#wait oc character? original character character?

[im-an-anthusiast]

The Taste of Blood

The metallic taste of blood lingered in her mouth, even as she spat it out. Her lungs were on fire, and her legs were numb. Houses, painted orange by the streetlamps, blurred past her. Breathy and gasping pants tore from her lips, and tears spilt from her eyes. She couldn't hear anything but her own deafening heartbeat and the sound of booted feet hitting the cobblestone pavement – hers. But also someone else's. How the Hell did this happen?

The cold wind bit at Vic's face - its freezing, sharp teeth pierced her skin, and its tight, frigid grip enveloped her entire body. She warmed herself up, drawing the little heat in the air towards her as Magic surged in her veins – and immediately, she felt a hungry gaze impale her. She sped up into a brisk walk, and before long, she found herself abandoning the groceries she had been carrying and started running down the dark, cobbled streets – the familiarity of them, once comfortable, now only made her heart hammer against her chest harder. Vic nervously chewed her lip – not realising she drew blood – knowing she had a long way to go.

She was suddenly wrenched back into the moment by the sudden adrenaline of feeling a hot breath on her neck. She spun around immediately, using the momentum of her whole body to lean into a swing. The hit connected, though not as she expected. The figure had caught her by the wrist – perhaps unaware of the Magic flowing into her arm, causing steam to erupt from the figure's grasp. With a hiss, the smell of burnt flesh filled the air.

Unphased, the figure launched forward, trying to grab her with its non-burnt hand. She ducked, twisting her arm out of the figure’s grip before channelling Magic again. Vic outstretched her arm, even as she quickly backed up. Streetlamps flickered, as did the lights in the few houses with them still on. Electricity arced down her arm, forming intricate webs between her fingers. Then she clenched her fist – causing lines of lightning to shoot into the figure from everywhere around it, be it streetlamps, powerlines, or otherwise. The figure – a pincushion full of lightning bolts – spasmed and sank to its knees.

Vic turned around and started sprinting as fast as she could. She didn’t look back – not even when she once again heard footsteps behind her. As the buildings passing by stretched higher towards the sky and the streets narrowed, she whipped into an alley – delighting in the whoosh of wind as her pursuer barrelled past the sharp turn. Knowing she didn’t buy herself much time, she stopped to catch her breath for but a second before breaking into a dead sprint down the dark, all-too-narrow-alley – straight towards the dead end. She channelled Magic as she ran, gathering air below her feet before leaping. With a downward flourish of her arms and a flick of her wrists, she expelled the channelled Magic – causing a surge of air to propel and carry her further upward. Her outstretched arms – reaching for the edge of the roof – found no purchase as she had felt a tight grasp settle over her ankle, dragging her down forcefully. Vic slammed against the damp stone with her chest, all the air in her lungs dissipating. Her heart sank. And teeth sank into her.

The metallic taste of blood lingered in his mouth, even as he greedily gulped it down. Albion's fingers sank into the flesh of the Magus – relishing as it buzzed with remnant Magic. She wasn’t all that powerful and didn’t seem to have a Signature – she tasted bland. Alas, it will have to do. As the woman’s Magic coursed through him, Albion felt the burnt flesh of his hand start to heal, and he smiled to himself. His toothy grin was not at all ruined by the blood dripping down his teeth.

[blackkatdraws2]

[Toon x Mobster] Some stuff I drew in school!

[wandering-pegasus]

pumpkin brew and skitters are already ready for halloween!! 🎃🖤

[ganondoodle]

Empress and her Bodyguard.

(OCs, grey haired lady Zaphira she/her, demon Shargon he/they)

(also some details up close)

and this guy bc i find him funny

[atalienart]

My pumpkins xD

[churchofpossum]

A meme redraw I did bcs it had such Douglas energy.

[14dayswithyou]

Hi, Howdy! Hey! I really love your novel!! I got a little confused by the 4 day, may maybe you help me please? who is it? why we got the bad end staying the night in Ren’s apartment and he disappear of the home screen? I can’t understand “unset memory” game, sorry if I wrote smth wrong or smth sounds rude, I swear that I didn’t mean it if happened, I’m really a fan of the novel, I’ve been playing the game since day 1 or 2 I guess, probably day 1, english isn’t my first language, but I tried lol

⌞♥⌝ I hope you don't mind me answering these as bullet points!! ^^

"It" will be revealed later in the game! So I won't reveal too much right now.

