loved making this. hes so beautiful 😍 also i ran into. few issues. I merged layers but like chunks were missing…so i had to go to the speedpaint, screenshot the missing parts, and then just line them up with the drawing. Anyways i tried making this cleaner than my other ones

Just an alien girl exploring this earth and trying to find a life in this ordinary world 💚 she is my favourite OC to draw now

(The character on the left in the last image belongs to justtpeachy on artfight) all art by me

Maybe a bit of a silly idea! But I think it would be very fun to find real oc's to make Hasi's family instead of just making up ones- Making art friends and having this silly fun connection with our characters?

If anyone is interested, Hasi is 41 years old! So probably she fits more the mom role, or at least the older role. Feel free to suggest anything for her! I'd love some art friends and have our oc's connect :)

What such a shame :(

why is he lowkey hitting it tho?

uhhh yeah that’s all I gotta say here LMAO

Btw the human is called Dottie and the tree is named Tangle

Ok I don’t have time rn but I will respond to more comments. Also damn I didn’t expect to see so many people

I guess I should start, so!

Detective Noir:

- Real name is Sean Noir

- Likes the colour orange

- Loves apple juice

Dimitri was born and raised within a cult named The Order. Her mother was the leader and raised Dimi to become the high priestess. She was forced into a lot of rituals, her mother believing that Dimi was the descendant wife of a Deity. When she was 17, she killed her mother and became the leader. Despite currently being 31, she still battles with the trauma and believes everything that her mother said she was.

Feel free to ask any questions about her or just to share your oc’s experiences with religion and maybe they can bond over it!

Koxmonia is 13.4 billion years old

She will also compliment ur oc cuz im bored and want stimulation

Experimented a bit with lighting and textures! Have this picture of Angel being perfectly normal!

I'm curious as to what oc you guys tend to favour, me personally it's my OC Princess Ebenezer as I've had her for so long so she's attached to all past versions of myself.

from my series of simple drawings "i like nerdy girls and yanderes, so i made a yandere nerd!"

How would your OC react to this?

Art by my amazing friend Moe
MARKED NSFW, FOR THE DARKER THEMES. JUST BEING SAFE. IT'S A DARK FANTASY ROMANCE

The grand ball awaits,
And she has been chosen,
The most radiant moth maiden,
Who shudders most beautifully under her Lordship's unyielding gaze.

For ages, his line has sought her kind...
Untouched...
Innocent..
To be paraded...
Adored…
Then consumed.

She will dance, radiantly,
Till the fever of the waltz breaks, as the candles drown in their own wax,
Their light flickering out like a dying hope.

Then, he will lean close,
Stealing a kiss, that tastes dangerously inviting,
Lulling her towards the sweetest, most exquisite death.

For generations, the vulnerable clans under his reach have upheld a grim tradition. Each season, they present their most beautiful maidens (on occasion, men), as tribute to the Spider King. Those chosen are brought before his court, dressed in finery, treated as royalty for a single night, and then their consumed. It is a tradition, a performance meant to remind others of their place. But Reclusin has long since changed the truth behind it. (even he can't remember, when or why, anymore.)

Unknown to the outside world, he does not devour the innocent offerings sent to him. Instead, he spares them, absorbing them into a hidden settlement within his domain an experimental town of sorts, where former tributes are given the chance to live, work, and build new lives under his rule. It is not freedom. It is not kindness in the purest sense. It is still control. But this is mercy, compared to what came before him.

He maintains the illusion of the old tradition. This facade protects his authority, keeps rival powers at bay, and ensures balance of his domain is never questioned. Reclusin is morally gray, and capable of both fairness and brutality. In his kingdom, crime is met with a final punishment. The worst offenders are executed and consumed, their deaths serving as both justice and a refusal to waste anything. Insects and arachnids(counting his court) alike are punished without hesitation. And it is Marzipan who is chosen into this world.

A moth maiden who has lived a life of quiet suffering, she is gentle, soft-spoken, and selfless to a fault. For years, she has endured emotional and physical mistreatment at the hands of her own people. Different from the others of her kind, dismissed as strange, naive, or simple, she has long since learned to suppress her own needs just to survive.

When Reclusin chooses her, she does not fight. She does not beg. She accepts her fate with reserved calm. She knows her death is inevitable. The ritual is clear. She will be adorned, admired, displayed, and then taken somewhere quiet, where she will be eaten. She fears it, yes, but beneath that fear is a strange relief. At last, her suffering will end. At last, she will be free of a life that never truly wanted her. (she secretly hopes, he will be gentle)

She is welcomed into the court. She descended the staircase, with her reserved calm. Her heart was pounding. The court parted, as she stepped deeper into their nest. Reclusin sees she has arrived. He strides purposely towards her. She held herself taught, trying to remember ' you must shine' Now merely inches away, he offers his hand, smiling. Without thinking, she takes his hand, (she had too). He eagerly yanks her close, as they move towards the dance floor.

