Discover Top Posts Tagged with #oc building

Your OC is now stuck in the last video game you played. How cooked are they?

#OCs #OC questions #OC prompts #Original Character #OC building

OCs aren't characters they're pieces of my soul and heart that I separated from one being and forged into several mini beings

#oc building

New idea : draw ur oc facing their trauma in the backrooms

you should think about giving your OCs tattoos. and when you have, you should talk about their tattoos in great detail

#oc #ocs #oc design #oc questions #oc building #your ocs #oc art #oc prompt #oc prompts

While I was writing the last touches of 23 chapter of my novel: Wartb, I decided to make an Oc template; been years since I didn’t make a single Oc template lol. Here is a template I made specifically and obviously for her. Matches her personality and vibes 🤎💅🏻👢🎃.

🄻🄾🅂🅃?

OC Backstory: René

tw; slight yandere near the end, toxic relationship, chid abuse, bullying, unedited, w/c 1.4k

Masterlist | Art & Character Profile

René was, in spite of everything, a loner at heart. Being easy to read which, in turn, made it impossible for him to understand those around him. The way people simultaneously loved and hated someone, the way they tore others down and yet built them up as well. Were emotions meant to be so complex?

He could never adapt to it, their norms and mannerisms. He wasn't wealthy, nor was he smart. René, the scrawny boy sent to live with practical strangers in the city after he lost his grandmother—his only family up until then. Nobody to cushion his mistakes or guide him at a time where every memory left a lasting mark on his psyche. The perfect punching bag for children who mimicked the cruelty they saw in ‘the real world’ from within their dollhouses, shielded from consequence and armed with the unequivocal love of parents which their chosen victim didn’t have.

Silence was imbued into him. Whether due to his countryside accent that was time and time again ridiculed or the nervous stutter brought about by the ever-present anxiety. He could only stare back in conflict. Because if he looked away, he would be a coward and ‘a man shouldn’t act cowardly’—or so the father of the family he was sent to would say.

Every time René came home with a new injury, the older man would look troubled. Why wouldn’t he? The government won’t pay someone to care for a child that shows up with a different injury every time the social worker comes to check. And yet his solution was to add more bruises to the count. The ‘mother’ who scrunched her nose and ignored his cries for help and children who only openly laughed at them were no better.

Eventually, the boy learnt silence. And silence breeds wariness, nobody opens up to a person who won’t show vulnerability back. Turning the walls he put up in an attempt at self preservation into a prison he could no longer escape. And it's so much easier to excuse violence when the victim isn’t anybody to you. So much easier for everyone to look the other way. After all, why open Pandora's box unprovoked? Why put a target on their back for the sake of someone they would never know?

All Remé has ever had is his body, for a time not even the clothes on his back could be called his. So he protected himself the only way he knew how. He became someone they couldn’t touch, even if they wanted to. He wasn’t charismatic or manipulative so he used the only tool he had in his arsenal—the only thing he’s ever had—his body. He was scrawny, sure, but the boy learned he could swim. And through this, he became valued. He became wanted. On land he was nobody but once submerged in the water, he could forget it all, as if it was just him in the world. For the first time in so long, he could think clearly. A judgement not clouded by the fears and anxieties of people. A simple goal where it was just him, unlike other sports he didn't have to navigate the complex politics of a team, because all that mattered was his skill. He didn’t have to manoeuvre around the inflated egos of born athletes. They could curse at him all they want. Whether their malice stemmed from jealousy or their own insecurities, it made no difference to him because in the end, he was stronger and faster than they could ever be and that’s all that mattered.

But where they had family and loved ones willing to pay for all their equipment and travel to tournaments, he didn’t. Kicked out without a moment’s notice the second he became old enough to no longer qualify his ‘family’ for government support. Meagre savings and a dark shadow that overcast him for a lifetime—that’s all he was left with. So he did what he knew best, labour.

René wasn’t socially apt, not one bit, but he was young and had enough strength to take up odd jobs around the city. From construction to delivery, anything that could help him climb out of the desolate pit he was held down in for as long as he could remember.

As his face reflected the exhaustion of a boy playing both parent and child in the claustrophobic shoebox apartment he rented, he became less and less approachable. Rumours surrounding him theorising all sorts of criminal involvement. René leaned into it, nobody would mess with someone they assume is part of a gang so he let them run wild with stories so ridiculous even movies would pale in comparison.

Before starting university he got his piercings—too afraid to commit to a tattoo so settling for the next best thing. Only fanning the flames further as now he was in a city where nobody knew of his past. His towering physique, sharp eyes combined with the piercings and noticeable scar on his face almost always seemed to lead to the same conclusion.

Nobody could even begin to think that the scar was from a stray kitten he had the habit of feeding. And as complacent as he was in putting up his walls, he was still only human and when the only interaction he had was the middle aged coach yelling at him to do better, it got lonely.

René isn’t really the type that would get invited to or attend any social event beyond what is absolutely essential so the only way I can imagine him meeting his s/o is due to the stray kittens he cares for.

His dorm has a strict no pets policy so the best he can do is include cat food in his monthly budget, willing to cheap out on his own food or miss a portion or two without his coach’s knowledge in order to make sure the cats are fed. It gives him a sense of purpose, something to look forward to. At least animals don’t look at him with disdain. But one day he spots you playing with them. Stopping in his tracks, but to his own surprise, he doesn’t turn away. Rather, he stays there and watches as you laugh and coo at them. Perhaps the warmth of the expression reminds him of a simpler time, or maybe it is the years of withdrawal that finally push him to you, like a thirsty man crawling to an oasis of water unsure of whether it is a mirage.

Alternatively, it could be the exact opposite, maybe it’s you who comes across him. The infamous ‘gangster’ or ‘criminal’ kneeled in front of a litter of kittens scrambling towards the food he held out for them in his burnt hands with tears in his eyes. It was particularly lonely that day, on the anniversary of his grandmother’s death, he had tried to recreate the cake she used to make. But after hours of effort he had nothing to show for it beyond a few burns and half a dozen wasted eggs. He felt particularly worthless on days like that when the words of his foster ‘father’ and coaches ringed in his ears and ate away at him. When you extended your hand out to him and offered a shoulder he could lean on, perhaps intending it be only momentary—he held on for dear life. Developing a dependency you couldn’t shake off, partly out of pity and some part fear. For all his softness, his tired eyes reflected exhaustion beyond his years and his seemingly constant blank expression made him impossible to read which unsettled you. And yet you remained by his side, unaware that you were digging your own grave as you tried to pull him out of his.

René meant well, he was kind, and despite his exterior, he had grown to be sensitive. He could handle the harsh words bordering on abuse that his coaches threw at him and the jeers of other students but when it came to you he would collapse at the slightest slip of the tongue.

Unintentional as it may have been, he scared off any meaningful relationships you had, leaving you with nobody but him just as he had only you. Which pushed you towards him more and more until you found yourself laying next to him, unusually talkative as his country accent peeked through. Talking about a future you no longer had the heart to tell him you wanted no part in. Not when you could already imagine his heart breaking into a thousand pieces, not when you still remember what he did to the last guy who tried to flirt with you. For all the gentleness he showed you, he still resented everyone else and René made no effort to conceal this disdain.