#out of all the rise ocs

[soldrawss]

Uploading a BUNCH of Gio content from @goodlucktai fic "raised on little light" that absolutely ALL of you should go read right now this very instant because im OBSESSED with this little man. The long lost 5th brother, you are everything to me🥺❤

[tangledinink]

sometimes i just like drawing silly babies on silly playdates... gemini!donnie's babies ft. @abbeyofcyn and @cupcakeslushie's babies

[zinzabee]

The funniest thing that could happen is about to happen in next week's polls. @tmnt-ocxcanon-comp

[leisi-lilacdreams]

for @star-sparkler who had a sad dream of getting art of a cute August in winter clothes and it got taken down before they could share it

and you know what? August in cute winter clothes SHOULD exist

and know what what's even better than one fanart? three of course

(seriously August is too cute and this gave me an excuse to draw her)

[elguritch-art]

more post session brainworms of the cowboy, things have not in fact gotten better and he's in fact more tired then he's ever been every single week <3 now with added trauma triggering!

Virgil Lawrence | He/Him | 212 Years Old | Ex-Sabbat Brujah Vampire

Session/Image Context below:

finally got his coterie mate's crazy tremere ex dead and gone, and then had to listen to a baby sabbat brujah's entire life and family collapse around her. also he got a new knife for free (by being stabbed)!

PoV you're the Boston Prince (who totally deserved this) and have been in office 100 years after your predecessor was also killed by being thrown off a building by the same cowboy.

PoV you're a coterie member who pissed off the already EXTREMELY on edge and furious brujah by rebuking his attempts to suicide bait you and he just drew his 10+ pool revolver.

damn hard to stay keeping it together when you see and hear the ghosts of your kindred loved ones all around you all the time and in the words spoken by those around you, without anyone meaning to do it

[holopossums]

Breakfast with the Baron

Breakfast is always more enjoyable when you share it with someone. Today you shared one with a certain large, pink sheep man who stole your heart and has the ring to prove it.

Mood music for peak domestic romance

Figured I'd try my hand at writing a Gender Neutral X Reader/self-insert story to accompany the art! (First time ever, ended up being much longer than I thought because of course it is, this is me you're talking about. ~1500 words under the cut.)

WARNING: Story has mild, silly suggestiveness at some points. (It's very PG-13, but just in case loving and goofy descriptions of sheep men's bodies are not your cup of Dad Fuel.)

Enjoy!

Edit: Fic is now up on AO3, you can read it there too!

⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯

Sunlight streamed through the window in your bedroom, its rays falling on your form, and you stirred from your dreamland. Too early. You shifted so that you were facing away from the blinding light. But it was too late, you were doomed to be awake now. Bleary-eyed, you scanned your room and noted that you were alone. Not a large pink sheep man in sight. But the delicious scents coming from beyond the room indicated he was home, and that was enough to make you rise from bed.

After going through your typical morning routine, you found him exactly where you thought he'd be. Baron Draxum considered himself king of the kitchen, both at work and home, and he was wholeheartedly committed to feeding you well. Early on in your relationship with him, you wondered if he was spoiling you with so much home cooking. In time, you understood that it was his way of caring for your well-being—a love language. Now he made roughly half of your meals and you did not complain.

It was the weekend, so Draxum had gone all out even though it was early. Both of your favorite breakfast foods were on the menu. It was no wonder that you cartoonishly floated into the kitchen by following the waft of tasty smells. In addition to the meal, coffee was already brewed. A steaming hot novelty coffee mug that read "DAD FUEL" sat on the counter while Draxum cooked. Judging by the droopy eyes and a croaky, mumbled “good morning” when you entered his domain, you were sure that he would be drinking most of the coffee pot whether or not you had any for yourself.

Before you sat down at the dining table, you peered out one of the nearby windows. It was a gorgeous sunny day in June, just before the sweltering heat hit hard. These cooler summer days were precious, so you had the urge to have breakfast outside in the garden.

While the old Yōkai had finally adjusted to life on the surface, he still wasn't particularly fond of bright sunlight, as he had lived underground for much of his life. You could already hear his complaints about your idea before you even started. Still, you two had been together long enough that you knew how to effectively persuade him.

