An underrated selfship activity is carefully figuring out how your self-insert/OC fits into canon, and how things may change or stay the same due to their presence.
Ive been side tracking my art a bit lately. But for some reasons Zelda came back hard for me. Since i cannot make it anything but HanJun.
Have a cross over.
June the Deku knight [Dekune]
She is a little shrub that wish to be able to withstand any type of harm. Hardening her wood with all elements. She wish to train on death mountain but can't make the travel alone.
She has an Hyrule herb as a hair bun and dandelion armor. Her wepon of choice is called Chesnaught. The little flowers on her cape was offer by joongi.
I think if she would blush, tiny flower would sprout on her cheeks.
Joongi the Twili [Joongimp]
He come from the twilight realm after some misadventures with his travelling companion robot, he found himself forward in time and met with people from the light realm. The strange robot seem to allow him to live in this realm without consequences.
He has 2 forms, one imp and one normal size. The marking on his body was artificially made for him to look like his mentor.
Brie the Ancient Robot [Briebot]
He's a sword spirit that got trapped in an ancient robot made with time stones. The same stones that allow you temporarily to travel through time back and forth but since the spirit of a wepon is now possessing this little relic machine, the power it possessed is too big and it keeps jumping through time and space. It repair itself and sustain on the energy the spirits has. Robbie would love to get his grabby hand on him.
Soo Rong the Goron [Gorong]
All goron are born of the earth. Either miner or traveling merchants, they are the friendliest race of them all. Rong is a travelling cook. She wish to expand her cooking repertoire by seeking the most fresh ingredients hyrule has to offer. Carrying only her good recipe and her cooking gear. She and her older sibling make quite the unusual pair.
Zhao the Rito [Zhito]
He's the only Rito not weilding a bow and arrow. Using his talon to use and carry a curved sword. Not different from a gerudo curved sword. His aceobatic prowess keep his adversary on their toes. His rebellion got the disapproval of his father yet he intend to live his life the way he truly wants. Based of a chinese egret, his long neck is often fold on itself to appear shorter than he actually is. He tend to extend his full height to intimidate foes.
Soo Da the Zora [Zoda]
They are a mischievous Zora. Never been quite the type to adore Hylians but rather play tricks on them. They are quite talented entertainers and adore biting people. They have found some fun annoying a certain Rito. They come from one weird circumstances as their younger siblings is a Goron who happen to be a travelling cook. Who know if it's nature working in weird way or a curse given by the gods. Inspired by goblin shark.
hii can you please share how did you make your oc? bcs im not that smart in creating models and so, i mean so can you please explain or share how did you do your oc model
(sorry if not too good writen english is not my first language😓😓)
HI ANONY 💛And no worries I understand what you're saying perfectly!
First and foremost before starting out I highly recommend watching this tutorial to get everything set up! on top of the addons you will need and how to unpack the par files!
And as far as the game files go (which for me mainly I use Y8 and above for Enya!) You could check out this doc!
OKAY so about OC building!! it's mainly just a matter of mixing meshes/game assets! Its hard to really explain other than its a matter of porting each pieces of the model, a lot of it is explained in the video mainly on how to port each part! There is also this doc to find most charas if you have a basis of what you'd like your oc to look like, but it isn't all labled I fear 😭BUT it is a list of all models in game! some that arent labled you're better off opening just to see what it is (You will find model building is A LOT of searching and clicking around) for NPC faces tho, examples you can find, like for example this is in the y8 face folder! (fun tip, most femme/children models are labled c_cw and the beginning and for males its c_ca and c_cm!) the first one is where you could find potential faces for OCs for femme charas and the second is for males!
For clothing goes, in the top folder you're better off searching shirts, tanks, dresses, etc to find some fits! it's usually different files to choose from so def click each one to see what look fits best! most things can be found through search but some since RGG names things in a unique way you may not be able to find 😭 (ex. there are some dress files, but you could find more variety of dresses with the c_cw_x_onepiece variation, some have letters after the names too!) Also in regards to clothing for plus sized models, any of the files with _l or _ll at the end you could find things for them! Though, I feel the variety is veryyyyy limited in my opinion, and think you're better off sculpting some fits for your models so you wont be limited to the few fits they have :')
And for pants. skirts, etc you can find them in the btms folder! simply typing what you're looking for would make it easier to find most things! granted I dont know where everything is so it helps to just click and look around, think of it like browsing in a store kinda! (cries)
ALSO IMPORTANT but when picking out clothes/faces there are duplicates in the folders you port, ALWAYS pick the first ones! the others are usually verry low poly! speaking of keep that in mind most npc bodies are! so swapping them with one of the main casts could help with quality and that not-so blocky look!