You can only get the Dead End in Day 4 by staying at Ren's apartment — the rest of your choices before that don't matter. I'd also pay closer attention to the black smoke and Ren's reaction towards it!

Ren disappears from the home screen because he promised to help the player out (and stop them from getting the Dead End again). Try replaying the game again from the beginning for a surprise!

"Unsent Memories" was another visual novel (initially being written by @10chimes / @unsentmemory, though the project has since been dropped and handed back to me /pos) and is set in the same universe as 14 Days With You. Its storyline and characters are completely separate from 14DWY, so you don't have to worry about them while playing 14DWY.

[yyshcul]

girls wake up. it's time to be weird and mysterious again

[dontvap0rdawave]

You know what time it is

Time for me to get silly with my new hyperfixiation

[candyje11yfish]

slight redesign. love her🩻🩸

[bloodywankers]

tw. yandere, forced pregnancy, mentions of nudity, toxic relationships, implied murder, not proofread (pls tell me if you see any typos), 1.4k words

You knew your husband wasn’t normal. You weren’t a fool, the avoiding gazes of people around you, the nervous stutter of every waiter and service person that approached you, the hesitance of new aquintaces when they had to shake hands with you, all of it under his watchful gaze. It was hard to ignore.

If you had to put a finger on when it started, you’d blame that one time years ago, when you were both still young, much younger than you are now at least. When you complained about that one classmate that always got too handsy, about his annoying jokes and obnoxious personality, all under the guise of “a joke” as tasteless as it might have been. You knew he wasn’t fully okay in the head, even back then. It was by no mistake that you found yourself complaining to him of all people, sure he was a bit more reserved than now, a bit more hesitant at the thought of potentially committing a crime but all it took was a fluttering your eyes at him a few times and he offered himself up for you, he had never been the smartest of the buch after all.

When you heard news that the classmate had apparently dropped out and been seen with injuries beyond what any sane person would inflict, you knew who to blame. But you wouldn’t, maybe your underdeveloped prefrontal lobe couldn’t grasp the concept morality back then. But a guard dog that shows such loyalty couldn’t possibly deserve punishment. It was then when you cemented future by his side. He wasn’t all too bad, you thought, if you could avoid any and all contact with the opposite gender, even with women you could never make him feel unwanted. He was needy and big and scary but extremely gullible, at least when it came to you– as long as nothing sparked his jealousy, he was beyond reasoning if that were to happen.

There were times where you cursed at yourself for your past decisions, namely when you found small splatters of blood on his clothes that you assume were too small for him to notice, or when another person you had been unhappy with (but never voiced this in front of your husband) disappeared entiorely from your life. A dog that goes and bites all those that approach its master is no good at all.

Selfish and evil as you may have been, you were still human and the thought that your mere presence could ruin someones life took a toll on you so you started to retreat into your shell, to avoid going out as much as possible, much to your husbands pleasure who started coming home on time and didn’t drift off somewhere in the middle of the might anymore. Your relationship almost started showing a semblance of normalcy.

You had started feeling exhausted as of late, too tired despite your schedule full of nothing. It was strange, you started losing appetite and under a constant spell of lethargy, too tired to do anything beyond maybe brave the journey to the bathroom when necessary or to the kitchen if your husband wasn’t home to do it for you. Then started the cravings, so strange that you doubted even a pregnant woman would have them.

That’s what you thought, until night you managed to wake up just in time to see your husband rummahging through your drawer, the small sheet of what you could only make out to be your contraceptive pills in you hand and another one that looked eerily similar (that one wasn’t yours, you were sure of this since you were down to your last sheet).

You instinctively closed your eyes again before he could turn to you, waiting until morning when he was gone to work to check your drawing, only to find one sheet. It was then when things started to click, your period had been a few weeks late, you hadn’t been particularly alarmed since it happened sometimes but now you felt fear sink in as you rushed out in your car to the nearest pharmacy. The drive felt eons long when combined with the ever increasing feelings of dread that you were experiencing but you almost wished you could go back to that time as your clothes were tossed to one side and the bathroom door left slightly ajar, you were too rushed to have cared about those details as you stared at the two lines on the test.

‘No no no no no no no no no.’ You couldn’t think clear, you werent ready to be a mother, you didnt want children, there wasn’t a single motherly bone in your body.

You took back what you had said earlier, you were most definitely a fool. Why did you think he’d never do something like this when hes probably already done enough to secure his place in the 8th circle of hell just for you.

