#all my oc for different reasons

[aces-and-kings]

"My father taught me this world was only a preparation for the next, that all we can ask is that we leave it having loved and been loved."

"Then I will search for you through 1,000 worlds and 10,000 lifetimes until I find you."

"And I will wait for you in all of them."

i’m such a whore for everlasting eternal love that transcends all realities through space and time

[callsign-coolsquirrel]

The General's Daughter

@g-backto505

[spookberry]

The question was "what do you miss most about your life before becoming a color guardian?"

[batshikns]

RAHHHHHHHHHHH.

[sualne]

drawing my ocs cause i missed them

[cheekylittlepupp]

Mira | High half elf | Oathbreaker paladin | dark urge

Alystra | Seldarine drow | necromancy wizzard | dark urge

Ashara | high elf | storm sorceress

Just wanted to post my 3 most beloved ocs, the ones which are actually close to my heart ♡

[wolfsbaneandthistle]

The crew of the exploratory ship, The Little Bird. The captain, Diaf, hired this crew to traverse the stars, learning more about both the worlds around them… and themselves.

Think sci-fi adventure but the characters all have the vibes of a bunch of scientists stuck in Antarctica.

Hán and Cereza are the only humans onboard, the majority of the crew being aliens. This is a trend that continues for the galaxy at large for entirely non-suspicious totally not plot-related reasons.

I’m still working on worldbuilding for a lot of these guys but a couple of the tags I made for them have a decent amount of stuff. I made this bc I finally got around to finalizing the design for most of the characters! There are… a few that I will probably rehash again, but there shouldn’t be any major changes. The old version of this post went outdated when I updated the designs, so this is pretty much just a redo of that with the rest of the crew.

[beebfreeb]

Make AUs of your own OCs. My final message to the world...

[reksink]

Comms for Delightful Friends 💚

[kupo-theincendiary]

the first thing i post from my au and its this shitty low effort comic i drew at 1am. the reason this is the first thing i post from my au is because its 1.36am. (1.47 now how did i spend that long on tags)

gah im so tired.

edit: to clarify, gabriel is intentionally not telling nathalie that adrien is cat noir

[little-paperhat]

*throws a sketch dump at you and runs back into the abyss*

[paxcallow]

pax, it's 10 pm. pax, draw ticklish robots. "ok" i responded to the moth on my window

[musee-de-muse]

The Sightless Eye

DWC November 2024

Day 3: Morose/Strength

OC: Cassiopia Dawnbrook, Quel'dorei

((Cassie has lived in my head a long time, doing mage stuff in Dalaran - the 'forever student', hungry for ever-more knowledge. TWW has changed that, and I've put off writing about her anger and confusion in the days after the fall of Dalaran for long enough!))

@daily-writing-challenge

Was this what the fall of Quel'thalas had been like?

Cassiopia had been in Dalaran even then – spared the horrors of that fateful day, the sight of her people's blood running red in the streets, the shambling corpses ravaging the delicate beauty of her beloved homeland - and there had always been a part of her that had felt... guilty. Less than. She should have been there to help with whatever spells she'd have had at the time.

She should have been there - if only to suffer alongside everyone else.

But she knew, now, with Dalaran crumbled into little more than inert dust lost to the tides... it wouldn't have mattered. She wouldn't have been able to help. Nothing would be different, now, if she'd been there when it had all came tumbling down.

Cassie knew, because it hadn't mattered in Dalaran, either. The memories dogged her every footstep.

She'd known the instant that Dalaran's inherent arcane flow was disrupted... every enchanted item in the room falling dead, her light blue eyes going wide with the instantaneous knowledge that nothing that could alter Dalaran's inherent arcane flow like this could be easily dealt with. Dalaran's arcane flow – it's... what, lifeblood? Life force, in a sense – that which held the city together, and floating... the very essence of Dalaran was... leaking? No... being hungrily siphoned. It was a different sensation than the magic spent to move the city; there is a difference between a blood-letting, and a gushing wound, after all.

She had burst forth, staff in hand, robe swirling around her legs – blonde hair piled atop her head bouncing with the rush of movement - confident that it was a threat that Dalaran could handle, as the people of this grand city had so many times before – and had been faced with spiders bigger than the buildings around her.

The thing was... for all the power within her, for all her years and years of study? Knowing how to cast a fireball, or an ice lance? Those things were different than the visceral reality of combat – she enjoyed her scholarly pursuits – the unending journey for ever more knowledge. Being up to her eyeballs in tomes, the scratching of quills, the unearthing of knowledge that tested both her mind and the magic her little body had always buzzed with too much of.

And now that was an issue as well – not only had she lost her home of many years, many friends, a way of life, and so on... she'd always had an issue with her own flow of magic. It meant she was powerful, but it was a deadly sort of boon; it was more of a curse than a blessing, to be constantly on the edge of... overloading with magic, to put it simply. The arcane power building within her painfully, practically leaking out of her, she'd had help in Dalaran... and ways in which to constantly bleed that magic off. Whether it was in aid of another in the city, or simply dumping power into a myriad of enchanted objects to animate them, or crafting magic items, or her work in inscription... channeling magic into the written word – there had never been a shortage of ways to burn off her magic, and there had always been a scholar, or master of the magical around to ask for assistance or advice about the situation.

