#DD (oc)

[terman]

Whaaa

[the-omega-artist]

Toying around with concepts for Mr. Yellow/Doom. Love the contrast between dread duckies looking utterly dejected and doom looks like he’s the happy birthday boy

[katkalis-the-horror-fanartist]

MONKEY MAID MONKEY MAID

Malaria put it on him but still, Malak doesnt see a reason to remove it

[cynthplop]

BRIGAND OC....... HEHE <3

feat @werepaladin 's grimoult who is fletch dad dad of all fletch

bio under da freakin read more

Fletcher 'Fletch' Vvulfson is the eldest living son of the infamous Brigand leader Vvulf. Scrappy, crude, hot tempered, he goes to violent and brutal lengths to be recognized by his father despite his lack of commanding presence and physical strength. 

However, what Fletch lacks in power, courage, and leadership is doubled in his inventive nature and skill of trap making. He lays down all manner of bloodthirsty contraptions around the Darkest Heir's estate, all more barbaric than the last in order to maim his soldiers and slow his efforts; all whilst hidden from view in the safety of the shadows. Perhaps he may even capture vital prey that will turn the tide of the war in his father's favour. 

Fletch continuously fails to realize that no matter what he does to try and prove himself as the fierce progeny of the Brigand Vvulf, no matter how innovative and how fiendish his inventions, his father will never see him as anything more than vermin at best and a punching bag at worst. Despite the violence running through his veins from the very day he was conceived, all Fletch truly, secretly yearns for is acceptance and family. And it will take nothing short of the terrible sacrifice of an innocent for him to see the error of his ways.

[angrybatart]

Another wip shot. Sharing it because I'm actually kinda proud of the expressions. (Gonna flesh out/finesse Junia's as I go.) Poses and anatomy, however, I need to work on.

Also I've always imagined the Flagellants being one of the tallest heroes in Darkest Dungeon. Sharing the same height as the Leper, if not taller.

I really need to sit down and make a character reference page for Azor some time.

[zombeegutz]

Axe: Hello Darkest Dungeon fans! I bring with me an OC. There's too many witch/witch-adjacent characters to fight and not enough on the heir's side I'm fixing that

Their name is Adder and they're silly :3c I'm working on a proper ref for them which will. hopefully be done within the week.

[damnedestdungeon]

I redesigned my gworl (though I don't think I posted the original here at all? It's not very good anyways oh well)

More about her under the cut!

She comes off as a bit of a naive and sheltered noble when she first arrives in the Hamlet, her bubbly demeanor and various eccentricities like claiming to hear her very much dead Ancestor talking to her exacerbating that image even more so. Truthfully, there's more to her than what appears. Despite her reputation as a callow and overly enthusiastic noble who is out of touch with the Hamlet's struggling people (a statement only half-true), she displays a hidden shrewdness that keeps the Hamlet from going bankrupt and her heroes from getting killed in the battle: a trait that belies something more deeper than a vapid and air headed aristocrat.

Her status as her grandfather's favorite child has owed her a bit more than just her inheritance of the Estate. His dotings extended to her an extensive knowledge and interest in the occult as he cultivated that love within her during the vacations her family used to take to the Estate in her youth, memories that she looks on very fondly to. However, her familiarity with the occult has also led her to handling it with some recklessness; though she is truly very familiar with it, she also doesn't seem to understand the weight it holds.

In short, she is a very silly girl who does taxes and reads about ancient forbidden lore while lying in her bed like a schoolgirl and her feet kicking up in the air.

[degusart]

i forogt to post these! bday gifts for @werepaladin featuring a sad sack of a demonic stepdad and its poor little meowmeow of a Darkest Dungeon oc

[lavendertoastmoth]

Gentles and ladymen, it is here, the official cover of Platinum Silver Gold.  im so happy to have this done, its been seven hours of work over the span of three days

The comic will be coming out soon! Im still working on some of the things regarding it, such as the level design because there will be original levels!

Also, this is a remake of the cover i made two years ago!

[databuser]

Remade my probs first OC for MD, DW! A backup who may or may not be the best choice when fighting rebel murder drones.

[jakhodo]

Gemino, one of my DD ocs. A flagellant abomination, his transmutation occurs if he does not regularly scourge the curse from his flesh with the aid of his spiritual advisor, Salvador. His proficiency in sigil magick keeps the Therian from fully forming, though one would be foolish to believe its impairments make it any less of a threat.

