#Lightless OC

[red0490]

Doodle I did for bluesky since I just got a key X)

[thatmoththoth]

I should make a desolation type avatar that isn’t focused on fire. While yes I do love the fire theming, there are so many other things that can make you lose everything in an instant. Water for one, lightning, gambling, earthquakes, car accidents, divorces, famine, tornadoes, and so on and so forth. I want to make a desolate avatar who’s cold, emaciated from famine. You invite them into your house only find that all your food ends up rotting now since their visit, and any time you buy more it’s just sludge by the time you get home. You become starved. The only food that doesn’t rot is the dreaded ramen cups you subsisted entirely off of during your years in Uni. How you hate and despise those ramen cups. Last time you ate out you got food poisoning and your beginning to wonder if you ever eat anything else ever again.

[that-other-dead-person]

Predators don't always have successful hunts.

Unfortunately, Everchase isn't exempt from this.

As much as his Hunts are mainly successful, this is a war. And he's not Terminus bwomp

[y-rhywbeth2]

Sudden inspiration: Bhaal's holy symbol/minor manifestation as a weeping skull + the way the faces of his mortal avatars tend to become more sunken as the skull becomes more prominent/visible under the skin...

I wish there was a way to do that with Durge in the character creator without modding. Prominent cheek bones, sunken eyes. Like skull face paint/tattooing that actually follows the contours of the eye sockets and cheekbones or something...

[glupblorbo]

have a little doodle ref i whipped up this week while working on saw the devil in the daylight :) featuring coven!hunter and samah :) aka the guy ever and bbg :) from the au that has been overtaking my brain LMAO

we're going to pretend that sending this to myself so i could post it didn't absolutely fuck the quality ok?

[starry-teacup]

Quick reminder for everyone in the magnus archives fandom that NOT ALL DESOLATION AVATARS ARE MADE OF WAX. While it’s true that everyone in the Cult of the Lightless Flame is, that was more of a personal choice that represented their relationship with their patron. Just like the other fears, the Desolation can change its avatars in any way it chooses, and it usually reflects on the person and their mindset more than it does on the entity itself. The Desolation provides the base themes of their monstrosity, but the avatar’s abilities are usually tied to how they function regularly and how that would translate to them creating fear. Most of the desolation OCs or Desolation!Tim work I see has the character following the Lightless Flame’s rules, which I don’t think is a good representation of the creativity and diversity of terror in the podcast itself.

[jmhwritesstuff]

OC in 15

tagged by @space-writes - thanks!

Rules: share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an OC, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the OC. Bonus points for just using dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

I'm gonna go with Aira for this!

"When all you've ever had is nothing, it's impossible to imagine having anything at all."

"Fine. But if you grab my arm like that again, I'll break yours."

"My line of work requires discretion. Not murder."

"They were ... dark. They were inside my head. I could feel them. I could feel everything."

"I was trying to find a way to get out of being a Lightsworn!"

"It doesn't seem to matter what I want. I'm not sure it ever mattered."

"Oh, it's just you. For a second there I thought I was in trouble."

"Don't you understand, Nyick? I can't do this. I was never built for this. This is not my life."

"Well, maybe you're stealthier than I gave you credit for. Are you following me?"

"I wouldn't leave without an explanation unless it was really important. But this is my problem, and I'm going to fix it. And then I'm going to come right back. I promise."

"Are you coming in? Or is whatever you have to say just as important from out there?"

"That wasn't a fight so much as getting socked in the jaw."

"I don't want an apology. I know what you think of me. I just didn't realise it went that far."

"It would be my best option. We both know you can't catch me."

"You should probably let me know now if you plan to stab me with that."

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

thanks to @garbagepile's one word prompt 'the sea'

you now have my oc, Mara

She's the goddess of the sea, but don't judge her appearance, okay... she got this job like last weekend give her some time to adjust. Her mother was the previous goddess of the sea, but she died during the whole GodKiller event (murdered by Rya for saying that *maybe* he should just give himself up for the safety of the other gods)

She's a uni student, but only online bc fuck she cannot leave the house look at her. She's a little creepy. She lives with her best friend Eira (also a god), and just gets funky with it. She liked DDR and listens to Korn. Sometimes she goes for a late night swim in the local lake, just to feel like she's home. Usually, she soaks in the bath for a few hours to keep herself hydrated.