by no means am I an expert at this, in fact I dont think I'd be qualified to teach anyone blender since I'm a noob when it comes to what the program offers KJDSKJFS but after making a few models, this could help ease the pressure! so hope it helps a little at least! o((>ω< ))o
Molly O'Shea is Irish on purpose. Everything about her was written on purpose for a reason. I rattle on a lot about Irish identity in Red Dead, but it seems to only be taken into account when discussing Sean when it comes to the Irish characters, and that is to be expected when Sean talks about it the most. However, it is a relevant part to every Irish character in the game. The O’Driscolls more as a unit, as we’ve only got two named members of that gang who aren’t just there to shoot you and be shot, but it’s still immensely important to recognise when discussing them and how they function, operate and exist. It’s important for Colm, and why he pronounces his name like that, his rejection of his Irish identity in favour of assimilating more with America, presenting himself as an American man, whilst taking advantage of the disenfranchised men from his same background and exploiting them just the same. It’s important for Kieran, even with his own disconnection from his culture and how out of place constantly seems to be. And it’s important for Molly. They’re all Irish on purpose. There was a choice made for this character, for every character who falls into any kind of vulnerable class in this country, in this time, in this society. There’s a reason why Dutch van der Linde - who willingly uses the exploitation and genocide of Native Americans to further his own goals, who runs a gang full of people indebted to him with no choice, no safe, realistic options other than to depend on said gang for their survival and safety - is written to be in a relationship with a young Irish woman. Molly’s age tends to be the aspect of their imbalanced relationship most frequently examined, to the point where little else about the unbalanced scales of their dynamic is looked at in equal measure here. Yeah, it’s very weird how Dutch is about young women, and it’s pointed out by Molly herself, that she - a woman who is referred to on multiple occasions as a girl rather than a woman, who is older than Mary-Beth but still clearly young herself - is too old for him. Molly being young is important and intentional, but so is Molly being Irish. She is in an abusive relationship with an older man, but she is also in an abusive relationship with an American man, and this is as inseparable from their dynamic as her age is. This is 1899 America, and this is Dutch van der Linde. This is a man we know - especially with Red Dead Redemption in mind - will exploit the vulnerable and whose violence towards women is no secret. Molly is in this gang for incredibly different reasons from everybody else around her, and even in comparison to the other Irish gang members she is out of place, but functionally, she needs the gang just the same, and Dutch has made this young, vulnerable woman completely reliant on him, only to cast her aside and refuse to give her such basic respect as her first name when she becomes more trouble than she’s worth. He does not treat Molly like a person. He does not value her feelings or her needs, he will only give her any attention when it is done in his terms, the results of his emotional abuse and neglect are nothing more than inconveniences to him. He doesn’t respect her. He doesn’t value her. The woman he gawks at, the younger, more desirable woman he attempts to make a move on when Molly loses her appeal, is a young American woman. Mary-Beth is younger, yes, but she’s also American. Molly can never be younger, and she can never be American. Molly is the only Irish woman in the gang, and it is her that Dutch is in a relationship with, and it is her who is treated by Dutch the way she is. Inherently, Molly’s status as an Irish immigrant is built into both her character and this relationship. That was done on purpose. Her poem is written the way it is on purpose. Molly is Irish on purpose. Do you see what I’m getting at here? Am I making sense?
Ahm, hello Life is Strange fandom- I got an announcement
I have been working on my own LiS fan visual novel
This is VortexVN,
You play as Victoria waking up from a hangover with no memory of the week prior, you are tasked with piecing together what happened between her and one of the 4 love interests.
And of course the love interests are:
-Chloe (Chaseprice)
-Max (Chasefield)
-Kate (Chasemarsh)
-Rachel (Amberchase)
The game starts with a quiz; you unlock a route by picking answers related to the character you wanna romance (they are very obvious)
It takes place in an AU where the events of LiS1 and BtS didn't really happen and there are no special powers, Victoria's still a bi tch- I guess that's her special powers.