“Darling, I was looking for you-” Your husband said gleefully, pausing as he fully opened the bathroom door, finding you sat with a pregnancy test in hand, a few other ones already tossed around you, the unmistakeable positive already visible on them. And yet, as if he had no hand in this, he feiged ignorance, acted worried as he approached you.

“What’s happened here, what’re you doing, dear? Are you alright?” He kept asking these questions as he slowly neared you.

“Get away from me, don’t touch me!” You screamed, you were crying at this point and he was left at an arms length. That was when his entire demeanor changed, the almost idiotic smile of his nowhere to be seen as he let out a frustrated sigh.

“I suppose it was bound to happen sooner or later. If anything I’m surprised it took you this long, you’re quite the slow one aren’t you, love?” You probably would’ve launched the nearest object his way in any other situation but you couldn’t tell heads from tails in your current predicament.

“Why would you do this? Was what we had not enough for you?” You couldn’t help but ask in a moment of clarity.

“How coy, I wonder where this side of you was when you asked me to do all those terrible, terrible things.” His smile felt cruel, especially so when you realised that you were the dog if anything, he had always been the one to hold your leash, not the other way around.

“You dug your own grave, we couldn’ve had what most normal people have but you chose not to, you used me until your heart was fulfilled and in the process, you dug yourself deeper and deeper. The fact that you didn’t realise any sooner says more about you than me.” He finished, before hoisting you up, ignoring your cries as he removed what little you had on and placed you inside the bath. It had become a routine ever since you started feeling sick but today you couldn’t help but feel disgusted by his touch, alternating between sobs and protests as he cleaned, his grasp much harsher than usual, you weren’t sure if it was because he no longer had to uphold the persona he had you believing in up until today or because of your protests.

“Aren’t you curious, what you’ve been eating in place of your birth control lately?” He asked in the midst of washing your hair, the glint of excitement in his eyes only adding to the psychotic expression of his.

You couldn’t bear to ask, looking away in hoped that he would at least grant you this much. “Aww, I was hoping you’d want to, I’ll tell you ayway. It’s a sedative of sorts, I started with low dosages so you wouldn’t get alarmed. Don’t worry, it’s nothing strong enough to harm the baby.” The mention of the baby had your stomach twisting again. You felt exhausted from crying, letting him dress you, moving you around almost like a ragdoll until he plopped you on the bed, joining you soon after he showered and changed himself. Engulfing your smaller figure into a hug as he went on and on about the baby.

“I’ll get some books on parenting for you, we need to make sure our baby doesn’t turn out twisted and skewed like their mommy. Don’t you agree?”

[im-an-anthusiast]

Like Moth to a Flame

The sun glared down at Albion maliciously. Almost as if it knew what he was about to do, he thought. He dismissed the thought – and the heat – by shaking his head, locks of his ginger red hair sticky against his sweat-stained face. It didn’t help much with either of the issues. However, both were overshadowed near immediately as he came upon a familiar sight. A shed of deep brown wood – wood which showed its age. Its wear and tear would let Albion know how incredibly old it is, even if he hadn’t known it for as long as he knew his very parents. He walked towards it, and he could hear his heart thumping in his throat, flushing out the sound of the shed and the little foliage around it creaking and rustling in the wind. Approaching the shed, he reckoned he’d be called a “bad girl” if he got caught. However, the gnawing of anxiety had nothing on the rush of excitement flowing through his veins and buzzing at his fingertips. It almost flooded out the pain from the bruises and cigarette burns. Almost. He resumed his walk toward the shed, dragging his feet, enamoured by the sheer taboo of what he was doing. 

His eyes flicked to the padlock keeping the chained door shut as soon as he could get a good look at it. His breath hitched with anticipation and subsequently sped up with sheer glee. They really did forget. The key, caked with rust, was sticking out of the padlock – which hung on the chain keeping the door shut. A painfully large smile spread across Albion’s face. He immediately fumbled to reach the padlock. It didn’t take him long to realise that even on tiptoes, his 14-year-old body couldn’t reach even one of the chain links. He quickly whipped his head around to look for a solution, and immediately, he was struck by genius. He ran over to the nearest dead bush, and snapped off a sizable branch, hoping to use the piece of dead wood to somehow drag the chain down so that he could reach the padlock. Albion swallowed hard and started poking, jabbing, and tugging at the chain with his new favourite stick. Well, it will be his new favourite if it manages to help him out. 

