I imagine that he only needs to see one side of a relationship to know about a bond (For example, before meeting Sulpicia, he would have known Aro had romantic feelings for someone, and he would know that this person felt the same way back but he wouldn't know anymore information about who Sulpicia was). I think that Marcus' gift is useful in battle because it not only helps identify leaders and relationships to exploit but also within a short distance, alerts him to nearby people potentially lying in wait if someone with relationships to that person is visible.

Okay, the very boring answer is not really. As a person whose media consumption has been mostly prose and anime/manga, I don't really have a large visual catalogue of actors to pull from. As a person who draws, I tend to just draw what I think they look like(to varying degrees of success). For Myrtis specifically, I did try to think of one, and the best I could come up with was Bailey Bass (who actually has a pretty good face shape for what I am thinking). She was already in a vampire show (Interview with the Vampire) and she looked young enough to play Myrtis. Honestly, I applaud everyone who does fancasting. I haven't really done it though.

[wakeofvultures]

Chapter 24 of the self-indulgent kind of historical Volturi oc fic is out! Uh, this one has Immortal Children in it so it gets somewhat dark (I say like other chapters aren’t also pretty dark).

As always, it is a time.

[wakeofvultures]

For anyone whose ever wondered what my sketches look like, tada! On the left, we have Sulpicia and Athenodora hanging out. To the right (because I can't draw anything without including her somehow), we have my oc, Myrtis, in all her peak sad girl energy.

They're supposed to be dressed in some quattrocento clothing but costuming isn't my forte/something I've just been trying to improve at, so citation needed.

[wakeofvultures]

This started out as me wanting to draw my version of Caius' hair (because I imagined it differently from the last illustration I posted) and then turned into this.

This was just going to be Caius yelling at an idiot (a guard? Aro?) and then I drew Myrtis from my fic because she's my babygirl (also new pfp for me!). Anyway, don't ask her for help when Caius is yelling at you, she'll ignore you (unless she cares about you and she thinks the issue is worth her time).

Ultimately, despite my intentions, this just gives 'excuse me, she asked for no pickles.'

[wakeofvultures]

I wanted to draw this terrible, awful family again what else is new in their default expressions meeting new people for the first time. Also you can see me doing something with the colors I dress them in

Caius is judging you and somehow already disappointed. Also this is what i meant by wettest, rattest bastard on my last text post. Idk if anyone will vibe with this design but I love him.

My oc from my fic, Myrtis (with eyes!) is staring at you. But is she really looking at you? Or is she looking past you? She seems friendly enough. Does she have a plan for you? Are you a threat? Are you about to die? Regardless, she'd wear the same expression.

Athenodora doesn't care about you. She's not even looking at you. She's here for her own entertainment.

[wakeofvultures]

Chapter 27 of the self-indulgent kind of historical Volturi oc fic is out! It's Dacian v. Volturi Fight Part 2 Electric Boogaloo! Ft. the Author's slow dawning comprehension of how terrifying Alec's power is. Like I understood it in theory but wow.

[wakeofvultures]

Doodles of the wettest, rattest family (Caius, Athenodora, Myrtis— my oc). Aka some of the implied hurt/comfort in the last chapter that I uploaded of my fic. They've been going through it.

I'm trying my hardest to actually do casual, rough doodles and keep failing.

[wakeofvultures]

Hiii. I might have to stay as Anon in this one lmao. You'll definitely know who I am. Anyways, I want to ask you regarding the plot device in New Moon: The San Marco Festival (Saint Marcus Day). I remember you mentioning this:

"Also I imagine this random celebration that turned into a kinda confrontation between Marcus and Myrtis is the origin of St. Marcus Day. Like I imagine the details got all jumbled, but it’s got all the ingredients. Marcus (who probably looks pretty divine glowing in the sun), someone identifying him as Marcus (so they know what to name it), a vampire being driven away, a red cloak. I know the red cloak is supposed to symbolize victims according to the lore but again! Time and confused details!

I thought that this being the Saint Marcus Day origin would actually put an interesting parallel for New Moon and Edwards whole stunt. (the Volturi probably hate Edward for the reminder)."

How will the whole concept of The San Marco Festival go in your version, say, if you were given the full power to further develop this plot device into one big concept. Any key details perhaps? It's fine if you don't answer though lmao cuz i remember already asking this to someone but eh. Love you work <3

-"X"

Hmmm... I guess the rather disappointing answer is that I probably won't develop it much more than the tidbit that I wrote in the quote you cited. I generally lean towards the Volturi being apathetic towards humans for the most part, so I imagine that they let the humans do whatever, and the festival arose mostly from humans passing down a strange story and trying to make sense of what happened.

I do think that the fact that vampires got involved in the story might have been some mischief from the guard just wanting to mess with the humans, and when the various rumors started solidifying into a more cohesive story, the Volturi leaders gave whoever responsible a stern talking to. A hundred years down the line, I imagine Aro finds it quite funny (until he remembers why Marcus was sad and in the middle of Volterra in the first place).

I imagine that in my little universe that San Marco Festival/Saint Marcus Day is the topic of hot debate among academics. The two prevailing theories being that it is derived from Saint Mark's Feast Day somehow or "Saint Marcus" is something like "Saint Demetra" which has local religious practices combining paganism with Christianity. (This also means that people are casting Marcus in the role of Mars which is interesting.) Aro, of course, closely follows the debate.

Anyway, other than a joke to try to get Marcus to laugh at and a nice festival to use as a cover to smuggle a large group of tourists, I imagine that the Volturi of my story don't really partake in the festival. It does endear their city to them a bit more tho.

Thank you, and thanks for the ask!

[wakeofvultures]

Chapter 25 of the self-indulgent kind of historical Volturi oc fic is out! Whoops, I decided to take a break from finishing my final color palette request for a brief minute and then got carried away editing this chapter! It's fine!

[wakeofvultures]

Chapter 26 of the self-indulgent kind of historical Volturi oc fic is out! The Twins are technically in this chapter, but they’re more here in spirit. Their direct appearances are limited. AKA the fallout of impromptu child adoption is not always a smooth process.