Her storyline is mostly set during the Lightless storyline, which is focused more on Gods living in the human world, than God-world politics. She's not a major character, but she's doing her best.

her uni course is on Marine Biology.

The most prominent thing she does during the Lightless storyline is freak Val ( going by Roman again by this point ) out.

[nornicojez]

I made the (literal) hottie that made Tulip’s eye go for milk-

She’s from the Cult of Lightless Flame :D

I don’t have a name yet, and I’m open for suggestions ✨

[pookiedarlingtwitch]

INTRODUCING!!!!

My Magnus Archives OC, Romeo Asquith!

This boy is depressed and emo enough to be a tumblr sexyman and good lord is he a tragic king.

I'm planning a fanfic with a healthy dose of angst following this boi. He has a crush on Tim and was raised in the cult of the lightless flame.

Enjoy some arts! Let me know what you think! Any tips on prosthetics and ways to make his design more accurate, please let me know!

Here is the reference image I used for the prosthetic:

[kronoose]

Finally an entity with more than one oc

Tw cult stuff/ref and arson probably

The desolation🔥🔥🔥 very long post incoming this is going to be two parts (I'm on mobile so im a shit judge of how this will look on desktop so Imma be safe)

To start we've got my X-Men OC and the youngest of all my oc's at the ripe age of 10

Diane trans fem she/her mutant

she is in X-Men canon the sister to pyro which gives her fire powers more geared towards support focusing on healing and being an endless source of fire for her brother after they've been reunited with in the brotherhood of mutants

So it was a natural and kinda cop out choice to put her here and since she's already in a almost cult in her original canon I started questioning if the Lightless Flame would accept a child that had found the flame Early

Then was like fuck it it's my infodump and there's no canon info to prove me wrong

So Diane found her devotion and gift for the flame when she burned down her families home after a Rather heated(excuse the pun) argument with her parents about her brother being sent away to boarding school

The actual set up was a blur to her but next thing she knew she was hoping foster placements until she was found by the cult of the ligthless flame

Next we've got cooky my oldest oc

Cooky she her

She was hard to truly place as she's an old lady who's the sweetest old granny that you could meet but she's also been around long enough to not hesitate to rock your shit I debated putting her with hunt but she doesn't participate in the game (will be explained with Luc) and the others just didn't fit her so it was here or the end the end just didn't feel right so she went here I imagine she found the ligthless flame rather late in life probably after she found her pain in the ass grandkids (Luc, Ben and doc) seeing the choas and destruction they caused feeding their own gods saw her finding her own path of heated destruction while she guided them

Next we've got Damian

Damian he/they/it (fuck/off)/j demon

Damian was summoned by Luc to be a clean up crew during his earlier crime days

Damian is kinda based off the black butler style demons

Finally for this post we've got my pride a joy blacksmith

Azaren he/him mostly but will respond to most demon

Hes my first good omens oc

Azaren came to be because I saw a pretty sword on google and was hyperfixated on forged in fire so I made a blacksmith demon OC in the world of good omens

I debated putting him in the Hunt because he is a killer for hire as his third job

He also restores weapons for museums and private collectors alike. Along with selling blades that he makes .

He found his devotion for the ligthless flame after his first hit seeing the destruction that he'd caused just rejuvenated him

[red0490]

Finally got around to putting Aya in this dress haha

[haldenlith]

"He's sensitive about that scar. Won't say where it's from, but most I can tell is something with fire." - Ken-2

Another Ardwynn sketch. I might do some basic colors at some point, just flats. Here we have Ardwynn's biggest and most damaging scar, the one on his back, from being attacked during the Dark Ages by a Lightbearer. He learned how damaging Solar Light can be and narrowly got out with his right arm still attached.

Also he's probably "post coitus" here, since homie usually sleeps in his clothes otherwise...