Think of this game as a spiritual successor to Love is Strange by Team Rumblebee rather than Life is Strange 1
Gameplay so far is your typical point and click visual novel affair, you will be given options to explore rooms, examine objects and talk to other characters- the interactions will play a crucial part in how the game ends,
You can win the girl or get rejected or worse... It will depend on how Victoria carried herself throughout the game,
Mistreating certain characters may prove to be a dealbreaker for the love interest,
Each girl has two close friends in the dorm that you should not upset (I'll reveal who in the guide pdf)
This game is also perfect for Victoria haters as you can ruin her life
The game has its own journal system that will be different depending on who you're romancing, it also comes with a read button (I blurred most of the text so you can get curious and play the game)
Read button will display the journal content in Open Dyslexic font
In the demo you'll only get to explore Victoria's room and the dorm hallways and you'll get two encounters from Juliet (Showers) and Alyssa (Hallway)
VortexVN is still in development, I have finished part.1 of the project and will start polishing it soon- the initial build of part.1 will be available to play as a demo!
The cutscenes lack color and proper shading at the moment and you will find placeholders as well, the art style is all over the place- this will change after the polishing phase
Download links:
Mac and Windows
Web browser ver (I don't recommend that you play it on mobile, also the web version lacks animation and takes forever to load graphics)
Note: I'm not monetizing this project nor do I claim ownership of the Life is Strange ip, all materials and assets presented in this visual novel were either created by me or are royalty free- I did not lift anything from the games via data mining or by leaks
This game is not a response to or a gotcha at Life is Strange Double Exposure or Deck Nine, I didn't really dislike the game
Besides, I've had the idea of a Victoria centric fan game since the first LiS back in 2015
I'm open for feedbacks! You can DM me or reblog this with a review or something- maybe write a comment.
Hosea’s joints protest when he sits back down; his shoulder and back in particular ache. But he ignores it, just as he’s done for many days prior, and settles in at Arthur’s bedside.
The other man attempts a smile at him. His lips are cracked and bloodstained. It’s a sorry sight; Arthur’s face is stained purple and yellow with bruises, and worse still are the signs of sickness that have refused to fade. Under the bruises, he’s sickly white. His eyes are blackened and red-rimmed and clouded with fever. Every inhale is a wheeze and Arthur shudders with pain on every exhale.
Hosea reaches out to his boy, wiping the sweat from Arthur’s face with a handkerchief. He tries to smile back.
“You don’t hafta…” Arthur whispers, and Hosea shakes his head.
“Stop that, Arthur. I’m going to take care of you.”
Three days ago, Arthur had directed him to a veteran’s homestead, not far off from camp. At first, Hosea had protested that he should go with Arthur or stay with Tilly and Jack, but the Marstons needed to flee far and even weeks after Guarma, Hosea could only manage to travel short distances. Arthur had pleaded with him, told him that Hamish would take care of him, and said that he’d find him soon. He’d been lying, Hosea knew, about that last part. But Arthur had begged between coughs, and he couldn’t deny that their family was finally beyond saving, so he’d gone. And when night fell, Arthur still hadn’t appeared.
Hosea had left Dutch to his madness. John was said to be dead; he’d left young Tilly and Jack behind. They’d parted with words of love, but he’d abandoned them to their fates nonetheless. Maybe the gunshot wound in his shoulder prevented him from holding a rifle, maybe he’d felt sapped of strength since returning to the mainland, but knowing this made the farewell no less painful. And in the early hours of the morning, Hosea decided he would not let his goodbye to Arthur be final.
“It’s dangerous,” Hamish had warned. “The law’s been all over the area. Not to mention your own people running amok…”
“He’s my boy,” Hosea had said. His throat was oddly tight. “If he’s out there, I have to look for him.”
So he had. He started at Beaver Hollow to find dead Pinkertons and Susan Grimshaw staring sightlessly into the surrounding woods. It was some hollow, bare consolation that he hadn’t recognized any other bodies, but the weight in his gut had only deepened. After closing Susan’s eyes and whispering a soft farewell, Hosea continued on into the night. He wandered until he found more bodies; first of lawmen, then Arthur’s horse.