Draxum was nearly finished cooking everything. He was working the stove and had his back turned. Even from behind, his unkempt appearance was attractive—nest hair stuck out in all directions, his robe rumpled, the way he tiredly hunched over his workspace. He was like this on weekends when he didn’t have to groom himself and rush off to work. While he cleaned up well, his natural state was just as stunning. You gingerly wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, nuzzled his back, and suggested your idea. Your face was buried in his back so you weren’t using puppy eyes, but you sure were using a puppy voice, a wholly unnecessary “pretty please with a cherry on top” kind of beg. His head tilted as he thought it over. A small smile graced his aging face when he looked over his shoulder. He agreed with a nod. Your loving expression worked like a charm.

Minutes later, the sleepy sheep shuffled behind you, breakfast in hand, to a big wooden picnic table that was partly in the shade of nearby trees. Your bountiful feast was spread out, more than enough for two. Books and other entertainment were also brought along, as you planned to camp out there for the rest of the morning.

With an old man grunt, Draxum plopped down in a white chair on the far side of the table, and you sat opposite him in a matching chair. You couldn’t help but smile at the ways he was handsomely growing older. You wanted to lightly tease him about sounding as old as he looks, but you bit your tongue. With his back toward the sun, it illuminated his form and made him look ethereal. Disrupting the tranquility seemed like a crime.

Draxum was one of those people who didn’t care about much of anything too early in the day. He wasn't much of a conversationalist either, at least until the coffee kicked in, so he did not chat with you at first. Seemingly stuck in a lingering daze, he wasn’t even swatting away the gnats circling him, but every so often one of his ears flicked on reflex when one got a little too close. Again, downright adorable, but you bit the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from making any comment that would change his awareness. It was a miracle that the man managed to make breakfast as good as he did considering his state. Maybe he put in more effort to be attentive earlier, and now that you were sitting down he was letting his mind wander.

Not wanting to disturb him, you eagerly dug into your food, trying to keep your sounds of pleasure at a minimum. No words were exchanged, but none were needed. The peaceful sounds of nature accompanied you as birds sang their hearts out, squirrels scurried up and down the trees beside the table, and bugs lazily buzzed above your heads.

Perhaps it was the warm gentle breeze or a subtle movement that did it. However it happened, when you looked up from your plate, something changed about him that your eyes fixated on while you mindlessly chewed. You weren't sure how much time had passed, but you snapped out of it when you finally heard his gentle baritone rumble, still a tad raspy from overnight disuse.

"What are you staring at, love?"

Carnelians glistened with curiosity when his eyes met yours. He sipped on his coffee and did not break eye contact, more alert than before. But the tone of his question was adorably dopey and sincere, so it seemed he was still not as aware of the change as you were.

The sheep was so groggy that he failed to notice that his robe had slipped from his left shoulder, revealing half of his ample, plush chest. A nipple and scars underneath his pecs invitingly poked through. Even though you were well-acquainted with his body, the accidental half-reveal somehow made it sexier. Fortunately, there was a table between you and him. If there wasn’t, you might have been tempted to sidle up to him and bury your face in his cotton candy pillows.

It was difficult to avert your gaze from such a magnificent sight, but thankfully something else caught your eye. The wedding ring on his finger sparkled when it caught a ray of sun. It was a pleasant reminder of the promise he made to you: I am yours and only yours.

Married life with Baron Draxum was interesting, to say the least. Though he was an aggravating man at times—his vices could be counted on more than one hand and his flaws on more than two—his love was strong and steadfast. Underneath all that pride and sass, Draxum was a soft man. He liked to challenge you—your mind, body, and soul—yet never made you feel like you weren’t enough for him. Whether in word or action, in his eyes there was no one on Earth as lovely and unique as you. He had quirky ways of showing it, but he always made it known in one way or another.

Despite this, he more than made up for any of your smaller grievances with endearing moments like these.

You took your time to swallow the food you were eating, set down your fork, and think of what to say. A coy smile inched its way across your face. You leaned back and waved your hand. "Oh, nothing. Keep eating."

The old sheep squinted at you. Whether or not he could sense your playful lie, he was still too out of it to probe further. He simply responded with a soft grunt into his coffee mug, set it down, and dug back into his food.

The cotton candy pillow continued to hang out all breakfast long. Either he did not notice at all, or he did and didn't bother to fix it. If the latter, who knew whether it was out of pure laziness or because he knew giving you an eyeful was a treat. Regardless, you were not eager to point it out and ruin the fun. It was hard to call it a wardrobe malfunction when the warrior's robe seemed to be functioning exactly as the universe intended in that little moment.