It still clung to her - that sorrow and anger and helplessness - all these weeks later, and Cassiopia kept finding herself at the shore, staring up at the one, broken tower left of her once-grandiose-home, the tightness in her chest threatening to choke her... and the magic within her close to the boiling point.

So she let it out – the arcane explosion loosed on a cry both mournful, and furious – the energy erupting in a wide, violet circle around her. Seagulls dropped dead, crabs lay still in the sand, and even the flora seemed too cowed to stand back up – the very waves, themselves, pushed back for an instant with the magnitude of the power released... but it was impotent, all the same. The Elf could not change what happened. She could not turn back time – at least not to that degree – nor could she wrap her pale, manicured little fingers around the throat of the vile creature that had done this to her beloved home.

She would never see the Violet Citadel ever again.

All that knowledge. All Dalaran had stood for. All the ancient, powerful artifacts. Even the dangerous criminals of the Violet Hold could be wandering these isles, or causing havoc elsewhere on Azeroth, now. There was no going home – not to Dalaran, anyways – and perhaps there would be those who scoffed, and pointed her back to Quel'thalas, and she did love her homeland. But Dalaran had been as much home – and at times more like home – than Quel'thalas. She'd loved the variety of the city's denizens, and how they'd all come together... who cared if you were a Gnome, Elf, Human, or Orc? Knowledge was a great uniter of peoples – and all the city had held, all it had stood for, all it meant to every person who had lived there?

Gone in an instant.

But the Sin'dorei had risen from the ashes, when all hope had seemed lost; even now, they still swept away the signs of Arthas' devastation – grimly determined to reclaim hearth and home - and peace of mind - in their own homes. The Kirin Tor could, too. The peoples of Dalaran – be they scholar, baker, or belly-dwelling rogue – would not be scattered to the winds, cowed by the unknown.

They were seekers of knowledge, after all – and they might mourn the history and homes lost, but they would uncover the truth, and make that creature pay for what it had taken from the world... or they would gladly die trying.

It was time, perhaps, for the practical application of all those years of study – and a special, concerted effort in an altogether new study: that of the most effective way to crush a spider as big as an elekk.

[sorrelpaws]

proper refs for my new r&m ocs :-) more info BELOW

morty v-37 - basically gets used as a human shield and then promptly left for dead by his previous rick(which is why hes got the scar and prosthetics), y-4441 finds him and fixes him up + erases his memories of the whole nearly dying thing. he’s pretty chillaxed and a bit more cynical than an average morty, more “rickish” i guess idk. tends to be skeptical, likes poking holes in rick’s arguments/inventions etc etc but like in a teasing way

rick y-4441 - very peppy, upbeat and emotional. he kind of reeaalllyyy dislikes the cfc and stays away from it as much as possible, especially after finding and unofficially adopting v-37. he’s not as tech savvy as most rick’s, his abilities are more akin to s1 rick’s skill level? as in, he lives off of scraps of materials and creative solutions, less god-like and more “old man in garage who happens to know physics and chemistry”. loves to ramble about basically anything and happily indulges in morty’s hypotheticals/questions whatever. EXCEPT! for why morty doesnt have his fingers he shuts that topic down immediately just does not want to deal with that can of worms at allll

[myreia]

✦ D I S C I P L E O F T H E H A N D

Alchemy for potions. Blacksmithing for repairs. Leatherworking and weaving for mending. She is not an artisan, but the basic skills she has picked up over the years have served her well. Self-sufficiency has always been at the forefront of her mind, and she is pleased that she can keep herself afloat when needed. Besides, crafting is relaxing. A hobby or two here and there is good for her mind. —level 90 compendium

[ruvviks]

PLEASE DO NOT TAG AS YOUR OWN OC.

Rafael is driven by his independence and his anger, fighting for what he believes in and deems right to free his people and return peace to Medici. But his tendency to push people away blurs the lines between selflessness and self-destruction, and his desperation for control greatly overshadows the true lack thereof— and it has turned his spark into an all-consuming forest fire, with no way to douse the flames. And everything burned, as promised. OC WEB WEAVE SERIES: RAFAEL RODRIGUEZ.

richard kadrey, aloha from hell // by eyedeeuhs // firestarter; torre florim // by gundula blumi // savannah brown, from 'closer baby closer' // leach; bones uk // ocean vuong, from 'to my father / to my future son' // by ysociety // maybe, i; des rocs // victoria chang, to love anyone // 'smoke and fire 1' by jennifer walton // burn; vorsa // vita sackville-west, from 'solitude' // by spelio // arsonist's lullabye; hozier // shira erlichman, from 'how to become a forest fire'