To Albion’s dismay, the chain was far heavier than he had expected. It took all the strength in his stick-thin arms to make the chain budge even an inch. Pain was creeping up his feet and calves from tiptoeing at the edge of the shed, right by that damn decrepit door. Perspiration and heat caused sweat to cascade down his body and face, tasting salty on his lips. A slight gust of air lifted the hems of his oversized trench coat, lifting it off the ground, on which it was dragging on until now. And, as the gust blew, it rushed into some of the holes in the barely-not-rotting door, a good amount of dust and dirt getting in. As it did, air blasted out from some of the other openings in the door. And Albion, standing in front of one of them, was expecting the stalest air his young self has ever had the discomfort of getting to smell and taste to fill his lungs. The air rushed out, forcing itself up his nostrils. The biting, metallic smell almost went unnoticed due to the sensation accompanying it. As he inhaled, Albion felt energy course through his entire body, from the roots of his hair to the soles of his feet. It was unlike anything he felt before, with all his senses stimulated – even those he wasn’t aware he had. He wasn’t sure how long he stood still, but he was suddenly tethered back to reality as the awful smell finally hit him. The utterly pungent smell of iron – or something else that Albion didn’t want to consider – was clouding his mind. It was disgusting, to the point he almost wanted to retch. But at the same time, he felt enamoured. Like a moth to a flame, he couldn’t tear himself away. But the door was still in his way.  

As he resumed his efforts, the stick still in his hand, he found himself wielding an unexpected strength. He also realised that he had been swallowing the air flowing from the shed in greedy gulps, its sweet taste buzzing inside his mouth. He felt as though he could rip the door down. So, he tried. He slid each of his scarred little hands between the doors and gripped them tightly with his fingers. The wood splintered. And Albion started to deflate, assuming nothing happened – before realising that, wait, he splintered the wood with his bare hands? While the wood was rotten and decrepit, Albion was sure that couldn’t have been it. The wood was laughably easy to splinter – Albion had struggled more with snapping the stick he had been holding until a while ago off the bush. Albion stared at his hands as he stretched his fingers, then clenched his fist – not feeling anything out of the ordinary. He reluctantly – and almost cautiously – placed his hands back on the splintered inside of the doors and pulled. And as he did, wood snapped off the door, staying in Albion’s tight, squeezing grasp, the intensity of which almost caused it to splinter further. He was aware of splinters digging into his skin, but he hardly felt it – and cared even less due to the sudden rush of what he was doing, and the pleasantly uncomfortable energy burning and boiling in his veins. As the wood snapped off, however, more air flowed out of the shed, enveloping him in its sickly sweet, attractive aroma. 

What happened next was a bit of a blur to him. He knew he had continued tearing apart the door – entranced by the scent. He also knew that he had managed to rip a large hole into the door – large enough to pass through. It all felt hazy and hard to think about, being at the back of his mind as he stepped through the hole. The sweetly disgusting and disgustingly sweet smell flooded him and filled his nostrils fully. His head started spinning, and he swayed, just barely catching himself on an oddly sticky wooden table. The inside of the shed was incredibly dark, even despite the hole in the wall. Albion stood still, propping himself up on the table at the side of the cramped wooden interior. It took him a while to get used to the overwhelming smell and the reaction it invoked in him. About as long as it took for his eyes to get used to the darkness. The wood was not like it was from the outside. It may have been just as old and putrid, but the colour was off, somehow. It’s hard to tell in the dark, but it seems as though the wood was of a harsher, redder brown. His eyes continuing their journey across the inside of the shed, he noticed metal chains hanging off the ceiling, with hooks on their final, rusted links. And the little light that did enter the shed made them gleam with a crimson shine. Albion tried not to think about that too hard – he was usually pretty good at that. He averted his eyes from the hooks, and his gaze snapped to the table he was leaning on. On it was a bloodied human arm, from the hand to the shoulder, lying inches away from his own. Albion threw up. 

