#ocbackstory

[waterdogd1]

Should I make a story comic type about my creepypasta oc?...

[llotuspetals]

Twenty One's backstory. part 1

trigger warning: bullying, alcohol abuse and physical and verbal abuse

“Freak!” they chanted, laughter filled the room as a young girl crouched by the wall, her hands weakly cradling her head. She begged them to stop, tears and snot running down her face. She pleaded, like always, but they didn’t stop. they never stopped. In one swift motion, a boy, seemingly a few years older than her, kicked her right in the gut. She choked on her own tears, now kneeling as she clutched her stomach, her face down in shame. Before the crowd could land another punch, the school bell rang. A girl turned around one last time and spat at her.

Finally they all cleared, heading to class. She sat in the hallway, wiping her tears away with her hoodie sleeve. Her face stung and she was still having trouble catching her breath. After a few moments, she stood up slowly, stumbling in the process. A few deep breaths later she staggered towards the girl’s bathroom. After splashing her face with some ice cold water, she looked up into the mirror, pushing her jett black hair out of her face. The reflection revealed a young teenage girl, no older than 15, her pale skin littered with old and new forming bruises. Uniquely she had two different eye colours. Her left eye was an icy blue whereas her right eye was dark, almost navy. 

She still struggled to breath, clearly still winded from the kick earlier. She was used to this abuse. They accused her of being possessed by the devil. “Freak!” they would chant. She wasn’t ugly, she wasn’t dumb and she was one of the kindest souls you could meet, yet she was still harassed relentlessly. Why? Just because she was born different. Born with heterochromia, born to be left handed. And this wasn’t the 2000s, being different was seen as a threat. But that wasn’t it. She was born with hearing difficulties. Her mother discovered this when she would snap at her, asking her to bring her a beer and she wouldn’t respond. It took many beatings to figure out that she wasn’t ignoring her mother, but she simply could not hear so well, and to top it off, she was also visually impaired.

Every day was a struggle, she’d put extra effort into listening and having to squint to see something mere metres away. She wiped the cold, still dripping water off her face and sighed. Only a few more hours until she leaves this hell hole, just to return to something not much better, and worse of all, Lucy wasn’t in school today. 

Lucy was her best and only friend. The only one that wasn’t bothered by her quirks, the only one besides her brother that she cared for. Lucy was a bright girl, always smiling. The type that would light up any room she entered. She was pretty as well, with warm blonde hair, soft blue eyes and rosy cheeks. Naturally she was popular in school, so it was a wonder why she became friends with her. 

Not that she would complain. Lucy had made life so much easier for her.

With her around, the bullying would become lessened, half the boys too busy fawning over her new haircut to even bother with her. Lucy was a good friend, even if she’s caught lucy laughing at her, mocking her cries. That was ok, she didn’t mean it anyways. Right? 

As the school day came to an end, she gathered up some tattered books in her locker, shoving them inside her plain black backpack she’s had since she was 6 and shut her locker. She tried to remain unseen as she left the school, to no avail. People would giggle and sneer at her and some would avoid her, not wanting to contract her ‘demonic’ sickness. Even the teachers weren’t much help. They wouldn’t beat her, of course they wouldn’t, but that was about it. 

She walked home alone as parents came to collect their children, the richer ones would pull up to school in cars. As she walked, some of her upperclassmen would shout insults “weirdo!” “demon!”, some even going as far as to yell at her to “end it”. Some of the parents would quickly hush their kids, not out of kindness but out of fear that she would ‘curse’ them while the other parents would snigger at their kids' comments.

She didn’t go home first, instead, she walked towards the nearest kindergarten and picked up her younger brother. He was normal, with a matching set of deep blue eyes and curly brown hair. She crouched down with her arms open as he ran towards her. “Sissy!” He’d exclaim as he jumped into her arms. She’d hold him close for a few moments before letting go. “C’mon silly, let’s go home” she’d say as she ruffled his hair. 

