#Amissa (OC) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arbiterofthedead · 2 years

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What is the muse that you write for the longest? | On what platform did you start to write? | How do you create an OC? What are your steps for developing an OC?

Good series of questions!

Anyone who I've spoken to in any great degree would know that I started my RP journey seriously when I started in World of Warcraft. There is a caveat to this in that I did RP before then in my early High School days on a forum website called Elite Skills, feels like a thousand years ago to me!

Out of both Final Fantasy and World of Warcraft my longest running character would have to be Teremath Blacksorrow, he's a nifty boy that I've had since the Cataclysm expansion. There are a lot of fond memories and experiences I've had with him over all of that time, but he would be my longest running character.

As I briefly mentioned I started on a RP forum called Elite Skills, I have no idea if the website even continues to exist because I think it was being run by a computer-centric lad who was going through their degree...if memory serves. I maybe did that for a year and a bit before eventually moving away from that to delve into MMORPGS.

In terms of creating an OC, that's a bit of a tricky one to answer but I draw loose inspiration from the media I take in around me...it helps me formulate ideas or twist things into new shapes.

Taking Valerian for example, he was a Sky Pirate-centric character when I first created him. It wasn't until later on down the road that I wanted something...earth shattering for him to take place that would completely alter the fabric of who he really was. At the time I was heavily drawing upon the Priests of Rathma from Diablo 3 for inspiration into who I wanted Valerian to become...I like to think I did a half decent job at conveying that!

But the big thing for me is to draw on the media I consume, whether it be other games, TV shows, music, or other forms of media and that I begin to build an OC from the ground up based upon that. After I get a very rough idea I'll start to cobble together little bits of meat here and there by fleshing out personality, life experience...that sort of thing.

I could probably write an essay about this but I shall refrain from doing so!

All in all...it's a process, and I require outside inspiration to inform what I do and to give me the vibes to make things work properly. But yea...that's about it!

@amissa-fide <3

#Asks

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shadesofblades · 2 years

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Draw your mutuals OCs in your style! @amissa-fide - @azure-seadragon - @midnightmagicks

(Thanks for letting me draw your beautiful characters!)

#my art #amissa-fide #azure-seadragon #midnightmagicks #e'mal khama #i just wanted to doodle i hope yall like this :D

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kolak-magiya · 2 years

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@amissa-fide asked:

What was the first muse that you’ve written? | On what platform did you start to write? | Who is your favorite OC?

The first muse I’ve written on tumblr was an oc I made for the game Destiny. She’s the testament to the fact that I have a weak spot for red heads lmao

First it was private rp in Skype, then I started writing on Fanfiction.net and after that came Tumblr when I was more confident in my writing ability!

My favorite oc currently, god it’s like choosing which of your kids are your favorite lmao

If I absolutely HAD to choose in a life-or-death situation, I’d have to stay my Tiefling oc, Talyn, over on @silva-vinandi! He’s been my lil baby for a couple years now and I don’t think I’d ever be able to let him go lol

#;ooc #amissa-fide

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amarald-genshin · 10 months

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Amissa! My OC who's sibling is by my fren Suya

She's just a bundle of chaos magic masquerading as a human (metaphorically and physically) who climbed her way up to the surface, vibed in the Sumerian desert for a hundred years or so, and searched for her sib while finding herself and what it means to feel human. Relatively traumaless for the most parts. Enjoys food and will literally eat anything <3

Girlie saw Dainsleif one (1) time and said, I wanna look like THAT, and never changed

#my stuff #my post #my art #amissa #amarald art

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midnightmagicks · 2 years

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🌨️ for a moodboard of my muses favourite weather.

@sirenofdusk <3 ----------------- E'mal's favorite weather is early morning rain in the forest. But it's specific. It's either the tail end or just after it ends. When the world is quiet and still, save for the soft sound of slow water droplets on leaves. Something in him feels the most at peace when he's in the forest ;;v;;

#Funny Bunny// E'mal Khama #ask meme answers #amissa-fide #sirenofdusk #ffxiv oc #He's chaotic yes!!#but also....Soff....

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phoebe-of-ivalice · 2 years

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♗: What has their character arc been like?