[that-other-dead-person]

OH RIGHT ITS VALENTINES DAY

Have these three :3

[neskastree]

Doe <3 ISAT OC Genderfluid. Doe / They || Johanna / She || Johannes / He

A vaugardian researcher with a vast knowledge over the whole world. Kind, gentle and TALL (7 ft).

Craft Type: Paper Weak to: Scissors Resistant to: Rock They've seen every country of the world and is quite knowledgeable about them. They look youthful, but are surrounded by the feeling of archaic. Sometimes this illusion is broken when they see something new. They act all giddy and childish. They are born in Vaugarde and feel the most home in Dormont. Interesting Bits: They love to walk on their toes (high heels) or on pointe (With and withou Pointe Shoes). They got really long legs of which they are proud of and proof to be an amazing dancer. They feel insecure about their arms and hide them under long sleeves. Their necklace of Change has turned lightless since the defeat of the King.

[littlejuicebox]

Mindwinter Carol 6 / The Affliction

Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Elf Sorceress OC

Word Count: 2.7K

Story navigation: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6]

Summary/Setting: Based on the prologue/premise from my OneShot "A Midwinter Carol."

Astarion and the OC broke up after his ascension. She left Baldur's Gate for fifteen years, only to return just recently. Following the events of "A Midwinter Carol," Ascended Astarion has been convinced to pursue a new beginning. Will he be able to change who he has become, with the help of his ex-lover? Or will he ultimately fall victim to his pride and desire for power?

Preview:

He’s weak, slow, moody�� and above all, he’s hungry. His hunger makes it difficult to sleep.  Eirianwen knows this. She knows he’s struggling. So every night she traces her fingers along his scalp and hums an old Elvish lullaby until he’s fallen into a trance beside her.  When Astarion wakes in the night his hands always search for her, desperate to pull her close. And she is always there.  * He remembers how easy and instinctual it had been to reach for Ani all those years ago.  But now, the Ascendant cannot even bring himself to hold her hand as she trances through the worst parts of the poison’s wrath, forced into a slumber by Jaheira.

Warnings: This will be 18+ / in game spoilers / Eventual Smut / Angst, trauma, fluff / Gore

-----

“You don’t remember anything about your family, Astarion?” 

Nighttime seemed eerily quiet in the Shadowlands; no animals or insects rustle in the barren woods and even the breeze is stunted in this horrifying, lightless place. The low, constant hum of Karlach’s snoring is the only background noise in camp. 

Eirianwen is perched in Astarion’s lap, facing him, her warm limbs coiled around his torso like vines around a tree trunk as he rests his head in the crook of her neck and breathes in the scent of her skin. She smells both crisp and sweet, like fresh fallen snow. The scent clings to his shirt even when they’re apart; a constant reminder of his attachment to the woman. 

Their nighttime activities have consisted of nothing more than cuddles and pillow talk for weeks and yet she’s still here. 

Astarion still doesn’t fully understand why. 

He pauses, searching through the blurred, fractured memories. Most are smattered with hundreds of faces he’s crossed along the way; almost all of the faces are discomforting.  He’s hoping, despite the answer he already knows, for any sign of someone that could be his mother. His father. A sibling, perhaps? 

Nothing. It’s always nothing. 

“No, Ani. I’ve told you before, darling. I don’t have a single solid memory from my past prior to… him. Just vague, fuzzy pieces I cannot associate with a time nor place.” He sighs, his tone betraying his frustration as he nuzzles his head into the sorceress’s nimble hand, searching for comfort. She idly trails her fingers through his silvery curls, lightly scratching his scalp. 

She hums softly but doesn’t say more on the topic. She knows when to stop pushing him. He loves that about her.

He thinks he loves her. He still hasn’t said it. 

“Ready for bed?” Eirianwen asks with a soft peck to his cheek, and Astarion simply nods in response. He’s often much quieter when he’s not in front of the others; when he doesn’t have to perform. 