A sweet domestic life with Baron Draxum was never bland. Ordinary days and regular routines were marinated with the spice and zest of the love you shared. It was your secret hope that flame would never extinguish.

You had woken from your deep slumber from the night before. At least, you thought you had. But that morning felt so heavenly and blissful that you could never be completely sure it wasn't a dream.

[lil-beanz000]

"I got back up~"

Messed around with Procreate tonite 0-0" Im unsure if i like it yet~

Different edit below (tw:blood)

[cherubchoirs]

Do the siblings ever Show Lucifer the testament god left about him? Man's gotta be depressed already over something so preventable :[

did something a bit different and wrote a small one-shot for this - it's an idea i've had stuck in my head, about just what it would mean for lucifer to find god's regret and how it could possibly find a way into a mind so thoroughly consumed with hatred for him (~1300 words)

Lucifer stands frozen before the terminal, locked into an infinitely receding space that reduces everything that surrounds him to a single room. A single display. He is impossibly small, flattened, compressed into it until only he and this feeble echo of God remain. A poor replica of what they once had been at the start of everything, just before creation exploded out into its unfathomable expanse when Lucifer was bursting with light and God was the entire universe. Lucifer now, a smoldering, hollow shell and God only words on a screen.

            Nothing like His true voice. A language of images and abstractions woven into visual song.

If this was the way it was always meant to end, that would be its only justification. A long game, a damnation incomplete until it brought him before this one screen and the meager text displayed on it. How insignificant, how indifferent they are, the very banality of evil. Lucifer would read the words until they began to blur together and he could make them out as some trick of Hell, how he strains to hear laughter thrumming through its halls. But it’s quiet, almost distant, as though the prison itself has retreated from him now. And how it should.

            All of this, come to nothing.

The pitiful flame still in his belly burns in a terrible ache, that last living part of God unable to withstand this regret. It never had to be, the first and oldest tragedy rendered meaningless. The thought locks into his mind, rapidly consuming it until he has nothing else beneath it or before it. He would dig his fingers into his own eye if tearing it out would take away what he now knows. It was so much better to think his beloved Father had turned to hatred of him for reasons he would never parse, he could live in perfect hatred toward Him in kind if that was their fate. He hated, and hated, and hated, devoured whole and corrupted down to his very core, his entire fabric, to turn into an antithesis of his maker. Thousands of years immeasurable to become the distilled poison of God, eviscerated by his grief and carrying all the bodies of those dead angels in his own to cultivate a vile evil unknown to any other than Lucifer.

But it was never returned. Lucifer perpetually and ever all-ignorant, loved endlessly by a Father that had sent him so far it had devoured God just as it had the Devil. How he would have helped, false memories crashing into his mind to temporarily dislodge that one looping, intractable truth – if God had found an answer for him in that moment, if He had responded in truth to His child’s anxiety. How Lucifer would have served Him then, risen up to be the perfect son in the mold he had been made and how his love would have burned ever brighter in the face of it. A whole history that would have been unravels in an instant, showing all of what he could have been in full clarity.

And Lucifer recoils from it.

He does not feel that way his hands begin to burn, molten cracks bursting all along the cindered remains of his arm and shining through his gutted insides. The light of God Himself, so torturous to the walls of Hell all around him that it screams, writhing and twisting but unable to eject him from the terminal before him, unable to shut the room away in the face of the very primordial force that had made it. Flames burst forth, flashing in now terribly billowing smoke, threatening to consume the entire space yet nullified instantly by the shrill light of the sun, the very essence of the Celestial Rose petrifying all it now touches.

Lucifer flares, the mantle of his flames consuming his broken body barely able to now sustain them, the train of his wings corroding every surface they touch. The dead air breathes into life not meant for it and so dies a second time, Hell rushing to quarantine his fire as it rapidly spreads to turn its body necrotic. Lucifer himself too burned down, his ashes crying out against his own awful divinity and yet he feels none of it. He sees only the words in front of him.

AN ANGEL SO BRIGHT AND BEAUTIFUL ASKED ME THIS…

His right hand finds the terminal screen, display flickering and just as soon burning through, before he even touches it.

AND I CAST LUCIFER, TOO, INTO THE INFERNAL DEN

Upon slightest contact, the metal and circuitry of the terminal are no more and he is flooded with the holy word instead.