Phoebe’s journey is progressively pushing into a dark place. Its a slow transformation brought on by years of negligence and revenge seeking. She puts on a strong front, holding in a gray area for a long time while she struggles with her place in a world that doesn’t really know who she is.

The beginning shows her as a child yearning for life beyond her own village. It is taken away from her, stolen by an army of pillaging Garleans. Left homeless, her one surviving family member forced into slavery, she is forced to find her own way. She lives off the streets, stealing to stay barely alive until she is taken in by an assassin’s league disguised as a convent. This is where a majority of her youth is spent, being pushed to her physical and mental limits in training. She is honed into a weapon, to destroy and never feel. But she does feel, and that is ultimately her downfall.

I am currently reworking Phoebe’s background to try and work in a more defined arc so hopefully I will be able to put up some original content soon! Thank you @amissa-fide for your submission, I appreciate it!

#character asks #oc: phoebe venatrix #amissa fide #thank you for the asks!

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amissavocedraconis · 7 months

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This is for my skyrim OC and everything on it will be loosly based from the elder scrolls lore and headcanons. I do not ask that you know about the series all I ask is you don't try to assume that my lore is from Skyrim verbatim. I am winging it and doing what seems to fit and isn't based on any set storyline or age. This is my character and I am making it up as I go. Thank you.

Name: Amissa

Age: unknown

Appearance: short hair always dyed different colors depending on mood, pale blue/green skin that is heavily scarred and covered in freckle like scales, pointed ears and sharpened nails, blue grey eyes with a halo of gold within as if the sun had been captured and trapped forever in their gaze. Sometimes they seem to have horns but usually their tail gets them into trouble. On the shorter side but doesn't let it stop them. Appears female but identifies as nonbinary or masculine presenting.

Pronouns: he/they

Known as: Dovahkiin, Dove, Missa, Ami

Bio: Born in a time that seemed to hold great promise they were trapped in a life of poverty and struggle. The gods were nonexistent and life moved on at it's own pace. They struggled but survived despite being traumatized as hell from various sources and parties. It was during a terrible storm that their life changed.

The buildings that scraped the skies seemd to have became trees lush with green foliage. The asphalt under their feet turned to soft moss covered earth and whatever hopes they had of it being a hallucination were dashed thanks to a stray bolt of lightning. Knocked unconscious they rolled down a hill and into a river where they were swept downstream. Waking up cold with their clothing in tatters there was almost no trace of the life they'd come from.

Staggering out of the water and to a rock wall to sheild themselves from the sun whispers filled their ears and within seconds they had begun to speak and understand a language that made their mind ache. Not only that but speaking it caused the very air around them to ripple before erupting into flames. Terrified they refused to speak for quite awhile.

After several years in that world they found their place and started over. When they used to wear metal infused fabrics meant to protect from wear and tear they now wore leather and cloth. Speaking several languages they were mostly ignored until an unfortunate meeting with a dragon where they managed to avoid being eaten by being a sarcastic little shit. Amusing the beast it left them be but unfortunately the encounter was witnessed by the town guard and soon everyone seemed to know about them.

Forced to fight the undead and battle dragons to protect lands they would never own it culminated to a chance run in by someone tied to a daedric prince who had an elder scroll in their possession. Words were exchanged as well as several bursts of magic, on of which hit Amissa, causing them to be sent through time and space.

They fucking hate everything now. Annoyed and still shaking off sparks of magic they never know where they'll end up or why. All they know is they are Dovahkiin and have a power coveted by those who wish to be gods.

#about #starting post

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trixxedheart · 4 years

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I’ve uploaded a all of these avatars to Booth so far! Please enjoy!

https://trixxedheart.booth.pm/

#oc: morana #oc: amissa #oc: dusk #oc: namri #vrchat #vrchat avatar #booth.pm #boothpm #vrc #3D Modelling #3d model #ocstuff #myart #my art #mystuff #my stuff #my 3d

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secret-engima · 4 years

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Stand Strong Drabble: Shaking Hands

(Okay so this was less intentional angst and more my thoughts exploring, just a little, of how Amissa must have felt when she realized that she was going to KEEP JUMPING WORLDS. That nowhere was permanent. That nothing she did or was done to her could make it STOP and how that effects her even now, all these worlds later, even after the Astrals promised her safety and permanence here. Basically all hail the Angst)

...

