#fear avatar oc

[moth-bells]

It is done!!!! My TMA oc fic !!!!! Give it a read if you'd like! Title: A Cosmos of Stars Word Count: 5069 Summary:

{ “Ah, yes of course. Here, have a seat mister..” Jon trailed off as the man standing behind Tim slipped past him into the office, glancing around as he sat across from the shorter man.

“Daire. Daire McAlistair” The stranger introduced, still looking around the room }

A Cosmos of Stars - MothBells - The Magnus Archives (Podcast) [Archive of Our Own]

[randomvoices]

Jaz Darren

Jaz Darren never liked being around people. She tended to avoid crowds. Her favorite time of day was when the sun was just rising, and fog drifted around her street. Jaz enjoyed watching the fog.

Jaz Darren lived in a small town on the coast of Maine, and fog was very common there. She also enjoyed walking along the seacoast.

Jaz Darren worked as a janitor for a nearby middle school, a job where she was left alone most of the time. She had been working as a janitor for 5 years, ever since she was 18.

Jaz Darren didn't speak much, preferring to stay silent and melt into the background. So nobody really noticed when she disappeared. It took 4 months for someone to contact the police.

Jaz Darren reappeared 5 weeks after the police were notified. She didn't answer any questions, seeming more distant than ever. She returned to her job as a janitor.

Jaz Darren was now the subject of many rumors and tales. She didn't like this one bit. Soon, people started noticing fog following her around.

Jaz Darren disappeared again 7 weeks later. When the police searched her home, all they found were traces of fog drifting around her home.

Jaz Darren was never found in that small town off the coast of Maine again.

@dollscircus

[the-smiling-stranger]

*bullies you*

Make sure to check for monsters next time you go to sleep. Shadows aren't always shadows, you know.

[staysaneathome]

A picture of Jon’s Cat(?) from Put That Thing Back Where It Came From!

They understand nothing about the evolutionary impact their existence has on this world.

Jon thinks they’re the most perfect kitty in existence, even with all their mutations. (Even if they do eventually begin walking on their hind legs and making noised that sound disturbingly like words…)

Martin eventually also grows fond of this strange little creature. And much like actual highland cows, minotaurs express affection toward their young by licking them, both to clean them and provide a sense of belonging to the herd.

(Martin’s mother never did this for him.)

The only problem is that a minotaur’s tongue, much like a highland cow’s or a cat’s, has a very sandpaper-y texture. Which is not always a pleasant sensation for a small human child’s delicate skin…

Martin and poor Jon’s Cat(?) are both confused and upset.

Jon does not understand all the fuss these mammals are making.

[murderandcoffee]

avatar oc ideas so far:

eye avatar who feeds on the gossip and secrets of the people in his small town

slaughter victim (veteran) turned avatar (serial killer)

stranger avatar who embodies the fear of running into someone you never want to see again by adopting the visage of said person (idea from @melandrops)

end avatar based off of the washer at the ford/bean-nighe (a passive omen of death rather than an active bringer of it)

flesh avatar who performs gender-affirming surgeries on people with transphobic families (and uses the "disposed of" materials from said surgeries to build a "child" of sorts)

spiral avatar who turns horrors from people's nightmares into real things

inclement weather-themed desolation avatar (hurricanes, blizzards, tornadoes)

dark avatar who drags people into caves and mutates them to resemble cave-dwelling creatures (colorless skin, no eyes, etc.) until they are barely human anymore

buried avatar who lives at the bottom of the ocean and sabotages submarines/drowns divers

web avatar matchmaker who pulls people into bad relationships

vast avatar who untethers people from gravity and either lets them float endlessly upward or who makes them fall to their death (it depends on their mood)

hunt avatar who turns prey animals into predators and vice versa

extremophile extinction avatar who leads a doomsday cult

corruption avatar who withers/decays/erodes anything they touch

lonely avatar who disappears lone hikers in deep wilderness

bonus: spiral avatar who is a compulsive liar, but whose lies become true for whoever they tell them to

[nineraeix]

tiefling doodles

[sunroseofthewood]

TMA inspired pieces for the PCs in my dnd game

(The Dark | The Slaughter | The Web)

[echoing-locations]

“My Gods.. look at the sky… it’s looking back!”

(Context ⬇️)

According to my DM the campaign Canna’s in is some what inspired by the Magnus Archives,

we’re not very far into the campaign and nothing like this has come up yet but this idea has been rattling around in my brain for a bit and I had to draw it.

[3ris-d1st0rtionnn]

SinCE aCCePtiNg mY h u M a N O i D uNcAnnINeSS aNd bEcOMinG mOre INtEgraTed wIth ThE s T r A n g E r, i DecIDed To dO SoME R e d E c O R a T i N g !

A cacophony of distorted, cartoon-like music and manic, disembodied laughter emanates from Eris’ realm.

oH, ANd ThE “ E x I t “ iS RIghT OveR heRe! CAn’T PromIse WHere iT wiLL LeaD… :)

[existing-is-bothersome]

hehehe tma oc drop

[humann0taliean]

Probably the only thing I'm every going to post on here 💀

My TMA oc :]

I drew the reference, but barkingworms drew the other things of her <3

I love her so much :]

[moth-bells]

I MADE..I MADE A TMA OC HES MY EVERYTHIGN RN IM NOT NORMAL ABOUT HIM

[randomvoices]

A Magnus Archives OC

June Salt, Avatar of The Dark. (I used a Picrew to make this)

I will post their story soon as I've finalized it.

