#mariya's ocs

[rottingunderground]

yayyyyy pathologic oc ( healer bc i have a kin guy ) bc i'm autistic .... their name is Bilje Daskalov he's from bulgaria and he has albinism. his hand got burned and he also died for a few minutes from a gunshot wound and came back Wrong

his title is The Fext. In slavic mythology they're basically undead creatures who are invincible to bullets unless the bullet is made of glass . i think we should kill him

[doodlingwren]

Tried to make a character reference for Mariya from the new Saint Seiya spinoff since I couldn't find a character turnaround 🎀✨

Mostly I drew this for practice purposes and well, for having a reference of her outfits. Might be useful in the future... who knows!

Hope you like it! 🌟

[joshconfirmed]

may 2025 doodles. sorry I didn't draw much this month I've been busy

[sportabrite]

Small selection of Defoe/Alec picrews for my own viewing pleasure.

[pretzel-box]

[1 of 5 of Sasha's Background Files. Including some heavy topics like human experiments. This series is a work of fiction. Cordelia belongs to @splatting-stampede ]

Sasha Mariya Lazarski was often referred to as an artificial god, someone who had climbed so high that her fingers seemed capable of scratching stars from the sky with pure force. Countless hours of research had fueled her ascent. Miss Lazarski had the audacity to challenge the work of gods by raising the scalpel, taking human beings and transforming them into living dolls. She would disassemble their limbs, twist their joints, and rearrange what should have remained in place. She stripped the human out of humanity, from her subjects, and reshaped them into grotesque forms—masses of flesh, kept alive only by the tubes her workers had threaded through their bodies.

Yet, there were two sides to her.

Mariya, the woman who wore her long hair in a ponytail interwoven with carefully braided strands. Each day, she put effort into creating a new hairstyle, hoping to impress her fiancé, who always insisted that no matter how she styled it, she was as beautiful as the first day he saw her. Mariya preferred her coffee with two sugars, a shot of milk, and hazelnut syrup—a concoction more akin to liquid diabetes than coffee, but like many things, it was just another matter of personal taste. In her free time, she knitted scarves, dyed her hair every two weeks, and harbored a strong addiction to sudoku.

Sasha, on the other hand, wore her hair in a messy bun, with pencils and pens tucked into it when there was no room left behind her ears. She had an awful habit of biting her nails when under pressure, leaving them bleeding or infected. But pain was something that receded to the back of her mind when she was working. Gods don’t feel pain; they feel power. Sasha was one of Urbanshade’s top researchers, leading her own team and forcing countless humans through the trial stages she’d designed—all with the help of a mysterious drug gifted to her by a stranger.

Both were one and the same person.

One Monday afternoon, the coffee machine on the fourth floor broke again, in desperate need of a deep cleaning after someone spilled half a box of coffee creamer over it. Whether it was a wild animal that broke in or a lazy coworker with shaky hands, no one could say. Miss Lazarski glanced at her empty mug, her face twisting in disappointment, and picked up the remaining coffee creamer. She drank it straight from the box, grimacing at the taste but at least temporarily quenching her thirst. She then tossed the box in the trash, followed shortly by her mug—there was no time or energy to return it to the shelf when far more important matters demanded her attention.

One such matter was Cordelia. A simple name in a file filled with far more complex issues than a police report. Miss Lazarski had spent the previous night poring over Cordelia’s data. She knew everything—her family history, where she worked, what her favorite food was, whether she had ever stolen anything. Miss Lazarski even knew all the embarrassing high school stories Cordelia had lived through. And if you asked the blue-haired woman what she thought of her subject, the answer would be clear: Cordelia was, is, and always will be utterly boring. Ordinary at best. Miss Lazarski had wasted hours of her night studying someone who was replaceable and insignificant. She even used Cordelia’s photographs from the file as a coaster, now stained with coffee rings, marking the same forgettable face on every page.

