#feth oc

[distortedplatinum]

join me on artfight!

this year I'll start a bit late due to commissions I have to finish, but I plan to be more active (I hope)!!

[keikaru]

Crimson Skylark (OC & Sylvain) - FE3H

Blood matted her hair in unruly knots, but she peered through them to see a gauntleted hand outstretched, as if to pacify her into surrendering.

Reines von Norheim knew she served a king that fought a losing war against the Empire. To find salvation among a field of carnage was a fool’s dream. But the hand that reached out to her was the closest gesture to heaven she could find.

She dreamt of better days, of skies filled with fireflies and lanterns instead of war banners. For now, she chose life over annihilation.

Reines clasped onto Sylvain’s hand like a prayer.

She relinquished all fealty for survival. Dignity was no longer a concept to someone who walked the land as a husk of a person.

At the very least, she could chase the shadow of a skylark one last time if she fell in service to the Empire. To die a dog’s death here would have been the same in any other field.

But today, the din of death receded.

Sylvain gently nudged her arm across his shoulder. He helped her to her feet, not as a general taking a prisoner of war, but with the tenderness of a friend leaning against another.

Supported by him, she wobbled forward. It was then she realized the extent of her injuries. Left hand pierced by an arrow, right shoulder nicked by a javelin, clothes singed by Bolganone, and—ah. She forgot about the kaleidoscope of wounds underneath her armor.

Her head throbbed as she reached a trembling hand to her temple, but Sylvain held her wrist and shook his head, guiding her to his horse with slow steps.

“You’ll get blood on your face,” he explained quietly.

He lifted her up carefully and joined the saddle behind her. Once she settled between his arms, he held the reins and spurred his steed on. His horse neighed, low and mournful, as it trotted across the field ravaged with craters, corpses, and the tattered flags of the Holy Kingdom.

Reines remembered her own pegasus. Glossy black feathers now tinted red with carnage. She reminisced about racing across the blue skies with her partner, rather than being a general that led a brigade of dark fliers.

Before Sylvain arrived, she summoned the last of her strength and casted a light gust of Excalibur. She forced her pegasus to fly far, far into the paper gray clouds despite her steed’s cry. In her condition, she couldn’t manage another flight. 

Let us meet again…in another life.

She averted her gaze when Sylvain’s horse passed by her fallen comrades. Grief pooled in her eyes as her heart lurched with soundless despair.

“Edelgard spared you,” Sylvain started absentmindedly, close to her ear, “because you said you believed in a society not governed by Crests, nobility, or a holy power. But a world based on merits, truths, and humanity.”

“But why did you spare me?” she asked numbly, turning back briefly so her orchid eyes caught a pair of bronze marks.

Sylvain’s voice barely rose to a crescendo of a whisper. “I’d be lonely if you died too.”

His expression grazed the depths of her soul and revealed an unfathomable melancholy. She returned her gaze to the front, more rattled by his stare than the injuries that adorned her body.  

Again, he spurred his horse on. It waded through a bed of ivory petals, and she tasted the sweet fragrance of flowers on her lips.

Reines dropped her eyes and saw a line of crimson trickling down her fingers. A petal wilted when her blood beaded it. Its beauty haunted her; its ephemeral nature reminded her of the fragility of human life.

Graphite clouds billowed above while the sky wept a light film of mist. Reines’ mind operated at half capacity; her vision reduced the world to smudgy blocks of color. 

Slowly, she tipped her head heavenward and blinked. 

“Have I ever told you,” she murmured, feeling faint, “why I enjoy the rain?”

“Stay with me, Reines. Clerics are in Empire territory, so please,” he replied, his tone softened considerably, “please tell me why you love the rain.”

She felt herself slip forward. Eyes fluttered, a lapse in consciousness.

Sylvain yelped and immediately caught her in the crook of his elbow.

Cool armor touched her cheek as she opened her eyes again, unfocused. He held her close to his chest, face hovered above hers, and she couldn’t parse his expression. But the way he gripped at the reins betrayed his calm disposition.

Droplets touched her face.

The rain, she heard him prompt again, his voice nearly muted by a cacophony of thunder. Around them, a steady drizzle transformed into a downpour.

I admire it, she thought, as she felt herself being pressed against a tangible body, because what I lack, the sky rains a thousand heartbeats. To remind myself I am a person and not a weapon.

A soul. Not an automaton.

Slowly, the world around her dissolved into a pure darkness as thick as death’s cloak.

When Reines opened her eyes again, two thoughts surfaced. One, she betrayed the Holy Kingdom. She severed honor and chivalry and chose to cherish the life given to her—knighthood be damned. 

Two, Sylvain’s face drifted to mind. While gods and devils wore the same faces, she believed the hand that pulled her to her feet was divinity personified.