She climbs off the male elf and quickly settles into the bedroll before patting the space next to her with an adorable, sleepy smile. He settles in next to the sorceress and she resumes running her fingers through his hair. Astarion is sure it’s incredibly disheveled by now, but in front of only Ani’s warm golden eyes, he doesn’t care. 

The Shadowlands have been torturous. The vampire spawn has yet to catch a single living creature out here, and he refuses to drink from Ani more than once every three days, despite her protests. He jokes they can’t both be operating at suboptimal levels or the group would simply fall apart.

They can manage without him, he knows this. He also knows that, like him, they can’t manage without Ani. 

He’s weak, slow, moody… and above all, he’s hungry. His hunger makes it difficult to sleep. 

Eirianwen knows this. She knows he’s struggling. So every night she traces her fingers along his scalp and hums an old Elvish lullaby until he’s fallen into a trance beside her. 

When Astarion wakes in the night his hands always search for her, desperate to pull her close. And she is always there. 

*

He remembers how easy and instinctual it had been to reach for Ani all those years ago. 

But now, the Ascendant cannot even bring himself to hold her hand as she trances through the worst of the poison’s wrath, forced into slumber by Jaheira. The average course of Delilah’s prior torture toxins had always been between three to five days. Most people give up their secrets after that. The ones that don’t undergo a second round of poison, and most of those unfortunate souls die; their bodies simply give up on them. 

He’s sitting in a plush wingback chair not more than a few feet from Eirianwen, staring at the old metal ring he’d slipped onto her finger before rushing her to the Palace. True Love’s Caress and True Love’s Embrace. Two physical symbols of twisted, tainted love. 

How fitting. 

Though, this time around, he’s the shield and she’s the ward. 

In the Shadowlands, when they first found the rings, it had been the other way around. Ani had insisted upon this particular arrangement because without regular sustenance, the vampire had been weak and sluggish. In his mind, he’d been useless. And the sorceress had refused to wear the matching rings otherwise, ultimately forcing his hand. Despite the fact Astarion hadn’t yet told her he loved her, he wanted everyone to know she was well and truly taken.

Fifteen years ago she was his. He was hers. 

Now the vision of the beautiful, silvery-blue haired elven woman in his bed is entirely unfamiliar and he attempts, and yet consistently fails, to sleep in the adjacent office. 

*

The Ascendant lounges idly on a velvet upholstered bench in a well-appointed room of Sharess’ Caress. A golden goblet dangles through his slender fingers as he surveys the salacious scene in front of him. 

The Drow twins are there, as well as three other workers, all engaged in different aspects of bacchanalia. It’s been just over six months since Ani’s been gone; he rents this room and pays for this show nearly every weekend, mostly as a distraction. Astarion only watches, never engages.

He isn’t sleeping well, if at all. He thought performing the rite would make the nightmares cease, but the moment Eirianwen packed her bags and left the palace he was haunted by the visions. Many of them were of Cazador; many were of Ani. Both were tortuous in their own ways.

Every time the Ascendant looks at his still-unfamiliar visage in the mirror, the bags under his eyes appear deeper than before. 

Delilah enters the room with another bottle of wine and a sumptuous spread of mixed fruit and chocolates on a platter. Her straight silver hair is twisted into ornate braids and she is nowhere near as skimpily dressed as the other workers. The half-elf elegantly places the tray in front of Astarion and then pauses to watch the debauched scene before her with mild interest. Sorn is in the middle of performing his Menzoberranzan Love Trick. 

“I don’t pay you to stand there and stare.” Astarion warns snidely as he pops open the second bottle of wine and assesses the woman through judgmental scarlet eyes. 

Delilah emits a haughty laugh in response as she turns her hazel gaze to examine the elf, wholly unphased by the Ascendant in front of her, “You don’t pay me at all, my Lord. I assure you, I’m far too expensive for you to have had the pleasure.” 

She saunters away before the vampire can counter, and he stews at the insult for the remainder of the night, far too distracted by Delilah to appreciate any of the worker’s finales. What a waste.

A few days later, he enquires Mamzell Amira, the owner of Sharess’ Caress, about Delilah, intending to purchase her services solely to prove a point. He’d been ruminating over the insult for days. 