Standing up she took his small hand and walked towards their house. He would tell her all about her wonderful school day, how the teacher gave him a treat, how they played tag and how he won the game. She’d giggle at his childish antics, praying he’d never lose that spark. Once he was done explaining how well his day went, he would ask her about her school day. “It was good, lucy and I had first period together” lie. “Then our entire group of friends ate lunch together.” another lie. “They wanted to hang out at the mall later but I couldn’t miss picking up my little rascal!” she messed with his hair again, something she found herself doing often. Liar. It was one lie after the next.

She unlocked the front door of her dinger one room apartment. The moment the door swung open a wave of alcohol flooded her nose. It reeked of vodka, it always did. She entered the apartment to find her mother drunk and passed out on the couch. “Go do your homework ̶r̶̶e̶̶d̶̶a̶̶c̶̶t̶̶e̶̶d̶” she whispered before ushering him to his room.

She sighed as she picked up some of the empty bottles laying around the living room, tossing them in the trash. She opened the windows in a futile attempt to clear out the sick smell. She walked towards the kitchen and got started on dinner, spaghetti bolognese. They didn’t have much money, surviving on government benefits. They lived paycheck to paycheck so she would take up any small jobs available. Mowing the lawn, cat sitting, babysitting even donating her blood. But not many would hire her. No one wanted their beloved pets and children to be tainted by her ‘demonic energy’ and she was too young for a job.

She plated up her brothers and brought it to his room with a glass of water. She set it down on the old desk next to him and kissed his forehead. Then she plated up some for her mother, bringing it to the couch she was sleeping on. “Mom…” she’d whisper, gently shaking her shoulder. “Dinner’s ready” she would say. 

She never knew which version of her mother she’d get. Some days, she would cry and wail that she was such a bad mother, how proud of ̶r̶̶e̶̶d̶̶a̶̶c̶̶t̶̶e̶̶d̶ she was for taking care of the house and her son for her. She’d promise to sober up, to go to counseling, to get a job and to step up. She never did. She had learned that after her mother made the same empty promises for the third time. 

Other times, mother was violent. She’d scream and yell at her, “why did I have you?” “my life was so much better before you existed!”. Complaining about how her boyfriend left her because she gave birth to a demon and the next thing she knows, there’s a bottle flying towards her. 

“Mom..?” she’d repeat, her mother didn’t awaken from her slumber. She sighed and left the food there. Finally she made herself a plate, it was significantly smaller compared to the other two portions. She didn’t eat much, she never did, preferring to feed her family first. She ate her food in silence, knowing when she finished, she had dishes to do, homework to complete and a house to clean.

Just like that, her day was gone. A day filled with bullying, taunts, chores and those rare moments of joy when she walked home with her brother. If only time could be frozen in that moment, preserving it forevermore. She stood up and washed all the dirty dishes and tidied up the place as best she could with whatever little energy she had.

After a few moments of resting on a chair in the kitchen, she groaned as she stood up, she was exhausted. She headed towards the bathroom and stripped before getting into the shower, standing under the gushing water. The steam quickly fogged up the mirror and windows. The scalding water stung like a bitch against her fresh wounds. As more steam built up, the air became suffocating, a sign she should get out. She does just that. Grabbing her towel, she dried off the water droplets on her skin and threw on a tank top and some sweatpants. 

That night she sat at the desk filling out her homework, it didn’t take long. Despite everything, she was a quick learner. One of the brightest in her school let alone year. Although that wasn’t too hard to achieve, her school didn’t exactly build a reputation of hosting smart students.

It was already midnight when she finished. Like clockwork, her drowsiness kicked in and she went to bed. Every day felt the same. Wake up at five in the morning, pack lunch for her brother, make breakfast, get to school, get taunted and beaten, pick up her brother, get home, endure more abuse from her mother, cook, tidy, shower, homework and sleep. It was an endless cycle that could drive anyone insane.