The same forgettable face sat before Miss Lazarski, dressed in the drab, degrading prison uniform that was an affront to human dignity—and to her personal aesthetic. Telling Cordelia to strip out of that pathetic cloth wasn’t exactly an option at the moment, especially with the soldiers standing guard at the entrance, watching the prisoner closely. Not that Miss Lazarski particularly respected human rights, not with her work so deeply entrenched in the shadows of ethics. But she could afford to respect a person’s privacy—sometimes. A single glance was all it took. Cordelia hadn’t been able to shower in a while; her hair was a greasy, tangled mess that hung in front of her face. Bruises mottled her skin in shades of purple and green, some fresh, some fading. The sight made Miss Lazarski smile faintly. Cordelia was clever. She’d clearly been through some altercations but hadn’t fought back. She’d taken the hits. Prison was a psychological battleground, and this woman had chosen survival over pride. Not that it mattered anymore—Miss Lazarski was here for a very specific purpose.

"Welcome." Miss Lazarski began, her tone clipped and professional. "Let’s get a few things straight. I’m Professor Doctor Lazarski. I wasn’t originally scheduled to meet with you today, but my colleague from the legal department is… unavailable, so I’ve been sent in their place to collect your data. I’m a researcher at Urbanshade, a rather prestigious company. Perhaps you’ve heard of us, perhaps not."

Cordelia’s eyes, wide and cautious, tracked Miss Lazarski’s movements, her silence an indication of either confusion or wariness. It was clear she was trying to keep up with the rapid pace of the blue-haired woman’s words.

"Dizziness?" Miss Lazarski’s voice sharpened, her gaze analyzing Cordelia with the precision of a scalpel. "Your movements are sluggish, the way you're sitting suggests something more than just those bruises. No… you’ve suffered trauma. Recent trauma, in fact. It hasn’t had time to heal. If it had been there longer, the doctors would’ve patched you up. Or perhaps they’ve decided that a walking corpse isn’t worth treating."

Cordelia met her gaze, struggling to process the flood of clinical observations.

"Dizziness, a ringing in your ears, loss of hearing, and the pain… someone hit you hard, didn’t they? Did it bleed?" Miss Lazarski’s questions were cold, almost indifferent, as if she were dissecting a subject under a microscope rather than speaking to a human being.

„I will take care of that, when you accept our offer. We invite you to a special program. It is simple enough. We will free you and you assist us with a small task.“

Miss Cordelia was gone—vanished, erased from existence in less than 48 hours after signing her name on Miss Lazarski’s documents. Case closed.

“I don’t notice a difference.” Charles chuckled, seated at the dinner table, turning two plain bottles slowly in his hands, studying their labels. Mariya watched him from the stove, where she was lazily waiting for the leftovers from the fridge to heat up—just a quick dinner after a long day. Both had just returned home.

“I think the difference is that the original actually has sugar, and the new edition uses artificial sweeteners instead." she mumbled, trying to peer over his shoulder to see the labels herself. "Neither is good, but I guess the new one could be labeled as 'better.'"

Charles noticed her curiosity and chuckled, lifting the bottle higher for her to see. "You didn’t tell me how work was.” he added, leaning back and meeting her gaze.

“I made a new friend a while ago.” Mariya replied, her voice casual. “Her name is Cordelia.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile forming on his lips. “Oh? And how’s she doing?”

Mariya smiled faintly, turning her attention back to the stove. "Well," she said, her tone light, almost playful. "Let’s just say… she's a little hard to reach these days."

The quiet hum of the kitchen filled the air as Mariya stood by the stove, watching the leftovers warm up. The soft glow of the evening light filtered through the window, casting long, golden shadows across the room. The day had been long, draining in ways she couldn’t put into words, but standing here, she felt a stillness she rarely allowed herself. The soft clink of Charles’ glass on the table broke the silence, but it was gentle, like everything else he did.

Without a word, Charles walked over to her, his presence a comforting warmth at her back. He didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. Instead, he slid his arms around her waist, pulling her gently against him. The solid weight of his body was grounding, and for a moment, Mariya closed her eyes, letting herself fall into the moment. She felt his chest rise and fall with each breath, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against her back.

