#epithet ocs

[tokiro07]

Inscribed: █████ ██████████

Epithet: Nobody - lack of identity or presence

Abilities:

Anonymous User - a passive ability that prevents others from learning █████' name. Those affected will need to pass a perception check to see if they can catch the name, and possibly a secondary check to see if they even realize they didn't catch it

Ain't Got No Body - temporarily turns █████' body incorporeal, making physical objects and attacks pass through them for the duration

Nobody's Home - allows █████ to completely clear their mind, making them immune to sensory- or mental-based abilities for the duration; cannot be used at the same time as Ain't Got No Body

Nobody Cares - greatly increases █████' stealth abilities for the duration by erasing everyone else's ability to pay attention to them

Nobody's Perfect - █████' Epitome, in which all actions are performed perfectly for the duration (effectively, all rolls are 20s); attacks can still be blocked or evaded if the target rolls well enough, but █████' actions themselves are executed flawlessly

[brains-and-bolts]

When your epithet, which allows you to summon lizards that attack for you, somehow creates two sentient lizards that grow up into functioning members of society who also share your love for skateboarding (you are unsure why they took on such humanoid forms but you don't question it because they're your children now and you love them unconditionally).

[sadsoftserve]

Slowly turning my OCs into hazbin characters. And I'm not mad at that fact.

Micah as Angel Dust Parker as Husker

Only did this bc huskerdust lmao

[epi-embraced]

Epithet Embraced

By: Discord User Lullabye#7785/Tumblr User Epi-Embraced

Disclaimer: This is a fanworks based on JelloApocolypse’s Epithet Erased series. I am not affiliated with, and I do not own Epithet Erased. This fanworks contains copious amounts of cussing (i.e. shit, fuck, damn, bitch)

-⭐️⭐️⭐️-==—==-⭐️⭐️⭐️-==—==-⭐️⭐️⭐️-==—==-⭐️⭐️⭐️-==—==-⭐️⭐️⭐️-==—==-⭐️⭐️⭐️-==—==-⭐️⭐️⭐️-==-

Prologue: Verbilia

The violet city skyline stretched unto infinity, bits of smog clouding the air like cigarette smoke in an apartment without an open window. Neon adverts swung; akin to a hypnotizing pendulum, promoting an amount of freedom that most who lived here knew was a bold-fonted lie. While it may have been a claustrophobic prison cell for many of the citizens, the city of Verbilia was like opening a brand new book for someone like Pastiche Artisan.

Pastiche was a small teenage girl, looking possibly an entire year younger than she actually was. She had big floofy hair which appeared dense enough to smash concrete to rubble if she swung her head around too fast. She skipped through the dystopian streets in a skirted pair of messy, handcrafted overalls, coated in a rainbow of paint which had been there for far too long for her to ever hope to have a chance at it washing out.

Verbilia was a lot louder than her small country home, a lot more dangerous too, but she didn’t mind! Ms. Artisan had an Epithet after all. A strange ability which only few are lucky enough to be born with. With a word attached to their soul, the ones with Epithets; The Inscribed, were capable of performing amazing feats. Jets of fire, breathing underwater, remembering every pokemon's name; the possibilities for what an Epithet granted its Inscribed were boundless. The young teenager’s particular Epithet was called “Replica”, allowing her to make a copy of anything she’s recently seen and could thus picture in her head. Not as if anyone would have to know; usually just being Inscribed (or bluffing about it) was enough to keep villains away.

Speaking of villains, this entire complex was filled to the brim with violence! The county girl skipping along like a doomed Little Red Riding Hood proved as an astonishing contrast to the multiple EFs (Epithet Fights) which consumed the sidewalks. Suddenly—a tacky, pink car zoomed past her, kicking up a dusty whirlwind which blew her hair back! And then another! Zip! Zip! Zipp-zip-zip! One after another, more; similar looking cars trailed behind the de facto leader. Pastiche smiled widely at the interruption, her rose gold eyes shining like polished porcelain in the opportunistic light.

