#gale oc

[oonaluna-art]

Had a brief moment of free will where i remembered I could draw anything I wanted. I doodled my design for Darth Revan and the fan-kid I designed for her, Gale.

This kid actually goes against my head canon that Revan and Malak would not be able to have kids for several reasons. (1) For one, I interpret embracing the Dark Side as slowly poisoning oneself in exchange for power. This would usually make the user's body unable to reproduce over time (Night Sisters being an exception, as they've developed a symbiotic relationship with Dathomir's environment). (2) The Mandalorian's experimentation on Malak, while researching the genetic links of Force-sensitivity, probably left him sterile. (3) Sort of like how zookeepers sometimes have to separate cubs from big cats, to ensure the parents don't kill them, the only way this kid survives is if some handler comes in and snatches him away from his insane parents.

Even while acknowledging all of the above... IDK, I like the concept of fan kids. I'm probably going to keep drawing this little sith spawn.

[jaxtaposition]

what do you mean the original was like 21kb?????

anyway,,,, if it's a bit crunchy that's why lol I had to shrink this waaaaaay down....

anyway anyway, this is my dao main oc Gale Tabris! She's a bit of a disney princess when it comes to animals

[strange-satyr]

my first art of 2026 is a rendered version of a sketch I drew of my Sonamy fankid lol

[booksofstars]

dragon from a dream i had

[sasha199]

You Promised Me

Hey yall, posting my first ever BG3 fanfiction here, about my Tav a she/her female high elf wizard name Gwyneth. She is widowed at the start of the nautaloid adventure and doing research work in the city of Baldur's Gate when she is abducted. She does end up pairing off with out favorite Wizard of the Deepest Water. Trigger warnings for some gore and ickiness, lots of smut coming soon! Enjoy!

Chapter 1

(3 years after the death of Professor DeMarco Daneil and on the cusp of the beginning of our story.)

"I just don't understand it, Professor."

Gwynnie smiled slightly, exasperated and amused. She set her wine goblet down absently on a passing tray that was floating through the room of its own accord. "Gerrett, please don't address me as professor here. This is an informal setting." She had thought long and hard about what to wear to this event, the black form-fitting gown she'd chosen was perfect, formal and floor length but sexy with an open back, revealing and hiding just enough. DeMarco would have loved it, or rather he would have loved getting her out of it, once all this posturing and networking with the bigwigs of the wizard community was done.

She sighed and picked up a fresh drink from another floating tray, DeMarco had always hated attending industry and academic conferences and galas. It all took time away from the actual work he could be doing preferably in the field, but research needed funding so Gwynnie had always ushered him into some formal robes and taken it upon herself to lead him into the fray of their colleagues' annual dinners, cocktail hours and other social events. The department needed to put faces to names and they deserved to know what an asset he was to the industry, how wonderfully funny and witty her husband was… She took a long slow drink from her goblet and blinked hard. She could do this, she could bear it for DeMarco.

"Are you alright pro- ah sorry I mean, Gwynnie?"

She blinked again, adjusting her spectacles, "Yes, Gerrett, much more than alright. And in response to your statement I quite agree. Very little makes sense regarding the progress made by the department of Transmutation. They claim that many of their recent breakthroughs prove theories that the gods themselves, while divine are not infallible. In fact, some deign that we are not as far removed from the higher powers that rule our lives as they would have us believe."

"Would that it were true," Gerrett tugged absently at his collar, "but if the veil between the mortal and the divine is so thin, why have the gods at all?"

"Do I hear you casually speaking heresy, Mistress Deneil?" came a gruff voice from over her shoulder. Gwynnie felt a genuine smile spread across her face for the first time in months as she turned to see the Sage of Shadowdale shambling over. His formal robes were threadbare and his cheeks ruddy from wine. Long winded though he was Gwynnie always found the archmage amusing, and she never had to work hard to be taken seriously by him, unlike a few of the mages in his entourage that were following in his wake. Rumor had it that he had spent some time in his long existence on the material plane as a woman. She couldn't say exactly why but she found the idea of this powerful man choosing to spend centuries as a woman hopelessly endearing.