His hand found hers near the stove, his fingers intertwining with hers in a familiar, wordless gesture. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, her head resting lightly against his shoulder. The quiet stretched on, not awkward but full—full of the things neither of them had to say.

Charles’ fingers traced slow, absent patterns across the back of her hand, his touch feather-light, as if he were reminding her of something she hadn’t forgotten but needed to feel again. A gentle reminder that in this space, in this moment, she was allowed to just *be*.

Mariya exhaled softly, the weight of the day beginning to lift. He didn’t know everything—didn’t know about the shadows she walked through at work, the things that sat heavy on her chest when the nights stretched long. But here, in their small kitchen, with his arms around her, none of that mattered. His love wasn’t about understanding every corner of her life; it was about being there in the spaces where words fell short.

The soft click of the stove turning off broke the stillness, and Mariya moved slowly, turning around in his arms, her eyes meeting his. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. The way he looked at her—gentle, patient, as if he had all the time in the world to wait for whatever she wasn’t ready to say—was enough. His hand came up to brush a stray strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering at her temple for just a second longer than necessary, as if tracing the path of an unspoken thought.

She reached up, her fingertips grazing the edge of his jaw, her thumb brushing across his skin in a slow, deliberate motion. His eyes softened, and in that silence, they understood each other. Not the details, not the complexities of their separate worlds, but the depth of what it meant to be together.

Charles leaned down, pressing his forehead gently to hers, his breath warm against her skin. His hand found its way to the small of her back, pulling her closer in a quiet, unspoken reassurance. They stood like that for a while, the sound of their breathing the only thing that filled the room.

Eventually, Mariya tilted her head just enough to press her lips softly to his. It wasn’t hurried or intense—just a slow, deliberate kiss that held the weight of everything she couldn’t say. He kissed her back, just as slowly, his hand gently cradling the back of her neck as if he were holding something fragile and precious.

When they pulled apart, Charles’ eyes held hers for a moment longer, his thumb brushing lightly against her cheek. Then, without a word, he turned toward the stove, plating the food. The mundane act of preparing dinner felt almost sacred in the quiet, as if the space they shared in that moment had stripped away the noise of the world outside.

Mariya sat at the table, watching him move with the ease of someone who had been a part of her life for so long, his every movement familiar, but never taken for granted. He placed the plate in front of her and sat down across from her, their knees brushing under the table.

In the silence that followed, Mariya reached across the table, her fingers finding his once more. Charles squeezed her hand gently, his eyes never leaving hers.

Time had slipped by, a whole week vanishing into routine, like sand slipping through fingers. Miss Lazarski glanced at the screen in front of her, her eyes briefly lingering on the grainy image of Cordelia. The woman who had once sat across from her, bruised and fragile, was now nothing more than a lump of flesh in a cage, reduced to an experiment among so many others. Humanity twisted by human hands. She should’ve felt something—satisfaction, maybe. But all she felt was the pull of the clock.

It was almost lunchtime.

With a sharp exhale, she turned away from the monitor and began typing hurried notes into the system, her fingers moving with a precision that didn’t reflect the impatience simmering beneath her calm exterior. There was still work to be done, data to gather, but that could wait. Lunch time wasn’t just about food; it was the promise of seeing Charles again. In a world where everything felt measured, controlled, and manipulated, those stolen moments were the closest thing to freedom. It was about the moments they carved out for themselves in a world that was always demanding more.

They both worked at Urbanshade, passing each other like shadows in a world that seldom allowed them the luxury of crossing paths. The cafeteria, though—no matter how sterile, no matter how full of faceless colleagues—it was their sanctuary, the one place where their lives intersected, even if just for a short while.

Miss Lazarski pushed her chair back, the scrape of the legs against the floor a jarring sound in the otherwise quiet lab. She glanced once more at the monitor, at the lifeless scene that had become Cordelia's reality, and then turned away, heading for the door. The hallway outside felt cold and impersonal, the fluorescent lights casting sharp angles on the tiled floor. But as she walked, the thought of seeing Charles, of feeling his quiet warmth in a world that otherwise felt hollow, kept her moving forward.