He’d known then that what he discovered next would break whatever pieces remained of his heart. He’d climbed the mountain. And although the sight of Arthur’s ruined body on the rocks had indeed shattered him, when Hosea heard the rattle of his breath, something like hope warmed in his chest.
On the fourth morning, Arthur sits, propped up by pillows with Hosea in a chair next to him. He’s been awake for almost an entire hour. He doesn’t talk much, for if he does, then coughs will tear through him, and blood will dribble from his lips, and Hosea cannot stand to see that any more times than he already has. But Arthur is awake, obediently taking sips of water until he starts to cough and retches some of it up. When that happens, Hosea wraps his arms around Arthur’s shoulder and holds him while the fit passes, watching as blood and phlegm and bile spill from Arthur’s mouth. Then, when Arthur is done gasping for air, Hosea leans him back against the pillows with shaking arms. It takes several minutes for his breathing to return to its normal, trembling wheeze.
“Do you remember…” Arthur starts after Hosea has cleaned him up, and Hosea shushes him. But Arthur shakes his head and continues on, his voice a rasp. “We talked about how we wanted to be buried. D’you ‘member?”
“I remember,” Hosea says quietly. He takes Arthur’s hand in his own, stroking the back of it with his thumb. The skin is cracked and thin.
“Facin’ west,” Arthur murmurs. “Please, Hosea. Don’t want it any other way. Hamish’ll help you.”
“I’m not going to bury you, Arthur,” Hosea says, frowning at the man before him.
“Well somebody’s got to,” Arthur says, and he has the nerve to crack a smile. “I’m dyin’, Hosea. ‘s only a matter of time.”
“You’re going to get better, do you hear me?” Hosea’s voice cracks. “ I went back there to save you. And I have.”
“You have,” Arthur agrees. “But look at me.”
Hosea does. Arthur’s chest rises and falls unevenly. Each breath is shallow and pained; Hosea is sure that under the bandages wound around his chest are broken ribs, and underneath that, lungs ruined beyond repair. His right hand is broken; his face is swollen and flushed. Somehow, Hosea didn’t think it could get any worse than it had been when Arthur returned to them on the shores of Guarma. He’d been half delirious, exhausted, and gaunt. And the coughs had been awful. But now, looking down at Arthur, he knows it's far, far worse. This is not the man he knows, not even when that man had been at his hurt and sickest. This is the shell of a person who’d once been living.
“‘m sorry,” Arthur says. His eyes are still closed, but he squeezes Hosea’s hand. “Ain’t right to bury your child. I’m sorry, ‘sea.”
This is the worst pain he’s ever felt. With Bessie, it had felt like the ground had been swept out from under his feet, that he was drowning. With Arthur, it feels like the world is at an end, like even if he surfaces there will be no air to save him. With Bessie, he’d hated dawn for coming, but now Hosea cannot see a future without Arthur in which the sun still rises.
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Hosea whispers, the words barely audible. Arthur doesn’t respond, lost to pain or sleep. Hosea bows his head, resting his forehead on their intertwined hands.
Arthur slips deeper into fever that night, shivering against the cold despite the blankets covering him and the fire roaring in the hearth. It feels cruel. As if Arthur weren’t sick enough- and Hosea knows that Arthur’s body can’t take much more. There will be no fighting off this bout of illness.
Hosea tries to sleep when Arthur sleeps, although he’s afraid that Arthur will slip away without him realizing. He can’t tell which he dreads more- the prospect of holding Arthur’s hand as he breathes his last, or waking and finding him already gone. All he knows now is fear and grief as he watches Arthur die.
Moments of lucidity and consciousness are fleeting. Mostly, Arthur groans in pain or coughs. He’s no longer able to stomach the mouthfuls of broth Hosea spoons into his mouth. It’s quiet, aside from the ragged sounds of Arthur struggling to breathe, and impossibly lonely.
Arthur is going to die.
There is nothing now that Hosea can do other than watch it happen.
He wishes they had more time. That Arthur felt just a little better, that they could have one last ride together, one last fishing trip. One more conversation that lasts more than a few minutes before Arthur falls asleep. He wishes they could talk about all that’s happened, about Dutch, about how John got away. About their hopes for the Marstons and the others who got out in time. He misses Arthur already.