[magicalmoonglitch]

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜... idk I just wanted to draw Darrian and Aiden in hell enjoying the sun or moon hard to tell :P I just wanted to try warm color schemes because yeah I need practice UvU Aiden belongs to my husbo on Insta ✨Reshares, likes and follows appreciated!!✨

[ardawyn]

OC Backstory Weeks Wrap-Up Post

Martha von Hochfels, Princess of Issarien

Introduction; in which a princess introduces herself

Family; in which the princess talks about the love towards her family and the loss of two brothers she never met

Friends; in which the young, lonely princess wishes for nothing more than a true friend

Rivals; in which the princess finds herself betrayed by a jealous girl who feigned to be her friend for many years

Loss; in which the princess and her family mourn the loss of a beloved queen, a mother and grandmother

Home; in which the princess travels north to reunite with her cousins, that really are like her siblings

Thank you for hosting this lovely event @yourocsbackstory! I really had a lot of fun working on these prompts and I loved exploring Martha’s life.

Adding the tag list in case someone maybe missed a prompt and would like to read it! Thanks to everyone who already left such wonderful comments and tags! I really appreciate all of them <3

@cirianne, @lady-redshield-writes, @dreamsofbooksandmonsters, @theforgottencoolkid, @maskedlady, @writingmyassoff, @midnightstreetwanderings, @kittensartswriting, @writingrosesonneptune, @mirror-of-too-many-books, @megxnswrites, @nyxnevin, @homesteadchronicles, @idreamonpaper, @snowdropwrites, @dczwrites, @quilloftheclouds, @purpleshadows1989, @dove-actually, @idriltelcontar, @hell-yeah-fantasy, @bebewrites, @fandom-child-4life, @re-writing-h, @eluari, @kowlazovdi, @relevy, @owl-writes, @tourneyofashvara, @fartistically, @rainydaydarling, @mavenbarrow, @notquitenovelist, @nectareouswrites, @songsofaleria

[kelly-au-s-moved]

Rip kelly

[ardawyn]

OC Backstory Weeks by @yourocsbackstory | Week 0: Intro

Introduction (~800 words) 

Martha von Hochfels, Princess of Issarien, 22 years of age

You are far too easy to read, I was often told when I was younger, and I lay awake at night, wondering what it meant and how I could change. Mother said, I should not change to please others, and that I should never let people see that their criticising words affected me. But they did. It made my heart sink to the bottom of the ocean, for I knew I should do better, try harder.

I was good at languages, spoke the tongues of Fennden, Askeria and Varden, and could even communicate with the people of the Dirahyan Islands. My penmanship was excellent, as my tutor had often remarked. History had always intrigued me, even if some happenings were so terrible that they made my heart bleed, and I prayed none of them would ever occur again. I was taught many great things, all the things I was expected to know, and yet it had not been enough.

You speak too silently, I was told by Lord von Orsberg. Your voice should be loud and clear, so that all will listen and cling to every word that leaves your lips. Your voice should thunder, so that no one dares to threaten you.

How do I change my voice? I wondered late at night when silence enveloped me and my own breath sounded shallow in my ears. Heat would flush my cheeks whenever I spoke in front of people, and my voice would turn brittle like the brown leaves of autumn, and my words would overlap like sputtering waves. Once, I must have been thirteen or fourteen, I had to speak before my father's men, and when my eyes flitted to the two lords who were seated at the back of the table, I saw them whispering and grinning. They laugh about me, had been my first thought. Later, when I had returned to my chambers, I cried.

Your eyes are too shy, I was told, evasive and skittish like that of a doe. You are no doe, are you? No, I was not. I was the rising sun above great towers, the first light of day. And yet I was shy and evasive and skittish, I knew it all too well. I was not like my cousin who was brave and fearless even when we were children. How can I be like her? I often wondered when doubt clawed on my mind.