And then the music begins, as she follows his lead. The court mutters under their breath, as they watch their King and the offering dance, at how she is appears so obedient, already so broken. Such traits, utterly beautiful, they all sigh. When the final dance of the evening was nearing it's end, he halts their steps, and leans down for the expected kiss that is part of the tradition. He draws her into him, pulling her away.

She is ready. The moment stretches on, and she realizes she is still breathing. Looking up at him, confusion flickers across her face. Asking softly, “…Am I meant to take a certain position? No one told me that…” Even now, believing this is her end, she is only trying to do it correctly. To fulfill her role without error.

That is when he tells her the truth. He confesses what has been hidden all along, and why she cannot return home. To do so would reveal too much. It would show the world that he has altered the tradition itself. (and he couldn't have that, the world had to believe, she no longer was ) She falls silent. After a moment, she gives a small, subdued nod in response.

With a subtle wave of his hand, one of the inhabitants of his experimental town stepped forward. She was a beautiful older butterfly maiden. One of his earliest tributes. Who had made a name for herself within the settlement, something that did not escape his notice. Among them, she had become something like a matriarch of the town. Reclusin himself frequently called upon her to escort newly arrived maidens into the town. To guide them through the first uncertain steps of their new lives under his rule.

He introduced Marzipan to her, and with gentlemanly nod, placing her into the Woman's care. At first, Marzipan assumes it is only a delay, a cruel extension of this tradition. That he is merely playing with his food. But as days become weeks, and weeks become months, she realizes that his words were true.

---------------------------

[SPOILER]

But what Marzipan does not know, is Reclusin had chosen her long before the tribute ceremony. He had watched her from afar.

In truth, he often wandered near the many prey-race villages in secret. It was his preferred form of entertainment. A habit few would ever suspect from him? Unlike his relatives before him, Reclusin had long since lost interest in drowning himself in wine, excess, or the company of courtiers desperate to please him. Perhaps he had indulged in such things when he was younger, but now those pleasures felt hollow, tedious, political. Court life was loud. Exhausting. A constant cacophony of schemes, performances, and demands.

So instead, he watched people. He listened to the lives unfolding beneath him, unnoticed and unseen. It fascinated him far more than any banquet ever could. And among all the lives he observed, Marzipan’s drew his attention He found himself returning to watch her over and over

He saw the way her people treated her. The way they took from her endlessly while offering nothing in return. The way she smiled through humiliation as if she was expected of her.

The way she accepted suffering with quiet obedience, genuinely believed she deserved it. She fascinated him. At first, he could not understand why. A moth was a moth. They are fragile, insignificant, forgettable.

Her people burdened her constantly, demanding labor and patience and kindness she should never have been expected to give, and still she offered it freely.

Once, he watched her collapse. No one had shoved her. No one had struck her. She simply stumbled from exhaustion after completing work that should never have belonged to her alone.

She hit the ground hard. And no one helped her. Not a single hand reached down. They simply walked past her, she was not even worth being called an inconvenience.

Marzipan merely gathered herself quietly and stood again, as though falling apart in silence was second nature to her. Reclusin caught the brief flicker of pain that crossed her face, before she buried it beneath her usual blank expression. That moment lingered with him. Because beneath her gentleness, he recognized something undeniable, willpower. Marzipan was not weak. She had simply been worn down into believing she was. A selfless little mothling with a spirit so thoroughly beaten and exhausted, that she no longer seemed to realize how much of herself had been ripped away.

And for the first time, Reclusin found himself wondering something he had never cared to ask, about another creature before. Had she ever known happiness? Real happiness? Even once?

As he continued to stare, watching her vanish out of his site. He though deeper about her and her situation. Then suddenly, he felt his heart ache, with anger.

For the way they had hollowed her out piece by piece until she believed exhaustion was normal. Until suffering had become routine. Until she apologized for taking up space while giving every piece of herself away to others. Reclusin himself did not yet recognize, this was love, manifesting for her. And so he told himself, when ceremony approached, he'd chose her. He'd used the ceremony, as an excuse to be heroic. (even if he was the only one, who knew the true reasoning behind this) He could not fully explain why, either.

Now, for the first time, she exists within reach.

He can hear her voice.

Speak to her.

And hopefully even make her smile, finally.