“So this is Verbilia? I can’t wait to meet my new friends!” She lept in the air with her exclamation, as if expecting opening credits to roll at the apex of her leap, and not the reality that she’d fall and hit her butt on the sidewalk. She winced, but the pain of her tailbone against stone wasn’t nearly enough to deter the girl from wandering in a dangerous part of the world in search of friendship. Pastiche came from Verbilia’s lesser cousin, the one not invited to all the fancy family dinners or piano recitals; Mackentire. Verbilians joked that the place still wasn’t out of the dark ages, and it hadn’t even reached the industrial revolution…which was only a slight exaggeration of Mackentire’s current condition. But Mackentire was sparse of humans, and, in an impulsive fit of loneliness, Pastiche left her cozy, school-skipping life behind in favor of Verbilia, with nothing but her hand knitted, drawstring bag (which she promptly forgot at the train station). Pastiche shook her head and bounced up, like a toy popping back into place after being bent by an unruly child. Suddenly, the girl’s ear twitched, hearing a scuffle nearby. She knew that it’d probably be safer not to investigate, but…

“Curiosity killed the cat…” she thought, remembering the old proverb her mother berated her with, most commonly when she went wandering into the woods. “Well, I’m not a cat! SoI’m like, immune to curiosity-based damage!” She somehow rationalized. Pastiche may not have been an olympian, but her mental gymnastics could’ve won a gold medal. She poked her head into the alleyway of which she heard the noises come from, yet by the time she looked, any shrieking was gone. She was now gazing upon what can most accurately be described as “A teen clown examining a shaking office worker’s wallet”

“Eep! Killer clown!” The country girl thought, ducking her head out of the alley and pressing herself against the wall like a 1970s Scooby-Doo scene.

“Lord have mercy, I thought a guy with this stature would have more than 40 bucks on him at a time.” The clown scoffed, like a spoiled child not getting the right color of Porsche. They left the alleyway after ripping the money from the leather wallet and throwing the alligator skin back to him with little grace.

Pastiche looked to her right in horror, seeing the mugger staring right at her with a vacant expression, as if they were daydreaming. She could now get a full view of the assalent. A teenager, not much taller than herself, with ripped off sleeves and the baggiest pants known to man. Their hair was a messy navy blue color, and their shirt had the words “Not Funny” written on it in sharpie. But the strangest thing about this person was their face. The stranger’s skin was completely white, almost like snow, and two large red spots were on either cheek. It looked like some kind of makeup. The person steps forward and stares down Pastiche.

They pause, examining her closely. “I love your aesthetic.” They say, monotone, as if reading off a script of a play they didn’t want to be a part of. Or perhaps in a way in which it was an objective and irrefutable fact which Pastiche just had to go on accepting. Not that she wouldn’t accept it. She didn’t fully understand what the word “Aesthetic” meant, but apparently hers was great! That was good, Pastiche liked having her positive qualities pointed out. But before Pastiche could reciprocate the compliment with one of her own, she was cut off by a shiny sports car screeching to a halt next to them, the driver stomping on the brakes so hard that the vehicle seemed to stop out of fear rather than mechanical obligation. The window rolled down and they were greeted by a blonde haired girl with bright pink sunglasses obscuring her eyes, but her mouth was in a shocked sneer.

“Ollie, what the fuck?” She yelled at them in a tone akin to when your dog throws up on the new carpet. “I say we need cash for ice cream and your first instinct is to rob someone?”

“Your own fault for forgetting your wallet.” The clown replied, matter of fact.

“You robbed a man…for ice cream?” Pastiche questions, wanting to ensure that she fully understands what she just witnessed. She blinked, shocked.

“Hm?” This was the first that the driver noticed Pastiche standing there, she was shaking timidly, like an autumn leaf in the wind. “And whatsittoya?” The driver spoke in a single breath, extraordinarily defensive over her acquaintance’s behavior. “You got some kinda problem with it? Do you know who I am?” She rapid-fired questions, not making it clear if they were rhetorical or not. She was nearly punching the car’s horn in white hot anger.

“W-well” The small girl stammered. Ollie looked at her, expectantly. “that's not a very nice thing to do and I think you should give him his money back!” She half expected laughter in response, and she half expected to be beat up in the nearby alley.

The blondie didn’t laugh. She didn’t even speak. She slowly removed her technicolor sunglasses and a giant ugly grin creeped onto her face. Her eyes stared into her soul with utter shock and awe, like she had just found bigfoot. “You’re not from here, are you?” The driver asked in a mocking tone. Ollie had disappeared by now. “Oh that's gold, that's utter gold.” She cackled like a witch “Here's a verbilian tip shortstack, you don’t get anywhere here by being nic-“

“Yo Erin I gave him his cash back” The clown reappeared

“-wha…Ollie you can’t undo a robbery!” Erin, the driver’s name, fired back assertively

“Just did.” Ollie stood their ground, crossing their arms “Sorry fam. Sucks that we don’t get ice cream though.”