I told Mother of my fear, asked her how I can change, how I can be more than I am, more like everyone expected me to be.

She dried my tears with the sleeve of her gown and kissed my damp cheek. “You are enough. You do not need to be like your cousin, or anyone else. You are kind of heart, caring and clever. Men can learn much from you. And when your time has come, the people will love you for who you are. Never forget that you are the rising sun.”

I was not prepared for the future. It frightened me. But I spoke louder, because they told me to. I did not avert my eyes when they talked to me, because they told me to. It did become easier with time, but it still made my stomach churn with uneasiness.

I confessed my fear to Father, too, and he took my hand and told me it was all right to be afraid. Even a king was afraid at times.

And the years changed me. I could not tell what did, but I became a little braver, and dared to speak my mind. I dared to laugh and be silly, aware that eyes were watching my every step. They were always there, appraising me, and they would never leave. Because I was the rising sun.

Father often took me outside the castle walls to meet our people, and I grew to enjoy the warming smiles I received. It was odd at first, to have strangers smile and cheer at me while they knew nothing of me, knew nothing of my struggles and hopes and dreams. I knew nothing of their lives either.

But they were my father's people, my people, and I knew I never wanted to disappoint them. I never wanted them to lose their trust in us. I wanted to see them happy and free from harm.

***

I am still reserved and I fear the future, but I wish to bring bliss and harmony to the people. However, I am aware of what awaits me once my time has come and I am not prepared for that burden that will weigh heavily upon my shoulders.

I am Martha von Hochfels, princess of Issarien and sole heir to the throne, but I do not wish to be a queen.

[ardawyn]

OC Backstory Weeks by @yourocsbackstory​​ | Week 6: Home

Introduction | Family | Friends | Rivals | Loss | Home (~1200 words)

Martha von Hochfels | The Dawnbringer

When the tall mountains rose in the far distance, I felt a tingle of excitement in my stomach. It had been more than a year since last I had seen them, yet they were so familiar, so welcoming that a grin curled around my lips.

I grabbed my leather gloves from the seat beside me, slid my fingers inside, then leaned outside the window. “Stop,” I exclaimed against the clopping of hooves and rattling of the carriage, and at once it creaked to a halt. “Do you want to join me?” I asked my mother.

Wearily, she shook her head, then pulled her braided brown hair over one shoulder. “No,” she said. “But please give them my regards.”

“Of course.” I reached for her hand, and she squeezed mine as her lips curved into a smile. “I wonder if they have seen us already.” With those words, I stood and stepped off the carriage, letting the coachman help me down.

The sun hid behind puffy grey-white clouds, still leaving the day bright enough to spark hope that rays would soon break through the blanket. I inclined my head skywards and marvelled at the imposing clouds.

The landscape had shaped from flat lands to hills with long blades of grass the further north we travelled. Once the mountains would grow even larger, it was not much further until we would reach our destination.

I shut my eyes, inhaled the clear, earthy air that smelled so differently to the air by the sea. It was not as windy either, and yet the crisp autumnal winds had long taken grasp of Idernach, too. I hugged my fur-lined cloak a little tighter as goosebumps enveloped my skin.

Agitated voices rose behind me, mingling with the snorts and neighs of the horses. Orders were exchanged between knights, lords and servants that had travelled with us. It had been too noisy the past fifteen days since I had left Alasing with my mother and the royal convoy. Once, rarely twice, a year we made the demanding journey north and to my mother's family, and each time I could sense the tenseness that swirled heavily through the air. After all, I was the only living child of King Otwin, and they made sure to never let me forget about that.

The journey was a great endeavour, which I dreaded each time. But once I caught a glimpse of the mountains, my heart grew lighter, for I knew it was not much longer until I was home.

Before my mother had married my father, it had been her home too, for nineteen years. Sometimes she told me that she still missed it, but as queen her place was beside my father in the capital. They had been made acquainted with each other some years before their marriage, and now their love was something I deeply admired. My father had stayed in Alasing, and I would see him again once winter was over. I missed him already.