ONCE I REALIZED WHAT I HAD JUST DONE…

I COULD ONLY WEEP

It strikes down to his core, sending deep pulses of an unspeakable, unfathomable grief through his reignited flames. Lucifer retracts into himself for the pain, for the abundant, wracking tears that burn away before they can even leave his eye. Yet in them, his world rapidly begins to expand again, away from the words he’s now eliminated, away from the memories of a life that could have been. The Testament explodes through his mind, God’s true voice in the unlimited capacity only ever heard by Lucifer and now rejected by him in his immutable hatred. It is done.

Soon, he hears the wailing of Hell; Lucifer casts his gaze finally unfrozen to a room now greatly altered around him. His hand is badly broken open, embers left behind in a flame that has once again fallen into a deep sleep, but he has done much more damage to his friend. It feels his regret and knows his apologies, evident through its slow quieting as Lucifer himself straightens to stand once more. He moves himself quickly over now ashen ground, not wishing to prolong the residual trembling left in it; he departs from what’s left of the room and it is gone behind him. Excised, and all is silent. He supposes they won’t speak for a while now.

He steps back out into a part of Hell barely recognizable as such – A dawn slowly breaks over the water stretching out in front of him. The sun is steady rising, sedate as it comes over the horizon in soft washes of color he remembers once painting himself. How now his ignorance has been reduced, seemingly to a cruel extent and yet it’s so much smaller than it seems. He had seen the alternative in what could have been, and he sees it now in this morning. To paint always, to serve forever.

If his Father had loved him all that time, if He had regretted His choice each passing day and if it contributed to His own demise…it can only be Good. God had loved him so, and Lucifer had grown in hatred in those same exact days. God’s sorrow and His death do nothing to him, they cannot change what He Himself had made in His first son – Godly, sinless hatred. He imprisoned Lucifer in the deepest pit, made him wholly wretched and placed all ugliness, all blame, all suffering onto one child to preserve His Paradise. Yet in butchering him so, He had freed him from unending, unthinking servitude.

The Archangels that had brought him there gather to him cautiously. They know Hell has swallowed the room he had stood in, they can see the damage done to his hand – Raphael offers to heal him, but no more words are exchanged. It would be pointless to elucidate his feelings anyway, all of them unable to comprehend just what he has become and what he now wishes to be. He was born illuminated with Love, the Prince of Heaven and High Priest of the choirs, and to this day he could be singing the constant refrain of the seraphim around the throne of God in his once perpetual adoration. What a small, incomplete world he would have lived in.

Better to reign in Hell, then serve in Heaven.

[m0e-ru]

it's 2013 did you pick up the inaba special copy of Nuances yet

the full fit teehee 👇

[palettepainter]

Artistic rendition of my actual reaction when I got home from work

[skybristle]

since cheston druidshollow posted his species swap doodles i might as well

last time we were ill abt this it was like... early feb or something and thats before any of my ancient ocs existed! so now we can give them sibling issues up the wazoo

mainly thinking abt sparks rn. named her countless swirling sparks fleeing from the rising sun. swag!

[saline-coelacanth]

You know I think one of my favorite things about Cinder is simply the fact that he's an elemental master with an element that we really didn't get to see a lot of before. And I mean, a lot of the elements from before are ones we haven't seen much from simply because there wasn't a lot of screentime they could feasibly give to the other elemental masters, but I just find it cool that now we have a much more important character with a previously underutilized element that we're able to see in action more.

[gus-dix]

watching rise of the guardians with a friend we kept going on about how sandy and pitch had divorced energy and how they could have a kid by mixing their sand together

enters their son cas. which is short for “sand castle” cause i’m very good with names. it was a joke at first but then never got changed woops

after the divorce they shared custody but due to cas “ratio” they assumed he would be naturally better at creating nightmares so he ended up under pitch’s care. turns out... cas has no interest in influencing people’s dreams and do not want to find what he’d be better at. his laziness worries his dads (more on that in the tags)

no clue how aging would work for guardians but he’s a teen so sandy and pitch can fight about him being difficult (having no ambition) and so that jack can get a friend around his age cause oof does he needs it

do not erase the caption, use or rePOST my art (reblog ok)

[vassothmercar]

sorry I can't stop thinking about how bards are the perfect sort of class for characters that become genre savvy or aware they are in a narrative because they are trained to see story beats, trained to see the foreshadowing and red herrings in stories in order to tell them well. they are singers and storytellers and magic users that use magic to bolster tales, this is their bread and butter, so when faced with these things in reality? they might not want to acknowledge it, but they will have a sense of something not being quite right.