"Always, Magister," she inclined her head politely, "though I'm sure your sweet and forgiving mistress will spare me from the ire of her silver fire."

"Mystra spares those who deserve it, or who have earned it. She does what she does for divine reasons, I know my place in that equation." He suddenly turned serious and took Gwynnie's goblet free hand between his own. "My personal condolences are long overdue, my dear," his voice was low and somber, "DeMarco was such a talented and forthright elf. I know he is sorely missed by many."

"Thank you." Gwynnie felt a mask slip over her face, "the flowers you sent were lovely." She glanced sideways at Gerrett who was standing to her side slack jawed at this informal exchange. "May I introduce you to Gerrett Highchamber, he is our - my - primary research assistant and a great talent regarding Abjuration magic. I would not be standing here before you without him."

Gwynnie tuned out the continuation of the conversation, silently congratulating herself for being so composed. She was so tired of all the condolences, the sympathy. Her face ached from smiling somberly and graciously, it was all beginning to feel like an act, a performance. She missed DeMarco deeply, of course she did. Everything and everyone was a reminder of his absence, being here mingling among their colleagues and friends on her own felt as if someone had cast Inflict Wounds on her heart again and again. Part of her wanted to disappear, to vanish to become someone else.

Hours later she made her way back to her home that evening alone and exhausted. Gerrett had been a perfect escort, and she was grateful for his help this evening but he had a family to get home to. She trudged up the stairs to her tower, still strange to think of it as her tower now, slipping off her high heels at the door. She padded barefoot into the kitchen unzipping her dress as she went, letting it pool on the floor around her and leaving it where it hit the floor.

There was nothing in her icebox but a half pint of frozen sweet cream with the spoon sticking up out of it. She popped the lid on a half empty wine container and took a swig directly from the jar. She pulled the pins out of her chignon until her hair brushed her bare shoulders in pink waves. Sticking a spoon full of the sweet cream into her mouth she half-heartedly waved at the dusty piano covered with documents in the corner of the room. Something began to play, she didn't recognize the tune but it was better than the immensity of her own thoughts.

She looked at the scroll spread before her on the table where she'd left it that morning. Baldur's Gate. She had never been there, but from what she knew it was a big city, not as large as Neverwinter or as grand as Waterdeep but still, easy to get lost in. She had never heard of this Lord Gortash, the noble who had signed the document, but his seal did look official.

"Fuck it," she muttered around the cold spoon, "I can do research anywhere. The work will get done." She glanced up at a painting of her and DeMarco, that hung over the mantle, there were cobwebs in the corners of it. His face was bright, looking at her caught in the moment between a laugh and a smile. Could she still remember his laugh? Worry suddenly gripped her belly through her drunken haze and with a flash she conjured Silent Image. Suddenly a shimmering translucent copy of a dark-skinned curly-haired elf with grey eyes appeared before her. He took out a book from his pocket and crossed the room towards her. She stood there naked, metal spoon still in her hand, she opened her arms wide… and let the image walk through her. She felt nothing as it became invisible for a moment, became one with her and continued on. She turned to watch it dissipate as it reached the opposite wall behind her and hot tears spilled unbidden down her cheeks. "The work will get done, DeMarco. I promise you."

Thanks for reading!!

[birdielionheart]

Oh baby, there she is. My longest running oc Goes by Knightingale, just another orphan taken in by Batman. As per custom, she's a long story. Mind the sword. It's not for show. Originally made her as a young justice self insert way back in the day and she kinda grew up alongside me. She's working through some stuff. Usually with her fists.

[gale-gentlepenguin]

Heroes go through trauma. Young and old. It takes a lot of mental fortitude to be a hero. Oh sure the Comics people read make it seem like it’s all brief instances of pain and then they get right back to it. They don’t show the details of how the real healing process goes.

Good Morning, Afternoon, or evening. I’m Dr. Getwell. I’m a therapist for heroes. I help my patients get through the hard knocks of being a hero. As I always say.

“A hero is there to help, but who is there to help the heroes?”

[cryscriesjpeg]

Ko-fi commission for @murkycreek 🖤

Commissions still open on ko-fi! [link]

Carrd site for examples and TOS [link]