“Oh gosh, I think I have a 20, if this is all about ice cream…” Pastiche offered kindly, reaching into the front pocket of her overalls and pulling out a crumpled up 20 dollar bill. Ollie swiped at the paper.

“Give!”

“Hey!” She held it away from the thief. “On two conditions. One, you don’t rob anyone else.” Erin blows a raspberry at this, and mumbles something about dogs. It's not like it was her idea to rob someone for ice cream money. With that kind of behavior, it was almost as if she wasn’t driving a car which cost more than half the apartments in this city. “And two…I get to come and get ice cream too!” The artist bounced in place with a gleeful smile, seeing this as a wonderful chance to make new friends.

Erin sighed “Ollie, a word?” She beckoned her companion over, trying with all her might not to yell. Like when you’re annoyed at your baby sibling but don’t want to make them cry. The clown was walking with no bounce in their step, almost as if they were a ghost gliding over the concrete. It was heelys. They were wearing heelys.

“What? We get free ice cream, and we don’t need to speed back to your shitty house to get your shitty wallet.”

“My house and wallet are both gorgeous, thanks. Are you really about to let that…” She peeks up from the huddle like a rich, pompous gopher, spotting Pastiche waving to her. “…bumpkin into my car” she poked the car’s exterior for emphasis, as if Ollie didn’t hear this conversation any time the smallest particle of dirt was found on the custom-interior. The entire vehical could’ve been mistaken for a chariot forged by gods from the stars. The paint job was flawless, the speed incredible, and the seats meticulously cleaned. At Least that's what Erin says to anyone who shows the smallest bit of interest in it. But nobody did. Cause they didn’t care about her car. And Ollie didn’t particularly care either, but it's not like they had much of a choice but to negotiate with this rabid eel of a woman.

“Ah c’mon shes not a bumpkin. Im sure her outfit she got from Fleaced” Fleaced is the hottest hipster fashion store in Verbilia. Their torn jeans are ‘Mathematically proven to make you look adventurous’. Not to mention it was incredibly expensive. Ollie could only afford clothes that they bought from there because they were friends with The Eon family. Erin’s high class household which paid for her expensive habits and had a reputation for being ‘Absolutely fucking insufferable’. “C’moooon Eriiiiin.” They taunt.

Erin let out the longest groan of her 1st world life, nearly slamming her head onto the car horn, before letting out the tiniest “Fine”

“Hell yeah, ice cream. Cmon overalls! The council has spoken, and it's a yes!” They called over the bumpkin.

“Woo! Oh and uhm, its Pastiche.”

“Ollie!” Ollie said.

“Erin.” Erin groaned.

“Great to meet you! We’re gonna be great friends!” Pastiche clapped like a seal. Her first friends, she was so happy.

[flareguncalamity]

[zoinkszuben]

made this for an illustration school assignment, Giovanni Potage threatening a BAD GUY with his Soul Slugger Doom Bat!!!! ( the bad guy belongs to @mugsy )

[mutiniir]

"You do know my boobs aren't that big right"

"It's called perspective. Ever heard of it ??"

[sketchingdemonss]

i tried to sculpt one of sylvie’s sheep :)

[hoaxghost]

One of my main characters for my friend groups long running epithet campaign. She's a mundie, ex game developer and an absolute hater in any given circumstance.

[lividjungle]

me & my wife oky

[metaname]

another another oc of mine

[tokiro07]

Inscribed: Detective Christopher Agate

Epithet: Grey - pertains to things that are grey in color or are referred to as metaphorically grey

Abilities:

Little Grey Cells - a passive ability that greatly increases Agate's investigative skills, making any roll above 1 at least a moderate success

Grey Skies - creates cloud cover to hide Agate or allies

Grey Morality - inhibits moral judgments in others, typically to keep people from questioning his actions but can also be used to make a target question themselves

[sunsetinc]

Matilda's vigilante persona, "The Fantabulous Ms. Lunar!" (WIP)

[mugsy]

My stupid little emo mundie I hope he explodes

[pumpkster]

[trasho-pando2011]

Some other stuff from the whiteboard 👇

(ink - @ink-the-axolotl-rabbit )