[the-omega-artist]

he got a ref sheet!! no fucking way!!! mr yellow got a ref sheet !!!!! i never thought id see the day !!!!! holy moly !!!!! wowie !!!!! its so amazing!!! he got a r

[katkalis-the-horror-fanartist]

Once teeth are in you're in trouble-

[cynthplop]

HOWARD BOYFRIEND ARC

DARBY BELONGS TO MY BEAUTIFUL SMOOVE @unlucky-words

[angrybatart]

Forever to remain in Unfinished Hell. (This piece, anyway...)

Kept seeing winged characters, so I sketched Azor with wings. With intentions of adding someone doing the opposite of his suggestion just because it seemed funny. I might do more for fun later, but winged Azor is not canon.

[universalfanfic]

word prompt 16, promise :-0

Technically this prompt inspired me, so... this counts as an answer.

Another Tara snippet, because it's been in my head and I need to get it out.

Rapid knocking on Tara’s door snatched her attention away from the TV and her pint of ice cream. She wasn’t expecting any visitors, and the urgency of the knocking sent her blood rushing as she tried to think who it would be.

One knock rattled her door and this time a voice called out with it. 

“Ma’am, this is NYPD, we need to have a word with you.” 

This time her blood shot up into her head.

Tara flipped her blanket off her legs and set the ice cream carton on her coffee table as she got up. She peered through the peephole before even thinking of opening the door. Sure enough, there were two uniformed police officers standing outside in the hall. 

“‘What’s this about?” She asked through the door. 

One of the officers, a square-faced man with brown hair, looked up and Tara had to remind herself that he couldn’t actually see her. 

“It’s regarding a young man called Snaps,” he said. 

Tara opened the door. 

“What happened to Snaps?” 

The police officer tipped his head to her and his partner leaned forward to whisper something in his ear that seemed to urge the first officer on. 

“We need you to come identify him.” 

Tara clutched onto the door frame as her legs turned to jelly beneath her. 

“He’s dead?!” 

“No.” The cop reassured. “No, he’s not. But he could be in deep trouble and this is a time sensitive issue. He said you were friends.” 

The fact that he was in so much trouble probably shouldn’t have shocked her, but she hadn't anticipated it. She’d hoped, perhaps, after his brush with death, he’d start turning his life around. 

“No, yeah. Okay, let me just-” 

She barely had time to grab her purse and slip on a pair of flip flops before the officers ushered her out of her apartment complex and onto the street. A black SUV waited on the curb instead of the standard cruiser and Tara’s stomach flipped. 

“Hey, why are you using-” 

Hands suddenly gripped both arms and the officers pushed her forward. The SUV’s back door opened and they hefted her inside before she could even let out more than half a shriek. 

Adrenaline rushed through her limbs as Tara lunged for the door in a desperate bid to escape, but someone was already in the backseat waiting and they grabbed her around the waist to drag her back. 

“Ms. Byrne, please, I need you to remain calm.” 

Tara twisted around and backed as far into the seat as she could; the man let her. This one was not dressed like a cop. He looked like he belonged on Wall Street. His suit was sharp and clean, his tie fashionable, and a pair of square glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. His hair was perfect. 

The man straightened his glasses and gave her a prim sort of condescending smirk as he collected himself. 

“Who are you? What do you want?” 

“My name isn’t important in this situation.” He said. He pulled a cell phone from his coat pocket and sent a message to someone before bothering to look back at her. 

“I apologize for the manner in which we’re collecting you, but this is a life or death situation, and I’m afraid we didn’t have time to explain the circumstances.” 

It was a very roundabout way of saying precisely nothing. Tara eyed the man and swallowed. 

“What circumstances? Where are you taking me?” 

“We’re taking you to a hospital, Ms. Byrne. My employer, ah, sorry, Mr. Fisk has a significant other who was poisoned at the benefit they were both attending this evening. She’s currently being treated, but there’s no guarantee she’ll pull through and that’s unacceptable to Mr. Fisk.” 

Tara’s face shuttered as her mind raced. Snaps wouldn’t betray her; he was a good kid. 

“I’m very sorry to hear that,” she said carefully. “But what does that have to do with me?” 

  The man gave her another thin smile. 