“Your Highness?”

I turned to look in a pair of concerned brown eyes, wrinkles creasing the skin beside them. They always glanced at me that way, as though I was a fragile thing that would burst the moment it was touched. “Yes?”

Ulrik lowered his eyes, before lifting them to me again. “Your horse is saddled and ready.”

I gave him a polite smile, aware that it would not lessen his concern in any way. “Wonderful,” I said, and circled him. “Thank you, Ulrik.”

As I approached my grey mare, I tried to ignore the sight of the large retinue that had followed us. If they so feared for my life, I wondered if perhaps it would not be safer for me to travel in a smaller group that would not attract as many unwanted eyes.

Sir Herelaf held the reins of my horse while Sir Galinn helped me mount. When I urged my mare into a trot and soon into a gallop, hooves clapping against the dirt road, I had ten knights at my heels. We followed the winding Gold Road further north, curving around the majestic mountains. Meanwhile, the convoy would follow in a much slower pace. But I could no longer wait, had made it my ritual to ride the remaining distance myself that kept me from seeing my family as soon as I spotted the mountains.

The road led us through the Idera Forest, the leaves of the tall trees gleaming prettily in yellows and reds and oranges. Not long after, seven riders approached our group, and when their figures became clearer, I could not keep the grin from unfurling. 

To see my cousins again after such a long time nearly brought tears to my eyes.

“You're late,” Gerard said with a lopsided grin of his own as he halted his dark steed before me. It bent its neck and snorted. “We expected you to arrive yesterday, or the day before.”

I gave a dramatic sigh. Slightly tugging on the reins to keep my mare from prancing forward, I said, “Lord von Illenberg did not want for us to leave. He would have kept us all winter, if only to stuff us with all the food he had prepared for us.”

Tilda chuckled wryly. “I remember the last time we abided in his home. He was utterly heartbroken when I refused to eat another cake.” Her cheeks were tinged red from the biting wind, light hair tousled, wild, as some strands had come loose from her braid. She pushed her mare forward, closer beside me, and reached for my hand. I squeezed hers as elation finally made tears well in my eyes. “It's so good to see you again.”

“I have missed you so much.” I blinked, glanced between her and her brother, and was brought back to sweet memories of our childhood.

“I know of my fame, but there is no need to shed tears at the sight of me.” Gerard laughed, then motioned for Tilda to move aside as he lined up his horse beside mine. She gave a disdainful huff, and playfully hurled a hand towards him.

“Oh, shut up,” I said, but had to laugh too. I quickly wiped the tears away that glided down my cheeks.

His soft features grew softer still, more serious, and when he took my hand in his, he said, “We missed you, too. Welcome home.”

As a child, when my cousins still had lived with me in the capital, I had travelled north more often. However, as I grew older, as I became more important to the country, long travels happened rarely. But Father had promised to grant me at least one journey every year to see my family. At least there were still the times when they travelled south to visit us that I could look forward to.

This was my home, too. Not just Alasing where I had been born and lived ever since with my parents, where my place would be for all times. This, my cousins, the mountains, the forest and Castle Dorneburg upon its mighty rock were my home too.

And when we rode up the long slope and through the gates, and I was greeted by the familiar walls and towers and the smiles of my other family members, I knew nothing could tarnish my joy. Not even the drops of rain that began to fall from the darkened clouds.

[ardawyn]

OC Backstory Weeks by @yourocsbackstory​ | Week 5: Loss

Introduction | Family | Friends | Rivals | Loss (~900 words)

Martha von Hochfels | The Dawnbringer

The heavy bronze bells resounded across the city, singing their very own song of grief. I could feel it humming inside of me. It reverberated in my chest, my bones, my heart. To hear even the bells lamenting made me realise that I could never relive the bygone days.