[the-smiling-stranger]

Greetings and Hellos!

I am [REDACTED], but you can call me Mister Smiles! I'm your local imaginary friend! It's nice to meet you! I'm a Spiral/Stranger Creation, though how that happened is a mystery. Well, off I pop! Toodles!

[staysaneathome]

(Or So Help Us Both) Get By

(A second part in the Monster!Jmart AU)

Jon wakes up to the sound of soft whining, with his head on a pillow and a pleasant lassitude encompassing his limbs and his tail.

He stretches minutely before opening his eyes to a blur of colors, light, and shadow.

There’s something indistinct squirming a few inches away from his face.

Groaning, Jon gropes around for his glasses, finally finding them behind him and sliding them on.

His cat is wriggling around, making vaguely distressed noises not too far from him.

Jon immediately slides one of his hands over the fur on its head, quieting it somewhat with the soothing contact.

“Shh, it’s okay.” His voice creaks slightly from disuse, but he can wait to grab something to drink until he’s taken care of his cat. “It’s alright, I’m here. Sh, sh, sh, shh.”

Unbidden, the image of the minotaur from last night surfaces in Jon’s brain, him carefully cradling Jon’s cat against his chest as they drank from the bottle he had provided, the sweet half-hidden dimple from his quirked smile and the friendly glint in his eyes that Jon glimpsed under the fluffy-looking fringe—

Jon turns his head into the pillow and immediately tries to suffocate himself.

Good lord, he must have been sleep-deprived.

Still, at least the minotaur— Marvin, he thinks his name was? managed to get Jon’s cat to calm down. Whether he left without taking anything remains to be seen.

His cat wriggles, pressing its face into his hand and letting out another mewl of complaint.

“Yes, yes.” Jon grumbles as he scoops them against his chest. “Let’s get you fed then, shall we?”

At least this seems to be met with his cat’s approval, as they herald it with a slow blink and a particularly squeaky yawn.

Jon has to hide his besotted grin in the fur on the top of their head and rain a few kisses down onto their precious little head.

Look, it’s not his fault they’re adorable. They’re a cat. He’s only so strong a man.

He sits up and gathers them to his chest, wincing as his ribs protest. This is why he needs a proper bedtime routine. It would include him taking off his work clothes and putting on something he can actually sleep in, at some point.

“Heavy thing, you are.” He mumbles nonsensically to himself. “Maybe you are a, a Maine Coon, like he said, yeah? But you’re too refined to be American, aren’t you? Little landed gentry, you are. I can tell. Or shall we call you the lew-tenant?”

That gets him a yell and gentle bat on the shoulder.

“There, you see?” He grins down at them, fond. “An inherent aversion to any sort of hard work. Little layabout through and through. Need a fleet of servants to attend to your needs, really.”

The paw on his shoulder has begun flexing in that particular way which shows Jon’s cat is kneading, their odd, burbling, hiccuping purr filling the air. Their mouth is open in a way that looks uncannily like a smile.

“Right. It’s just me for the moment though.” He braces himself for the daunting task before him. “So let’s see what we can do.”

All his stuff still seems to be there and mostly unmoved, which Jon is counting as a win. Then again, the minotaur seems to live at the end of the hall, so he supposes it wouldn’t be too hard to find him again to reclaim his property.

Jon is privately grateful, both that he won’t need to and that he had the foresight to use a week of his previously untouched holiday to ensure he could get his cat acclimated to their new home. The idea of haring off down the corridor in search of his things, constantly aware that at any moment HR could begin ringing his mobile to ask why he wasn’t at his desk yet…

Well. It really doesn’t bare thinking about.

In fact, the only things that seem to have been touched are the pan and the bottle, both clean and drying on an old tea towel next to the sink, and a pamphlet which now has some incongruously neat handwriting bordering the bright yellow print which declares cats are, “89% CHEAPER AND MORE EFFECTIVE THAN THERAPY!!!*”

(“*Not a guarantee.”)

Apparently the minotaur’s name is Martin. He’s left his phone number, in case Jon needs it (he doesn’t). He’s also left instructions on how to heat up the milk, again in case Jon needs them (he does). And a reassurance that he’ll be popping by after one job and before another to check on them and report any findings he’s made (Jon wars between being indignant at the implication he needs checking on and grateful that this miracle worker will continue to solve the problems he’s having with cat parenthood. He settles on mutinously and grumpily accepting).

He also signs this note, love, Martin K Blackwood

Annoyingly, that first word refuses to leave his head even as he tries to focus on the instructions for milk preparation.