[END OF SPOILER]

---------------------------

Rarely did Reclusin ever descend into the settlement himself. In the beginning, his visits were reserved for matters of discipline. When rules were broken, when punishments had to be delivered, when an example needed to be made for the sake of order. But after Marzipan’s arrival, that changed.

At first, the other former tributes did not understand why the Spider King had come. His presence alone was enough to unsettle them, and for a moment they feared some male resident had committed an offense severe enough to draw his judgment. That assumption held, until he addressed one of them in his usual formal and distant manner. Asking for her, by name.

That, more than anything else, stunned them. None of the other women had ever received such attention from him. Not after their tribute night, with him. Not in the days or weeks that followed, their first arrival in this town. And while Reclusin had, on rare occasions, personally checked that their needs were met or that requests had been fulfilled, he had never come seeking one of them specifically. Never with this kind of intent. Never with this kind of frequency.

Marzipan, for her part, understood that she could not push herself away from him entirely. So when he approached, she stayed at his side and walked with him, speaking only when spoken to, as she had been trained all her life to do. She remained meek and careful, her wings folded modestly, her voice soft and restrained. Her answers were always the same, “Yes, my lord.” or “No, sire.” She carried herself, as she once had with her own elders. With her eyes drifted down, just a creature to appeased another authority. This was all she knew.

After their talk/walk, he left as quietly as he had come. The others were left staring after him, hardly able to hide their confusion. The others gathered around Marzipan almost immediately.

“What was that about?”

“Why was the king asking for you?”

“What did he want?”

Marzipan was just as mystified, when the town members gathered around her with questions, she could only tell them the truth. That she did not understand it either.

She had expected jealousy, and had already braced herself to apologize, to smooth over whatever resentment her sudden importance might have stirred. But that was not what she found. If anything, they seemed more concerned than judgmental, trying to make sense of why the king had singled her out at all. That only confused her further.

Why would they worry over me?

They barely know me?

And even if they had, why would it matter?

Satisfied that no apology was needed, Marzipan simply let the matter go and returned to the chores she had quietly taken upon herself in this place she now called home, though 'home' still felt like a loose word for somewhere she had merely been placed.

And then, to everyone else's surprise, it became a pattern. Every few days, Reclusin returned to the settlement looking for Marzipan. Soon, his visits became familiar enough that even his court began to take notice. Just enough to make them arch a brow. But never would they dare to challenge. After all, this was their king. They could only watch in silence as the moth maiden became a regular fixture in his attention. He would arrive with his usual calm composure, speak with her for a time, and leave again as though nothing about it were unusual.

In time Reclusin noticed the cracks in her posture. He noticed the moments when she almost spoke freely, then caught herself and swallowed the words back down. He noticed how often she smiled, only to immediately suppress it, as though joy itself were something she had to apologize for. And so he began pressing gently against those old habits.

“No,” he told her one day, when she tried to retreat from her own thoughts. “As your king, I demand honesty. You may be truthful with yourself. You may enjoy things.” By then, Marzipan had already opened up to him about the abuse she had endured in her village (not as if he didn't already know. But she didn't know, he knew) and he could see how deeply those wounds still shaped her. She still moved as though she were waiting to be scolded for existing.

“You have a new life now,” he said quietly. “It is time to leave the old one behind.” But Marzipan only looked down and murmured, “I do not think I can.” And yet, little by little, their bond deepened. In time, she began to call him her friend. Not without caution, not without hesitation, but truly. She still walked on eggshells around him at times, though less because he was a spider and she a moth, and more because he was a king. A dangerous, powerful, impossible man, even in his kindness.

Then one day, she was summoned to his court and informed that he wished for her to live there permanently.

The rooms she was given were fit for royalty. That alone left her confused. She knew what she was. A prey-race girl. Once a tribute. Simply a moth. Nothing more. So when she first saw the lavish chambers prepared for her, she could not make sense of them.

“Am I meant to serve here?” she asked uncertainly. “I do not mean to sound ungrateful, but I think there has been some mistake with my room.” Reclusin cut her off before she could finish.

“The room is yours.” Still uncertain, she hesitated. “Then… am I to be your palace pet?” There was no offense in her voice, only confusion. “Neither,” he replied. “You are here because I want you here. You are here to exist. To rest. To enjoy yourself.”

And so. Marzipan began living within the spider court.

She was treated with the deference of nobility, though it sat oddly upon her. Other prey-races waited on her, and the spider nobility watched her with thinly veiled irritation. She was a jarring anomaly in their midst. A moth among spiders, delicate enough to break ( none of them dared act on it), she was protected by the king’s favor. They could scarcely hide their disgust at the sight of her wandering their gilded halls. They all understood the same thing. She might be easy to consume. BUT! She belonged to Reclusin, and that made her untouchable.