The queen had left our world, and Alasing mourned. Soon word of the grave news would reach into every corner of Issarien that Queen Alburg had died.

As much as it clawed on my heart, it had been no surprise. My grandmother had been sickly for some time, and the past few weeks she had not once left her bed. She had always been wilful, however, and strong and resilient, but death comes for everyone eventually.

Even now she looked regal and as though she was merely asleep upon the marble altar of the temple. White flowers rested between her folded ringed fingers. They had garbed her in a deep orange gown, embroidered with suns, and had braided her grey hair elaborately. A slim golden coronet lay around her forehead, glittering beautifully in the sunlight that filtered through the windows.

Despite the illuminating sun, candles flickered eagerly upon the marble steps to the altar. Once they had burnt down, they would be replaced, and their lights would shine brightly even when darkness had long veiled the day.

After my grandfather died, Queen Alburg had ruled the kingdom for two more years. But grief had a steely hand around her heart and the burden of the responsibilities weighed too heavy on her mind, and so she gave her crown to my father one year before I was born. Sadly, I never knew my grandfather, but she often talked about a humorous man who brought a smile to her face from the very first moment they met.

Issarien had lost a reserved but benevolent and dutiful queen who sincerely listened to her people's needs. Our family had lost a mother and a grandmother who loved to laugh and share stories. Even in her last days, there had been smiles on her lips when she cupped my cheek with a fragile hand.

My cold fingers were interlaced with my cousin’s. Her skin was but a little warmer than mine, yet I clung to the little warmth as I shivered from the persistent icy sensation that took hold of my body. Beneath my black gown of thick cotton, goosebumps rose on my skin. The more I tried to withhold my tears, the tighter my throat sealed up.

Father stood as unmoving as a statue, and even if it seemed as though he did not notice my mother's arm curled around his, I knew how much he cherished it. Beside him was his younger brother Bredelin, his wife comforting him, brushing a tender hand over his arm. They stood with their backs to my cousins and me, closer to the altar than we did. I did not want to go closer, did not want to say goodbye, but our time to step forward was near.

My lips trembled. Swallowing thickly, I lifted my gaze to Tilda beside me. Her features were hardened, her jaw squared as her blue eyes seemed to stare into nothingness. But she squeezed my hand a little tighter. I'm here, she said without that any words left her lips.

My cousins and their parents had arrived two days before after they had received the news that our grandmother had grown too feeble to recover. I was glad for their presence, and whenever they came to visit, the keep was more lively, warmer even and filled with dear memories.

A snivel rang to my left side, and I turned my head to Garrick. Hair as ginger as my own, my cousin had his head lowered to his feet. He was eighteen, three years younger than I was, and I had never seen him cry before. To me, he had never been someone for tears. I reached for his hand too, wound my fingers around his, and drew him closer. Garrick wiped on his face before he looked at me. A sad smile curled around his lips, and he gave a nearly invisible nod.

So we stood there, cramped together in a comforting closeness, trying to shield each other from sorrow that had nestled in all of our hearts. It reminded me of the time when we were younger, when we sat before a crackling fireplace on soft furs, listening to our grandmother's melodic voice. Often she had told us tales of heroic knights and brave maidens, and of wonders that were impossible to believe, and yet when we were children we believed it all. Tilda had been a fearless little girl, and yet when our grandmother told us of a gigantic sea dragon that shot through the waves like an arrow to steal children from the shores, she grabbed my arm tightly.

Grandmother had a way of weaving words that no matter how often she had told a story already, it sounded entirely new and as though we had heard it for the very first time.

I had not heard her stories for a very long time, and as I stood inside the vast temple I yearned back the time when we were but children, captivated by fantastic stories before a warming fireplace.

The warmth of my cousins hands left mine as we stepped forward. I lowered my head, closed my eyes, and drew in a ragged breath as tears slid down my cheeks. Saying my silent prayers, I bid farewell to a queen, a sister, a daughter, a mother and a grandmother.