"Ah, Miss Lazarski, or should I say, soon-to-be wife of mine." Charles greeted her with that familiar, warm smile, his tray already filled with the typical mass-produced cafeteria food—a sad reward for the hours they poured into their work. Mariya's eyes flicked to his tray, catching sight of the small cup of pudding nestled among the bland offerings. A smile crept onto her lips as she stared at it, and for a brief moment, Cordelia’s face flashed in her mind. Something about that pudding, that mundane detail, sparked an unexpected connection—an idea, a new line of research that could push her further.

But now wasn’t the time for that.

"Let me grab some food too. You can save us a seat." The woman beamed at her fiancé, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his cheek before slipping past him. The kiss was light, like a breeze, but enough to feel the warmth between them—a touch that grounded her in a way she didn’t fully understand.

As she moved through the line, grabbing the same mass-produced lunch everyone else had, her mind was already racing, the gears turning. Her fingers tapped idly against the cold metal tray as she thought about Cordelia—her flesh, her transformation, the possibilities. Cordelia was about to reach the next step of evolution, thanks to Miss Lazarskis skilled fingers. Research was always evolving, and so was she. But even in the midst of those cold, clinical thoughts, there was an odd comfort in knowing Charles was there, just a few steps away, waiting with his warm smile and cheap cafeteria pudding.

She reached for a tray of her own, the process automatic, mechanical. But her mind, even with its hunger for answers and new discoveries, found a brief pause—a small, fleeting sense of normalcy in the idea that she’d be sitting across from him soon. It was enough to keep her tethered, just for a moment.

[honeypupcakes]

a pup of tea ☕🐾

[wizards101official]

Gifts for @ttsquid and @gender-eater since I wasn’t able to attack yall during artfight :]]]

[ice-artist]

me and my close friend (hi marcyyy) made this funny au based off a dream they had with the dh cast (n our ocs) going on a biggg school fieldtrip, and i got SUPER CRAZY and drew scenes from fanfics they wrote about the AU

[weaver-radio]

The recorded end of Katherine Harlow. Recorded October 13th, 2024.

-Ephie

[CLICK]

KATHERINE Well, dear Listeners, it seems that is the end of the show for tonight. I'll see you next Sunda-

[Ringing tone interrupts]

KATHERINE [Confused] What? It, uh, seems we have a last minute caller. [Kat presses a button] Hello caller, this is Katherine, and you're on air on Weaver Radio. How may I he-

EPHIE [Interrupting] Hello Katherine

KATHERINE [surprised]Ophelia… I wasn't expecting you

EPHIE I know you weren't. That was the point.

KATHERINE … I see. Well, what do I owe this surprise call?

EPHIE Delivering some news. I presume you know about the Library in Manchester

KATHERINE Oh yes, the Fallow Library. I'm quite excited to weave that story

EPHIE [Blunt] You won't

KATHERINE … Excuse me?

EPHIE You heard me

KATHERINE What do you mean 'I won't'? Last I checked, I was.

EPHIE That's where you're vastly incorrect, Kat. Have you not heard on the web recently?

KATHERINE … It's been quiet recently.

EPHIE Yes, I suppose it has been. For you at least. Been having trouble weaving recently? [A small laugh leaves Ephie, like she told a joke Katherine wasn't in on]

KATHERINE Do you have something to do with this?

EPHIE Me personally? No. Just simply following Mother dearest's wishes. Unlike some people [Obviously pointed toward Katherine]

KATHERINE What are you talking about? All I do is follow the Mother's plans

EPHIE In a way, but the Mother is disappointed, Kat. It seems that you've been… straying from the path.

KATHERINE Oh please, I have not-

EPHIE I know of your plans for a ritual, Katherine, and so does She.

KATHERINE … What? H- How could you possibly know She doesn't approve of my plans

EPHIE What can I say? Even The Mother has favourites. Annabelle is certainly one of them.

KATHERINE So, what? I don't get control over that Library and it's just left to do nothing?