Astarion is informed that the half-elf is a shapeshifter and her lowest rates for different experiences are already three times as high as the next highest paid employee of the brothel. Now that, the Ascendant mused… that was interesting. He could use her services.

Perhaps in more ways than one. 

*

Edmund is held in the dungeons underneath the palace; convincing Wyll to leave the bastard here had been no easy task. But shortly after downing Edmund, the Duke had been called off to another emergency in the lower city, a riot of some sort, and he’d ultimately relented. Nowadays, the Blade’s dedication and loyalty always remained directed at the city. Even his closest friends, his precious Eirianwen, came second to duty.

Astarion is quite aware he has to interrogate the foreign, piece of shit spawn, but he cannot be more than sixty feet away from Ani or the enchantments on the ring cease to work. Plus, a few days without nourishment makes one more inclined to spill their most disgusting secrets. He knows this far too well. 

The silver-haired Lord is signing some documents for his steward, Pascal. The love of his life is in a forced trance the next room over, and yet business must go on and money must be made. His control over the city had already slipped since he and Delilah went their separate ways a few years back; he cannot let past-due documents be his final undoing. 

The rules of bureaucracy are asinine, but in many ways – far more than he likes – Astarion is still forced to follow them. What is the point of being an all-powerful Ascendant when you still have to dance around nobles and patriars, relentlessly pretending you’re part of a society you do not give a single shit about? 

The elf sucks in a sharp breath and abruptly clenches the quill in hand as a burning sensation courses through his system. It feels like pure acid in his veins. The pain emerges from the thin band on his index finger and shoots up his arm in an arc before circling itself around his body, as if following the course of his blood circulation.

It’s truly agonizing. But as the Ascendant, neither a surge of fire through his veins nor the effects of Delilah’s poisons are as potent as they would be on a mortal. He’s certain the rings are not completely doing away with Ani’s suffering, he can see the discomfort strewn across her face, even as she trances. But between the forced slumber and the ring’s enchantments, they’re saving her from the worst of it. 

He hopes. 

Pascal collects the newly signed piles of scrolls and then hands a small folded note of parchment, sealed with red wax, to Astarion. The Ascendant drinks a simple healing potion in order to combat the effects of the ring.

“This arrived just now, as well, my Lord.” The human male, with eyes just a bit too wide and a scar running along his face murmurs. Pascal had been the elf’s first hire when he took over the palace fifteen years ago. Back then, the man had been a spry thirty-something; now Pascal is a graying human approaching middle age. He’d unfortunately rejected Astarion’s offer to become a spawn.

Seems immortality is not as alluring as one might think. Pity, though. Pascal had proven to be quite useful over the years.

Jaheira appears in the doorway of Astarion’s office. It’s clear she’s quite uncomfortable within these walls, but she’s continuing on for Eirianwen. The druid purses her lips and meets the gaze of the Vampire Lord, “There’s been a new development.” 

Astarion leaves the small folded piece of parchment strewn upon his desk and Umber curled sleeping on a cushion underneath it. 

*

“You will regret leaving me… more than anything else you live to regret.”

They are sitting across from one another in their old booth at the Elfsong, a few weeks after their break up. He’d been positive this meeting was called because the sorceress wanted to reconcile. The Ascendant thought he would make her grovel a bit, but then ultimately take her back. Astarion had to punish her, if only just, to ensure she never considered such a ridiculous stunt ever again.

But instead, Ani told him she was leaving the city and going to meet Halsin in Reithwin. Astarion is convinced this is an intentional goad from the elven woman, some sort of manipulation on her end. He said what he did in a pitiful attempt to goad her in return. 

Eirianwen tips her chin up pridefully as she smoothly stands from the table and evaluates the Vampire Ascendant. He feels his fingers instinctively flex with nerves as he watches her. Ani is far too calculated and far too unemotional as she glosses her eyes across his face looking for… something, though he still doesn’t fully understand what. In this final, painstaking moment, the male elf realizes this is truly the end between them. She is done. He almost retches on the spot but his pride forces him to shove the visceral reaction down.