Shaking, on hands and knees, he kept gagging and retching. The floor was slick with the once-contents of his stomach. He regretted this. Sweet though it may be, he was choking on forbidden fruit. He wanted to have fun exploring where he knew he wasn’t allowed, but instead, his head was spinning, and he could feel just how empty his stomach was. As if in response, the smell hit him again. He knew what it was this time. And yet, he couldn’t resist dragging himself up as the energy jolted his body. The smell was emanating from every blood-soaked inch of the wood. It made him want to rip the wood out of the walls and floors, to lick and suck all the blood out of it. But more powerful than that was the pull towards the arm. It lacked any skin. Slick and red, it enticingly rested on the table with blood pooling around it. The meaty flesh was mouth-watering. He lunged towards the arm and bit into it, his teeth sinking into its flesh, and he tore at the meat, swallowing large chunks greedily. Intense nausea caused him to gag numerous times, but the visceral hunger overtaking him was so overpowering that Albion didn’t even realise that he was on all fours again – ripping into the arm with his teeth and jerking his head as to tear off a chunk of that intoxicatingly sweet meat. 

The flesh and blood flowed down his throat, causing now-familiar energy to spark within him. All his senses were overwhelmed, and a searing heat started rising from his belly, through his chest, and spreading upwards. The contents of his throat and mouth got flooded out by scorching hot, flaming bile. Pure, liquid fire flowed from his mouth, setting the wooden floor below him aflame. Horrible, white-hot pain shot through his entire torso and neck, fire dragging itself down his tongue. Albion’s blue-green eyes rolled back from sheer agony, as heat scraped his insides on its way out of him. He can only watch as the wooden floor below him is burnt through, the contents of his throat and mouth searing the ground below them. A mantra of pleadings – please please PLEASE STOP – is the only thing Albion can think through how clouded his mind has become. And as he does, the flames immediately cease. The heat moves back to his chest. It is still endlessly painful – like a large, flaming stake being driven through his chest – however, a stake feels like bliss compared to the very Sun forcing its way up his throat. His cheeks were slick with tears, and his eyelids felt heavy. Albion was sure that closing his eyes for just a second couldn’t possibly do any harm. He did so.  

He dreamt of hands and lit cigarettes, of belts and blood. Heat started flourishing in his chest, and he quickly realised that that pain wasn’t the same as the pain in his dream, the pain that he was used to. He woke with a gasp, a sudden breath drawing sharply through his rugged throat. His chest felt like it was on fire. He bit his lip, trying not to cry again. Reaching towards the table, he did his best to ignore how slick and sticky it was. But as his fingers wrapped around it, the wood suddenly ignited, flames spreading across it far too quickly. Albion could only watch in terror as the fire jumped across the shed, crawling on the floor and climbing the walls, blood and meat sizzling under and in the flames. Swallowing hard – despite how painful it was – he felt himself overcome by the urge to feast again. Despite the fire raging around him, he was mesmerised. However, the sound of shouting voices snapped him out of it. The words were slightly hard to make out through the roaring and crackling of flames, but he could make out some “What has she done”s and “Oh God”s. His breathing became erratic. He was neck-deep in trouble. Both the inferno raging around him and the one burning in his chest suddenly felt small and irrelevant. A figure walked through flames, into the burning shed, and despite Albion’s struggles and attempt at resistance, he was grabbed by the wrist and dragged out. He could hear talking and felt that his wrist was going to be left with a sprain, but he could hardly focus on that. He was in so much trouble. 

He watched vacantly as the shed burnt brightly, like a beacon in the cold night. The sky was painted with beautiful blues and purples, and clouds of stars decorated it. Any attempts to save the shed or its contents proved pointless. He hoped they would take longer trying. Just a little longer, running around and wasting time. His wish wasn’t fulfilled though. As they neared, their eyes were focused on him – and filled with anger. A tight grip suddenly seized his hair, and he winced in dread and anticipation. But then, a painful heat welled up in his chest again – threatening to spill out of him, and he smiled. Just a little. 

[monstatron]

KNIGHT OF ELDRITCH CLAW

grimoire, the villanous star of a dark fantasy horror story i've been conjuring. after killing a god and obtaining it's divinity, grimoire is on a quest for absolute power and seeks bloodstained vengeance.

grimoire has a kaiju wyvern form that i’ll be drawing separately. maybe i’ll eventually post her lore, but for now it’s generally under works! mostly just wanted to get this design out of my head.

(speaking of, original design is by spinecentipede, i just made some changes to fit my style!)

[tapeworrmart]

Some of my favourite 'not fan art' pieces I did this year! Hope to draw even more original work in the coming one

[puppetgearing]

fuck artblock hes getting a full design now !!!!!!

natlan oc !!

his design is mostly inspired by dashiki while taking some creative liberty ! i didn't take inspiration from gods like other natlan oc cause im not confident in that yet 💦💦

this is the first post about him

[yourocdoeswhat]

Which OC would accidentally come out as bisexual?