“I think you know, Ms. Byrne. Word on the street is that you have the healing touch.” 

He wiggled his fingers in a mocking sort of display and Tara’s heart plummeted. 

The news said that Wilson Fisk was a philanthropist and a rising hero. Foggy said he was the most conniving villain the city had faced. She still wasn’t sure what to think. She didn’t want to believe that Fisk was doing nice things for nefarious purposes. But she also trusted Foggy. Right now, if being kidnapped were anything to go by, Fisk wasn’t as altruistic as he portrayed himself. 

Tara swallowed again. 

“I just run a bakery.” She said lamely. 

“And revive youths from the dead on the side, right?” The man studied her shocked expression and his smirk resurfaced. “The thing about children, Ms. Byrne, is that they can’t help but talk.” 

“And you believe him?” 

“Aliens invaded New York and a green monster helped fight them off. Finding someone now with healing abilities is less unbelievable and more of an incredible stroke of luck.” 

“He wasn’t dead.” 

“Well then there’s good odds you’ll be able to perform another successful rehabilitation.” 

The driver sped on the way to the hospital and they arrived before Tara could fully grasp that these people knew. They knew about what she could do, and it made her nauseous. 

She contemplated crying for help once they entered the hospital, but she still wasn’t sure if the cops at her door had been legitimate or not, and she wasn’t likely to get help if they were. 

Besides, they weren’t going to hurt her, right? Not if they wanted something from her. Snaps probably hadn’t meant for news of her ability to reach out this far. They would probably let her go if she were able to heal this woman. After all, they couldn’t keep her. It would draw too much attention to themselves if they really were up to no good. 

So Tara remained cooperative as they ushered her through a hospital and to a room being guarded by several men who were clearly armed. 

“Francis,” the man who wouldn’t share his name murmured. “How is she?” 

“Still holding on, sir. But from what I hear it’s been uncertain.” 

“Then we made it in time.” 

The man’s tone made it seem as if he were reassuring himself. He motioned for her to approach and spoke softly as he opened the door. 

“Sir.” 

Tara entered the room and froze. A delicate looking woman laid in the hospital bed, tubes ran through and around her and machines beeped as they kept track of her vitals. Wilson Fisk sat in a chair at her bedside. He looked up at the sound of the door; his expression made Tara reconsider every choice that had brought her here. 

Grief, fear, and a barely controlled rage that boiled just under the surface. On a man of Fisk’s size, with the words Foggy spat about him, it was terrifying. 

“Wesley.” Fisk’s voice was hoarse from emotion. 

Tara glanced over; at least now she knew his name. 

“I’ve brought her, sir.” Wesley said. “Tara Byrne, the woman who can heal just by touching someone.” 

Fisk’s eyes locked onto her and Tara never felt such a visceral impulse to run. He stood and she almost did. Wesley put a hand on her shoulder to keep her in place; there was a message in the pressure of his fingertips: 

Don’t you dare even try. 

Fisk approached her and Tara repeated the mantra that he wouldn’t hurt her. Not when he needed her help. 

“Ms. Byrne, I apologize for the theatrics, but I’m sure you understand I had no choice. Time is of the essence.”

She’d only ever healed people with physical wounds. Lacerations, bumps, fractures. But Wesley said she’d been poisoned. 

“I’ve never healed poison before,” she hedged. “I don’t know-” 

Fisk’s forced polite expression turned stern and the air in the room shifted. 

“You will try.” He said flatly. “If you save her life, I can promise you that you’ll be more than compensated for your troubles tonight, and you’ll have my eternal gratitude. That’s not something to take lightly. If you refuse-” He paused as if he had to reign in the fury at even the thought. 

Tara shuddered. 

“If you should refuse, then I can promise you that her fate and yours will be tied together.” 

“I didn’t refuse,” Tara explained quickly, her throat tight. “I was just letting you know I’ve never done it before.” 

Fisk absorbed her answer and nodded once; he stepped marginally to the side and Wesley pressed at her shoulder to urge her forward. Tara’s hands trembled as she made herself take those few steps to the hospital bed. It put her far too close to Fisk. 

The woman in the bed was pale and sweat beaded on her brow. Whatever poisoned her clearly took its toll. It really did look like she was loitering on death’s door. 

Tara placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder, skin to skin. And she prayed.