Again, she blinked and absorbed her surroundings. Reines stared up at an olive tarp—inside a tent, perhaps. Outside, the fusillade of rain was relentless.

Her body protested as she sat up. The thin blanket fell away and pooled around her waist. Her eyes followed the bandages that trailed down her body and slipped under the covers. Despite her exhaustion, she recalled the battle from earlier.

After Arianrhod fell to the Empire, Rhea ordered her to defend the outskirts of Tailtean Plains while Dimitri fortified the Kingdom’s defenses for one last triumph. Despite being cognizant of her death march, she rallied her dark flier brigade. Escape was futile, but as she led her troops, she was comforted by the fact that if she died, she would die beside them.

But only she remained with their legacy.

She gritted her teeth. When the war ended, a proper vigil would be held for her sister in arms.

For now, Reines breathed deeply and looked at her hands.

She flexed her fingers, only her right hand moved. Slowly, she drew her hand in front of her. Thin, spiderweb like scars stretched across her palm and arm, a testament to her use of Thoron. The last vision her opponents saw were the brilliant, brutal pillars of light.

As if on cue, a bolt of thunder shattered the silence. Lightning illuminated a figure near her cot.

Eyes closed; Sylvain rested his head on folded arms. His body gently stirred while he slept. Long eyelashes casted feathery shadows across his cheeks while dark rings rested under his eyes. He appeared as pale as a phantom. 

Her limbs throbbed as she reached for Sylvain’s face. Was he tangible or truly a ghost? Just then, eyes the color of a crackling hearth opened. Immediately, he became alert but slackened with relief.

“Hey there,” he breathed softly. “You sure took your time waking up.”

When she didn’t respond, he gestured for her left hand. Mechanically, she reached out. Sylvain murmured an incantation, and a white light illuminated the injury. A warm feeling coursed through her veins as the wound slowly mended itself.

“If I studied faith more, I could’ve fixed your hand better. I’m sorry I couldn’t prevent the scars.”

“It’s OK,” she murmured, startled by his kindness. “They are a testament to survival but…”

Reines remembered the bandages around her body. She pulled the blanket to her chest, uncertain of his gesture.

He released her hand and quickly spoke. “Oh. I asked a female cleric to change your bandages. I swear I didn’t—what’s wrong? Does it still hurt?”

“It’s bearable. It’s just—you act so friendly.” She paused and assessed how familiar he acted with her. Her hands curled into the sheets. “I’m a traitor to the Kingdom, yet you treat me so delicately. If Edelgard is using you, I have no information.”

They stared at each other as a turret of raindrops bombarded the tent. A beat of silence passed before he carded a hand through his hair and sighed.

“My kindness isn’t tepid.” He started quietly; expression replaced by a melancholic one. Sylvain leaned forward and rested his arms on his thighs, hands clasped together. “Even when he fought, you seemed reluctant. Like you knew the Kingdom sent you to your deaths. That your brigade was expendable. But to me—you’re not.”

“Does that explain why,” she managed out hoarsely, throat parched as the Red Canyon, “you look like you’re about to cry?”

He offered a smile as faint as a flickering flame. Behind those eyes lurked another emotion.

“It’s because your expression,” he choked out, “says you don’t want to live anymore.”

Her chest tightened, and for a long, long moment, she didn’t respond.

“What will you do after the war ends?” His inquiry resembled a plea.

She studied the ground. “My parents died of old age. Even if I return, no one is waiting for me in Faerghus.”

“Then let’s go back together.”

She caught his gaze, perplexed by his declaration. “My parents were minor nobles, so I have nothing to offer.”

“Your company is all I desire. It scares me more leaving you alone.”

“There’s too much uncertainty even if I stayed.”

“Then for now,” he pleaded, “stay by my side. Rebuild House Gautier with me.”

Gauntleted fingers brushed against hers. He bowed his head, and carefully brought her right hand to his lips. “Once reconstruction is done, we can run through grassy plains that resemble the ocean. We can skim our fingers along seafoam and taste saltwater on our lips. So please…”

His eyes gleamed with solemnity as he clutched her hand in his like a vow.

“Let’s catch a skylark’s shadow together.”

Her left hand twisted into the blanket and trembled.

For five years, the world turned on its axis and collected sunlight to nourish the earth. But the light never reached her eyes. Every day she prayed to the goddess to make her eternity feel like a heartbeat, but her prayers were only met with silence. So why? Why did her vision blur now with warm tears, not by the rejection of divinity, but by a gentle hand that belonged to no gods except for man?

Her expression revealed it all. She wondered how Sylvain remembered her wishes from half a decade ago.

“How could I ever forget?” Sylvain mused softly. “Your eyes held such tender dreams.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she leaned toward Sylvain. “Thank you for remembering.”

He moved closer, pressed his forehead against hers, and grinned. Even if Fódlan didn’t find peace today, Reines found it within Sylvain’s reach. Within this pocket of calm, the azure skies she chased felt obtainable.  