EPHIE No, of course not. I'll be the one looking over it

KATHERINE You? Why you?

EPHIE Do I need to repeat myself? And you may not know this Kat, since you're one of the young ones-

KATHERINE [Interrupting] Do not call me young.

EPHIE [Continuing] With age comes practise and perfection. You've only had seven years, you were bound to mess up and disappoint.

KATHERINE … Well, that's… unfortunate, but I suppose I'll move onto a different story

EPHIE Afraid not.

KATHERINE Excuse me?

EPHIE I can't let you continue, Katherine. For all I know, you'd still attempt your ritual, and I know you will.

KATHERINE [Scoffing] Oh please, what are you going to do? Kill me?

EPHIE No, not me. Just two who really want to.

KATHERINE [Confused] What-

[A door opening interrupts Katherine. She turns to face the door]

KATHERINE Mariya? What are you-

MARIYA Do what you need to

[Mariya walks away]

KIERAN Found you.

SÈRA Can't hide anymore, Spider.

KATHERINE [Surprised and scared] H- How?

EPHIE I'll be heading off now. Goodbye, Katherine

KATHERINE Wait, wait!

[Ephie hangs up]

KATHERINE [Nervous] Now now, Mr. Woods, Miss Verley. Surely we can talk this out.

[Whatever Katherine was trying to do, didn't work]

KIERAN You're little manipulations aren't going to work anymore

KATHERINE I-I

SÈRA God I've been waiting to do this for months.

[The two move forward]

KATHERINE Wait- wait! No!

[CLICK]

[Beat]

[CLICK]

[Blood dripping and sizzling can be heard. No sound of like from Katherine can be heard. At all]

SÈRA That was satisfying

KIERAN Definitely left a mess

SÈRA We're burning the place down anyways, who cares about the mess?

[Mariya returns]

MARIYA Is it done? [She sees the body] Oh dear.

SÈRA What? You're the one who let us in to kill her

MARIYA I know I just- I've not seen a dead body before.

KIERAN Right. Well, Did you get all the things you wanted, so it's not destroyed in the fire?

MARIYA Actually just a few more things, that shelf over there

[The two turn]

SÈRA What is this? Some weird trophy shelf?

MARIYA In a way. It has all the stuff from people who've made deals with her that relied on her being alive.

KIERAN Oh. [Realising] Oh.

MARIYA Yeah. All these things were something dear to them. I wouldn't want them to lose it forever.

SÈRA I see. D'you want some help putting it in that box?

MARIYA Oh, yes please, I'd appreciate it

KIERAN Alright we'll get started on that. God there's a lot here.

MARIYA Mhm [She notices that the show is still on air] Oh shit.

[Mariya walks over to the desk] MARIYA For any listener still here. This is the final show.

Goodnight.

[CLICK]

[rottingunderground]

possibly? cog oc? i'm not sure yet he's supposed to be surrounded around the acting industry . he has no name yet

[unraveled-art]

Mariya Yushinata

This one was super fun to draw ngl

My reference from pinterest

[tsukuyomisantvt]

BITTER CHOCO DECORATIONS

Fuck

[cinderellaenjoyer]

Mariya Aoki - SHSL Horror Novelist

Mariya! Her horrors in her novels are terrifying, and while in real life she may seem somewhat normal at first, sometimes the horrors slip out when she speaks

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[wnmawanama]

A Song For You - Happy Birthday

Kickstarting the account with the latest comic featuring my TRPG character and their girlfriend;

Thunderbird 🐦‍⬛ & Mariya 🕊️

[conspiracy-of-fear]

To whomever takes interest,

You are invited to my residence for a party celebrating, well, I don't even know what! I just thought I would host a party for all of us avatars just for fun!

Best wishes,

Gale

Hi, Mariya here.

Miss Harlow asked me to relay who'd be able to attend this party

Most of them can't, either they're too busy or they aren't aware of the 'Fears'

But Idalia Whitlock and Jessie Murray can. Avatars of the Dark, and the Vast.

[abloomsdayy]

mariyuh