Blood, bullets, screaming. All around and in the air and inside her. Copper on her tongue and suffocating her lungs while Flames exploded out of her control in one last gurgling snarl of Fury-Betrayal-Rage-.

Sun-warmed cobblestones under her fingers, too large clothes sliding off her shoulders as she stared down at fresh pink scars littering a prepubescent torso and cried.

...

Amissa opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. Waited patiently for the feeling of lead tearing open her lungs to fade and the cold thrill down her spine of again-again-forever-again to fade. She counted the familiar cracks in her ceiling, breathed in and tasted the soft fragrance of her plants. Let them anchor her to the present —to the world, her last world— with the faint thrum of their life forces. She closed her eyes and counted to five, rolled out of her bed in resigned silence. She wasn’t going to be able to fall asleep again, not after that. She knew better than to tempt the dreams.

She slipped on the knee-length dressing gown her Kids had given her a few birthdays ago, padded across the cold floor and nudged open the doors to the rundown balcony attached to her room. The railing had crumbled years ago under the persistent assault of the tree growing up against the side of the building, but she had never needed the railing in the first place. Not when the branches were thick enough to climb and she had no fear of heights or falling to stop her from climbing up into the foliage in her nightclothes and dressing gown.

Amissa swung up into the highest branches and looked out across the persistent gloom of little Galahd, busy as ever in its more nocturnally orientated schedule than the rest of Insomnia. She took in a deep breath of air that tasted like magic and the jungle, listened to the faint but persistent drums of some folk song being played a few blocks away, let the shadows hide her form from the view of the passing Kingsglaive darting by on the rooftops on their way to or from a shift.

All very different from the bright sunshine and warm cobblestones of her dream.

Good.

She hated that dream.

Amissa lifted her hands in front of her face, flexed her fingers, examining their shape, the scars on different places. Adult hands. Normal hands. Something that so many people had but so few appreciated. She pressed her hands over her sternum, pushed her fingers against certain old scars until they throbbed. Old scars she had carried for years and years, lifetime after lifetime.

Scars she had carried ever since the first time she’d died.

...

Flame-soaked bullets rattling the air, the churning fear in Lambo’s eyes as he cradled I-Pin’s unmoving —but breathing, alive, just unconscious— form closer to him and ran away on her orders —her promise that she would be right behind them even though they knew that was a lie, that the backup she was sending him and Fūta to retrieve was just an excuse to get them and the unconscious I-Pin to safety—, leaving her to face the bullet rain alone.

The taste of the ice cream on her tongue from what had been a pleasant trip out with the kids until an entire enemy famiglia crashed in. The furious haze of taking down more-more-more opponents until she couldn’t and she lay on the floor of that ice cream parlor, suffocating on her own blood and forcing her Flames out in one last attack to keep them from chasing after the children.

Waking up on sun-baked cobblestones —not the cool tile of the parlor floor, not even the hot concrete pavement of the street outside—, suddenly a child rather than the adult she had finally had a chance to grow into —a chance ripped away twice already by worlds she had existed in one moment and then been torn from in a blink—. Pulling at her blood-soaked shirt until she could look down at the pink, rounded scars that looked like they were weeks or months old rather than minutes.

Looking up at the concerned voices of the small woman and her massive husband as they approached what they thought was a child in oversized, bloody clothes and spoke in a language that was like German but not quite —another language, wrong language, wrong faces, fictional faces even when she’d been in a world she’d already once known as fictional—.

Realizing she’d jumped again. Left everything behind again and sobbing into her shaking hands because if death couldn’t stop it…

Then nothing would.

....

“Màmag?” Amissa blinked back to the present —new world, different world, last world-she-hoped-she-prayed— to the sensation of someone gently clasping her trembling hands and pulling them away from the bullet scars she was obsessively rubbing at. She looked up into Luche’s worried expression and his flared nostrils and realized she was suppressing again.

She relaxed her scent and shakily squeezed his much steadier hands, “I’m fine, Luche. You just got off duty, right? You should go sleep.”