[arklay]

RESIDENT EVIL → THE WESKER FAMILY

To the public, little is known of the families behind some of the world’s most renowned bioterrorists, but the question remains: did they play a role in causing their children to walk down the path that they did? Or are these individuals simply ambitious criminals with delusions of grandeur?

For Diana Wesker (née Afanasyeva), her introduction into the bioweapons black market trade was upon discovering her employers were using her research into limb regeneration with salamanders to further their experiments in creating enhanced soldiers, instead of developing human therapies with which she was recruited for. Although the prospect of using biological weapons in the military did not appeal to her, the concept remained fascinating for her own selfish endeavours. Born on the 27th of October, 1963 in Sydney, Australia to Russian immigrant parents, Diana had harsh expectations placed upon her at a young age, ones that no matter how hard she tried she could never live up to. Her mother, Tatyana, was an unfeeling woman, absent for long stretches of time with little regard to how it affected her daughters, much more concerned with her craft as an accomplished opera singer. Viktor was no better. A strict man whose role as father and ballet master blurred, he pushed his girls to one day follow in his footsteps. Whilst Sofia enjoyed ballet, and went on to become a professional ballet dancer, Diana’s heart was set on going into the field of biology. She wished to make a name for herself, separate from her family – to which she succeeded.

Diana was married to former U.S. Marine, Dave Monroe, for only a year until he was declared dead in 1992 after succumbing to injuries sustained in a horrific car accident. Foul play was ruled out while Diana played the role of the grief-stricken widow, but in reality, she had snapped after years of mistreatment at her husband’s hands, and opted for something she could pass off as an accident to be free of him. For years she believed he was dead – and he was, legally – but that proved to not be the case when he found his way back into her life again in 1999. Unbeknownst to her, she had been lied to by the police and coroner, who were paid off by her employers when they took Dave’s body for themselves and used him as one of their first test subjects in developing supersoldiers. Before he could ever hurt her again, Diana’s second husband, Albert Wesker, tracked the man down, captured him and tortured him, before allowing Diana to get her violent and bloody revenge.

The origins of Albert Wesker’s involvement in bioterrorism, alongside his twin sister, Alex, are much different than that of Diana’s. The two hail from London, Canada, but unfortunately, they hold no memories of their lives there, nor what happened to their biological parents when they were eight years old. Agents of Oswell E. Spencer, an aristocratic billionaire and eugenicist, took the twins from their home and executed their parents as per Spencer’s orders. Albert and Alex were then placed in a home funded by the Spencer Foundation where they were given new names and a privileged upbringing. They had access to the best education possible, free to pursue whichever field they decided, but it was by no accident they both went into virology and bioengineering; at home, their adoptive parents – agents whom they believed to be their real parents – instilled them with the beliefs of Oswell E. Spencer, harbouring disdain for war and pestilence, and believing humans to be an evolutionary dead-end in need of a rebirth. They were only two of the hundreds of children “adopted” as part of what is known as Project W, a plan intended to develop an advanced race of human beings. The most promising candidates were headhunted by Umbrella Pharmaceuticals, the twins amongst them, where they went on to create bioweapons for the company founded by none other than the man who had handpicked them for his plan. The final stage of this was to infect the thirteen Spencer saw fit, however, only two survived; Albert received the intended effects, now possessing superhuman abilities, however, Alex was only offered more time to live due to her terminal degenerative illness.

In the summer of 1995, Diana was working undercover within Umbrella to gather development data on their projects for her company. Here, she had a chance encounter with Albert, an intelligence officer at the time, which permanently altered the course of her life. The two were never seen far from one another’s side, marrying in 1998, and they went on to become notorious in the bioweapons industry. The development of the Uroboros virus was where things took a turn for the worst. Although Diana’s infection was successful and she bore abilities that rivalled her husband’s, the plan itself did not succeed as they had hoped, and almost cost Albert his life at the hands of his former subordinates.

Now, they work within the shadows, with Diana declared missing and Albert believed to be dead. Their legacy, however, lives on with the mark they left on the world. As visionaries in their field, they influenced bioterror attacks carried out by countless individuals and organisations. In turn, they also inspired others to fight against such atrocities. One such person happens to be Albert’s son from a former relationship, Jake Müller, whose existence he was unaware of.

[elfsyellowflowerzart]

hey this is a long shot but ill draw a one character fullbody flat colored cleaned up sketch like the things above for anyone who wants to give me 15,000 treasure in flight rising i need to expand my lair, i can finish the art today 👍