“How do you catch a shadow?” Her eyes glistened with emotion.

“You start with the bird,” Sylvain said, and he held her hands. “I finally caught you, my crimson skylark.” 

(Master Post | A03 | Tip jar)

[velvs-oc-study]

"I'll do my best!"

[soulsaria]

One of my Three Houses OCs. Thyri von Morbach. She's a member of the Black Eagles house. She naturally leans towards both Reason and Faith magic. She's also Ferdinand's arranged fiancé.

[isoulmer]

sometimes after heavy training sessions, felix falls asleep in class, though it is a rare occurrence - and it’s the only time blanche gets to admire how nice his eyelashes are.

“please wake him, blanche.”

“one moment, professor. i’m waiting to see if he snores.”

[tk-duveraun]

So for FE16, I have the following OCs:

Children of the Goddess:

Fathalon - one of the eldest. He believes “the ocean isn’t infested with sharks - they live there” and that the humans are entirely justified in hating them. He shows up after he hears that Byleth was given the Sword of the Creator to yell at little sister about letting the humans run around with their mother’s corpse-pieces.

He can still transform into his beast form: a traditional dragon in shape, but without magic breath. His power (and that of his Crest, the Aethran Crest) is mind manipulation. In beast form his gaze is instantly hypnotic to the Crestless. He adores Flayn, as everyone should, and lives in one of the surrounding villages until Edelgard’s invasion.

Kyra - one of the youngest. She was never interested in humans nor in her divine siblings. After Sothis rebuilt the world, she spent an overwhelming majority of her life in her beast form - a giant snake - curled up in the desert. Above all else, she loves the sky, perhaps because of her lack of wings. She used her magic to modify wyverns into being domesticateble and more easy to tame and train. She made only slight changes to their bodies to allow humans to ride them more easily. Her original name, Xanael, was bastardized by time and legend in Almyra to “Shanal - the Wyvern Mother.”

She wakes from a dream about Sothis three months before the house leaders are attacked near Remire village. The dream made her want to check on what remained of her family and was convinced by Flayn to take the job of wyvern master at the monastery. She’s more traditionally young than Flayn in that she hasn’t spent many years living as a person. She lacks the sense of incredible age and wisdom that Flayn has and is much more convincingly a late teenager.

Students:

Estelle von LeMonte - the heir to a minor Adrestian noble. After her father died as a war hero in the fight against Dadga and Brigid, her mother is rewarded with the position of “Minister of Agriculture” which is little more than a special name and a pat on the head. However, her mother takes the position seriously and deals hands on with the Empire’s farmers. Estelle joined her on a majority of trips to these farms and is a skilled toolsmith and farmhand. Her default classes are: fighter, brigand, grappler - it’s recommended you recruit her early if you plan to make her a Holy Knight (suggested).

Vasili von Blaiddyd (Vasili Alexi Sokolov) - an identical twin to Terenti and distant relative of Dimitri’s. His immediate family became known as “von Blaiddyd” after Vasili was born with a major Crest of Blaiddyd. Completely unable to wield weapons without breaking them or his opponents, Vasili focuses on magic. A berserker since puberty, he spends all of his mental energy trying to remain calm and as a result, just goes along with whatever ridiculous, evil and/or hedonistic scheme his brother concocts. 

Though he always blamed the berserking on his Crest - as his twin didn’t have the problem - he has this “confirmed” when he learns that DImitri shares his problem, albeit to a lesser extent. Being recruited on an Edelgard run leaves him out of control and suffering constant “black outs.” His best endings are when recruited on Golden Deer runs.

Lin von Sreng (Lǐn Baatar) - Crown Prince of Sreng, Lin comes to the officers’ academy as part of a diplomatic arrangement with Faerghus. Though she identifies as a woman, she insists that her proper title is Prince because “you don’t treat women properly in Fódlan.“ (In Chapter 12, her ambient dialogue regardless of house is “And so Edelgard is Emperor. And I was called pretentious for insisting on Prince.”

My headcanon of Sreng for her is a combination of “clan of clans” and the “you grow your hair in times of peace and cut it off and send it to someone to declare war” trope. Her people are primarily nomadic, moving with horse herds. Her parents considered alliance marriages to both Miklan Gautier (their primary antagonist) and Glenn Fraldarius (heir to the highest noble in Faerghus), but obviously Shit Went Down and eventually they settled on “We trust you not to kill her, if you trust her with her with your war training.”

[cymbel-ne]

finally here’s my TH oc reference!! she’s a commoner who’s family serves the Gautier’s, but since she was born with a crest her family had high hopes for her future. she loves fairy tales and romantic things uwu

instagram | dA

[nadineselfships-archived]

So,, Fire Emblem Three Houses huh,,