He shifted into a more comfortable position on the thick branch instead, his hands firmly wrapped around hers, as if holding on tight would disguise the way Amissa’s hands trembled-trembled-trembled —hands that had remained surgically steady even during the worst battles and most terrifying, daemon-filled nights— from the things in her head. His scent unfurled, warm like cinnamon and ticklish with just a whiff of garlic. Her eldest sniffed thoughtfully at her scent and then purred comfortingly as understanding dawned in his eyes —he had always seen her too well, just like he saw most people too well, saw them in the way that let him push their every button for good or ill—, “You’re not going to disappear, Màmag,” he whispered quietly, “and neither are any of us.”

Amissa took a deep breath of air that tasted like jungle instead of concrete and gasoline and rubber like the rest of the city. She looked out over the home she had helped carve out of the refugee district that had started out as a total slum and listened to the heartbeat of all its people —the heartbeat of old-old magic whispering mine-safe-home-welcome-mine—. She thought of ancient beings promising that they would let her stay. That no matter what happened, so long as she did her best to care for the inhabitants of their world, they would keep her soul from being stolen away again. “This Star is the home of your body and soul for the rest of your life,” they had said, “and it will become your eternal resting place when your life passes, this we so swear.”

She thought on that, clutched it internally like the promise it was but-. But…

...

Rain and cold and confusion, a small town somewhere in Japan that didn’t look right somehow, a sick feeling as she realized it had happened again. An umbrella appearing over her head and a gentle, if slightly vacant voice saying, “Ara! You look so cold, sitting out here in the rain. Come inside, come on, come on, I made plenty supper for a guest-, oh you’re soaked- Tsu-kun! Tsu-kun get a towel out of the bathroom! Don’t worry about a thing, dear- no- no need to cry. You can stay in our home for as long as you like, I promise.”

...

Too-big clothes that had fit perfectly moments ago, round, pink scars where there had been fatal open wounds. The clatter of concerned feet as two strangers-who-weren’t ran up to her and crouched down, “Oi- oi kid what are you doing out here in the middle of the street-. Holy-! You’re covered in blood, what happened to you? No let me see, I can help. Come on, come on let’s get you out of the street… there we go. Don’t be scared little one, we’re not going to hurt you, I’m Izumi, this is my husband Sig. Do you have parents we can call? … A home then? … Well. I suppose you’ll just have to stay here then. No, no, don’t argue! You’ll stay here as long as you need. What kind of housewife would I be if I abandoned a child to the streets?”

...

She blinked herself free of the memories, met concerned blue eyes with her own mismatched gaze, and smiled “I know, mo baeg solas. I’m fine.”

He stared back at her for several minutes, then smiled back and shifted to settle closer to her, so close their shoulders were touching and he could drag her hands into his lap as he rested his head on her shoulder. With a quiet voice he began to fill her in on the silly, inane things that had happened to him and the others on their last shift, mentioned the things that they wanted to do with her later when everyone was off duty and well rested. He spoke as if they were just relaxing in the tree for no reason other than to chat, and she responded with a relaxed scent and amusing gossip she’d picked up from the Citadel servants. Agreements to all the future plans and little habits that only meant the world to people who had known what it was like to be without those comforts for years.

She laughed like she was calm and happy and fine.

He politely pretended that he didn’t know she was lying.

They both ignored his fingers twined around hers in his lap, as if that would make them stop shaking.

They both pretended not to notice when it didn’t work.

#Melodies and Manuscripts #Secret Engima Rambles #Stand Strong verse #Amissa (OC)#luche lazarus #ffxv #there is something terrifying #not in the concept of immortality #but in constant displacement #in the knowing that no matter what you do or suffer #any moment it will all be snatched away #amissa has been to so many worlds #met and loved so many people #helped so many people #but in the end #she knew she would not stay #this was a flashback to her realizing that #her realizing that no matter what life she built or what world she saved #something would tear her away #make her do it all again #and yet she still loves #and fights #and saves #but by now #she can't quite believe that she won't wake up #and find it all gone again #and this time she thinks if that happens #she's going to just lie down and die #because she was promised no more #and if that is a lie

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