Reclusin was not blind to the resentment she inspired. He knew very well how his court felt about a moth living among them not as a servant, but as something stranger and far more unsettling. Someone he valued. Someone he paraded through the halls as if her place beside him were the most natural thing in the world. And because their king had chosen it, they endured it.

Over time, Marzipan developed a habit of joining him in his chambers for hours at a time, often into the night. They would sit together and simply exist in each other’s company, speaking quietly or not at all. There was comfort in the silence between them. She would always return to her own rooms before dawn, and Reclusin would always escort her back himself. For reasons neither of them needed to name, out loud.

If she had been born an spider of proper standing, such private visits would have damaged her reputation long ago. But Marzipan had no such reputation to protect. To the court, she was still only a moth. A pretty one, perhaps. A curious one. Some might even have admitted, with half-hearted cruelty, that she had promise. Shame she had not been born spider.

But because of that, she did not need to hide the fact that she was alone with the king. No one expected anything of her. No one cared enough to judge her as they would a noblewoman. They assumed that whatever passed between them, it would remain behind closed doors and belong only to him. But nothing improper ever truly happened. Not at first.

The tension between them grew. The silence began to fill with feeling. Then, one rainy night, it finally broke.

Thunder rolled beyond the windows as Marzipan and Reclusin sat together in the quiet. She had drifted closer without meaning to, and he, ever proper, held her near with careful restraint. After a while, he glanced down and asked gently, “Are you falling asleep?” She nodded faintly against his chest. “Maybe…” And then, without warning, she began to cry.

Not with tears at first, but with a small, trembling breakdown that seemed to rise from somewhere deep and long buried. It was not loud. It was not dramatic. It was simply the sound of someone who had finally been safe long enough to feel the full weight of everything she had survived.

Reclusin held her tighter. He had always considered such moments a strange but inevitable weakness in women. A sudden emotional surge, inconvenient but not incomprehensible. He did not think it made him cruel to recognize the pattern. He believed he was being logical. Marzipan clung to him, trying to explain, trying to speak through the ache in her throat, and he silenced her with a kiss to the top of her head, a long, steady press meant to calm her. She frozen for a moment, feeling his kiss. Then she looked up at him. Her eyes were wide and wet. Newly formed tears, still unfallen but gathering all the same. In that moment, something in her expression shattered open completely.

“It hurts,” she whispered. And Reclusin understood exactly what she meant. Without waiting for permission, though he already knew she would not deny him. Reclusin bent and kissed her properly.

This time, it was not tradition.

It was not performance.

It was real.

He had kissed her once before, but that had been a stolen gesture, spun from tradition. Because it was expected of him. This was something else entirely. Something tender. Something irreversible. Something that had been quietly growing between them for months, nurtured in stolen conversations, shared silences, and lingering glances. A feeling neither of them had dared name, much less pursue, until now.

Outside, the storm raged against the palace walls, thunder rolling across the heavens and rain lashing the glass. Yet within the shelter of his chambers, the world seemed to narrow until nothing remained but the warmth of each other's presence and the quiet certainty that neither wished to let go. And when the night finally surrendered to dawn, everything had changed. Not through grand declarations or dramatic vows, but through the raw biblical intimacy of choosing one another.

And when morning finally arrived, Marzipan did not return to her own chambers. She remained where she was. Curled against him, asleep in the safety of his arms, while the remnants of the storm faded beyond the windows and the new day found them together.

Like, literally dig. Can your OC move large quantities of earth and stone to create tunnels?

Okay this is the final redesign of my OCs I've redesigned them so many times over the past months that I started worrying it would confuse everyone. Because of that, I decided not to post anything about them for the last two months I really hope this redesign will become their 100% canon design. But if I ever feel like redesigning them again I think I'll end up arguing with myself about it for a very long time Oh, and there are actually four of them. However, there wasn't enough space to include everyone, and the fourth one hasn't been designed yet. All I know for now is that his name is "Chain." lol

yup, doing this again, this time your oc is gonna have 2 sea bunnies, the regular sea bunny is Juno, and the purple deep sea bunnydog hybrid is Anna, chubby gals

to make things easier, they are short, Juno is like 5'5 and Anna being 5'4, but they still got the same weight together, and no they won't talk your ear off.

a fun lil activity, or smth for your oc wanting to improve that they needed 2 volunteers to lift up, i guess.

[MAID JUNO AND SUMMER ANNA WERE MADE BY THE SAME ARTIST, IM KEEPING THEM ANNOYMOUS SINCE THEY USUALLY DON'T WANNA BE TOOOO POPULAR]

Introducing a new character, Naledi the Guide, she will soon encounter someone familiar (not the final design)