“You’re nothing like the man I fell in love with anymore. I don’t know who you are. I hope you find the pieces of him still within you, someday.”

She would regret leaving him, that much was true. But Astarion would regret letting her go far more.

*

When Jaheira and Astarion enter the room, Ani is drenched in sweat and speaking in strings of broken Elvish as old memories flicker through her mind. In the moments Astarion had spent sitting at her side, the sorceress mentioned someone named Calinion more than once. The Ascendant assumes it’s a lover from her travels and the thought makes his skin crawl; he desires to know nothing more about the man and therefore ignores most of her mutterings.

Astarion’s garnet-colored eyes immediately notice the marred flesh of Eirianwen’s right hand. Small pinprick ulcers are beginning to form along her inner arm; parts of her smooth, vitiligo-patched skin are turning black. It’s starkest against the spots on her arms where her depigmentation has made the skin almost as pale as his own. 

Her vitiligo was beautiful. The appearance of this affliction was anything but.

Astarion had never witnessed this from any of Delilah’s previous concoctions. But the changeling was known to experiment with new tinctures quite often; she excelled at torture and seemed to delight in finding new, innovative ways to inflict pain. It had been one of the many reasons the Ascendant had remained involved with her for years; she’d been an excellent informant. 

“Necrosis.” Jaheira explains, her voice clinical but grave, as she brings a plush towel to Ani’s face and dabs at bits of sweat along the sorceress’s brow, “I suspect that, despite the rings, this poison — or curse, perhaps — isn’t targeting you because as an undead, nevermind an Ascendant, you are highly resistant. Try as it might, it cannot touch you. But it has to enact its damage somewhere.” 

“There must be something you can do.” Astarion responds, brow furrowing as he takes the cloth from Jaheira’s hands and gently resumes the task, mostly to distract himself. He’s angry, and frustrated, but he tempers all of it down because Jaheira is his — their — only hope. 

As the vampire blots along the sorceress’s face, his eyes focus on the small patch of vitiligo underneath her left eye. He wants nothing more than to bend over and press a gentle kiss atop it.

If true love’s kiss were more than a silly notion in a child’s fairy tale, he would have kissed her already. 

“If there were anything I could do, I would have done it by now. But as you said yourself, Delilah’s concoctions are unlike anything we have seen. The remnants along Eirianwen’s wound contain highly unfamiliar ingredients; your old paramour must source them from quite far.” Jaheira murmurs and then sighs dejectedly, “The most I can do is try to limit the spread. But even my magic and medicinals are struggling to compete against this… atrocity. The poison should be out of her system in another day or two; the most we can hope is that it simply runs the rest of its course with minimal damage.”

Astarion twitches his fingers as he assesses the ill elven woman in his bed. 

“I would not think about turning her now, Astarion.” Jaheira warns, reading the Ascendant’s mind as his eyes roam across the sleeping sorceress’ face, “She would never forgive you, and you’re risking Eirianwen remaining frozen, damaged like this for all eternity. Is that what you want? And more importantly, is that what she would want?” 

Astarion inhales a slow, contemplative breath. Moments of silence pass between the two conscious beings in the room and then the male elf simply responds, “No.” 

Jaheira isn’t sure which question he’s answering. She hopes it’s both.

He leaves the bedchambers without another word. Enough is enough. The Ascendant may not be able to travel down the several flights of stairs to the dungeons, but Edmund can be brought to him. Some of the worst things that ever happened to Astarion occurred in the many halls and rooms of this palace, rather than in the dungeons themselves. Cazador found ways to torture and punish his spawn no matter where they were.

Astarion is certain he can do far worse than Cazador ever did to the bastard responsible for Eirianwen’s affliction in the first place. Because unlike Cazador, the Ascendant has little reason to keep this fucker presentable. Or alive, for that matter.

Edmund will not remain tight-lipped for long. 

*

Special thank you to my friend and lore queen @chickywickers for telling me the owner of the brothel is, in fact, not Sharess. Edited to fix. 😊