It’s just—okay, maybe the minotaur wasn’t unattractive, but surely he’s not?? It would be very forward if so, and he hadn’t seemed the type, all stuttery and sweet, but-? And surely not for Jon, exhausted and surly bag of bones he was last night, showing off every one of his worst features. Not that Jon would be interested anyway! No, he’s not looking for that, not so soon after breaking up with Georgie. Although, it was a mutual breakup, she’d said so and everything, even made sure to get the last things of his at their flat delivered and paid for the postage. It’s not like he’s hung up on it or anything, no, no, he just needs, ah. Needs to learn to live with himself again, as Sasha so nicely put it. It’s why he started seriously considering getting a cat, after all, something to do with himself that wasn’t throwing himself into his new position at work, and—!

Jon is not about to have a spiral about whether there’s any deeper meaning behind the cute minotaur signing his missive with “love”.

He’s not.

Plenty of people sign cards with love, even to those they don’t particularly like. Some people even do it on emails, just out of habit.

That must be it. Martin seemed like a genial, outgoing fellow, the kind with countless friends and loved ones. Who else would be kind enough to come to the door of a complete stranger and give up their night helping with an ornery kitten?

Yes. Yes, that must be it. No need to read any deeper into it.

Yes.

Good.

Right.

Jon’s tail thuds into the kitchen counter, making him and his cat startle. They let out a little whine.

“Oh, oh, no, no, it’s alright, sh, sh, shh.” He soothes, rocking them a bit. “Shh, it’s okay, we’re okay. Do you want some food? You must be hungry. Let’s get you something to eat, there we go.”

Jon certainly is, stomach growling as his gaze sweeps over his cat.

When he opens the fridge, he can’t help plucking out one or two eggs from the holder as he searches for the milk Martin left, enjoying the delicious, smooth texture going down as he swallows the first.

His cat, seeing he’s got something he’s putting in his mouth but not feeding to them as is their right, has their feline thievery instincts kick in. He feels their little paws pat at his face, reaching for the remaining egg in his free hand.

“Mm-!” He pops it in and swallows, feeling his jaw hinge back into place. “No, no that’s not for you. Cats can’t digest eggshell, or raw egg. I should know. I checked.”

His cat protests this assessment with a mournful cry.

“Yes, yes, I’m cruel and unjust, aren’t I.” He makes kissy noises that seem to appease them as he finally snags the milk out of the fridge and knocks the door closed with his tail.

Okay, so milk obtained. Step one partially complete.

He pours it into the clean pan, wrinkling his nose at the white liquid. How mammals can drink this straight, he’ll never know.

There. That’s that done then. What next?

Step two, according to Martin; turn on the heat as low as it will go, and gently simmer until steam just begins to waft off the surface. Then remove from the hob immediately.

This would probably be easier if he didn’t have an actively squirming cat in his arms. And it’s not as if they don’t weigh anything, a small but solid and heavy weight to be lugging around as he attempts to negotiate his stovetop.

But, well.

He’d worked out yesterday that while they can be set down and left to their own devices on the cat bed he bought for them, what they like is being cuddled. Preferably for as long as Jon’s arms can hold them, and then a bit longer for good measure.

Who is he to deny his cat what they need? They’re adjusting, all alone in a new place with a new person, not quite sure that this is their forever home yet. If they need a bit more physical reassurance, it’s certainly not a chore for Jon to give it to them.

Plus with the workout his arms are getting, maybe he’ll finally be able to lift a few boxes at work without Tim and Sasha making fun of him for straining.

Finally, the pot’s on the hob and the smallest of flames is flickering beneath it.

Jon nods to himself, procures the sole wooden spoon he owns, and settles in to wait.

The milk is still and white at the bottom of the pot.

There are a few ripples when he drags the spoon through it, but otherwise, no change. No steam, at any rate.

Jon’s cat is kneading biscuits into his shoulder again. His arm really is starting to ache a little. His hair also feels unfortunately greasy. There is still no steam.

He reads ahead in Martin’s directions.

Apparently, once the milk is off the heat, he needs to pour it into the bottle, attach the nib and test whether it’s not too hot for them to drink. The ideal heat should be about body temperature in the absence of a proper thermometer.

Jon, whose body temperature fluctuates regularly depending on how long it’s been since he forgot to turn on his heating pad, finds this singularly unhelpful.

Mammals, honestly.

The milk is still flat and white. No steam whatsoever.

“Hm.” It seems like this is very slow. Is there no way to speed this up?

According to Martin’s instructions, apparently not. Under no circumstances, which seems unnecessarily puritanical, in Jon’s opinion. “Hrm.”

Jon’s cat leans forwards to inspect the pot and says, “Mrrp?”

Jon mock-gasps. “Where did you learn language like that, your Grace? Those kinds of words aren’t appropriate for someone of your station. Do I need to have a talking to with your elocution tutor?”

His cat trills at the teasing, turning to nuzzle into his collarbone, burbling purr starting up again. Jon chuckles and hitches them higher on his hip.

They wait a bit more.

…

…

… Still no change.

“Well.” Jon side-eyes his cat. His cat, title pending, pauses in the act of gnawing on one paw. “How bad can it be, really?”

[bloodstained-webs]

Vampires

Alright, Avatars and otherwise on Tumblr. Help me and Olivia settle an argument. Are vampires Slaughter or Web? I say they're Slaughter, but Olivia insists they're Web.