In the end, he decides there are only two things worth telling. Before Arthur dies, Hosea only needs him to hear two things, and maybe then, he’ll be able to let Arthur go.
When Arthur wakes next, it’s because of a coughing fit that lasts for several minutes. As soon as it fades, Arthur slumps back, his eyes shutting. He hardly acknowledges Hosea when he wipes the blood and spit from his chin, and Hosea pauses.
“Arthur, wait,” he says suddenly, and Arthur’s eyes slowly open again. “Don’t go to sleep just yet, I need to tell you something.”
“What’s wrong?” Arthur wheezes, blinking the fatigue away. He tries to sit up, but Hosea sets his hands on his shoulders and pushes him back down.
“Nothing’s wrong. I just-“ Hosea breathes in. “I need you to know, Arthur, that you are loved.”
“Hosea-”
“The way Dutch treated you weren’t right. It weren’t- weren’t the way a father should act. And I’m sorry if that made you feel as if you weren’t appreciated. But there’s people who care about you, son, and always will- me, John, Tilly, Abigail, Jack. I need you to know that.”
There’s a long pause. Something works its way across Arthur’s face- first, confusion, then something much different, something that reminds Hosea of when Arthur was small, still learning to trust them, still figuring out that he wouldn’t be left behind, that he was safe, that he had family.
“I know, ‘sea,” Arthur breathes, and when his eyes close, a tear slips from under his eyelashes and runs down his cheek.
Hosea wipes it away, and blinks back tears of his own.
As Arthur sleeps, Hosea begins his second refrain, unsure of whether or not Arthur can actually hear him. But he speaks softly anyway, recounting each act of kindness he’d ever seen Arthur do. Rescuing John, taking Jack fishing, bringing the women coffee in the morning. The way he’d cared for his horses and for Copper. The way he’d spoken about Jack and Eliza, before it became too painful to recall. Taking Lenny under his wing, standing up for Molly before she’d died. Giving money to strangers on the street, helping anyone he came across who looked like they needed a hand.
“What’re you talkin’ about, old man?” Arthur mutters hours into it. His eyes are cracked open; he looks bleary and confused.
“You’re a good man, Arthur Morgan,” Hosea says. “And I know you don’t believe that. But I know it. I’ve seen it.”
Arthur shakes his head, but Hosea squeezes his hand, tight.
“You’re a good man,” he says again. “If you’re not going to die believing it, die knowing myself and a few others know it to be true.”
Arthur mumbles a protest, but he’s already being dragged back under by the fever and the exhaustion. Hosea doesn’t mind. He hopes that Arthur can rest.
He’s said his piece. Now, he prays that when Arthur goes, it’s gentle and quiet.
Arthur is conscious, but clearly in agony. He pants, thrashing in the bedsheets, and Hosea shushes him, smoothing the blankets down.
“That’s alright son,” Hosea says quietly, pushing a sweaty clump of hair from Arthur’s forehead. “You’ve done good. You’ve fought long enough.”
Hosea clutches Arthur’s hand tighter. Once strong and nimble, his hand feels thin and frail in Hosea’s. His skin is clammy and cold.
“You rest now,” the older man continues. “I have you. It’s alright.”
Arthur’s eyes slowly open a minute later. He looks at Hosea, really looks at him- for the first time in days, there is no clouded confusion of the fever in his eyes. He’s covered in a sheen of sweat, his breaths coming in labored wheezes, and his face is gaunt. Heavy purple bags under his eyes stand out against his pale face, and he’s so weak he can’t turn his head. But his eyes are clear. There’s just a single moment, an instant, where their eyes meet- before Arthur’s eyelids flutter closed again and Hosea is left alone.
Hosea wakes to daylight creeping in through the window, flooding the small room of the cabin. The first sounds that register are birds chirping, and then that is drowned out by Arthur’s breathing, ragged inhales shaking his unconscious frame. There’s a rattle in his chest that’s worse than ever, and each exhale stutters.
There’s a weight in the center of Hosea’s chest, a gaping pit in his stomach that threatens to swallow him.
“I love you son,” Hosea whispers, and he hopes that at this end, Arthur can hear him, or at least he knows the words are true.
They stay like that, father and son, as the sun rises. And when Arthur breathes his last, he is not alone, and in his final moments before oblivion, he is loved.
