#white gell pen

[humanpurposes]

Hysteria

(1950s AU) A housewife reaches breaking point and seeks medical advice at her husband's request // Main Masterlist

Aemond x nameless female character

Warnings: 18+, smut, period typical sexism, dub-con,

Words: 5400

A/n: inspired by this ask on @lightningandfireinmybones 's blog, shout out to @b-vvitched for the prompt, I couldn't stop thinking about it :) Also available to read on AO3.

She reads over the gold painted letters on the door to make sure she has the right room.

Dr A. Targaryen

General Practitioner

She brings her hand up to the door, hesitating for a moment before she softly taps her knuckles against the wood, thrice.

She holds her breath, unsure if a moment passes or a minute.

His voice comes soft and distant from the other side. “Enter.”

The room is simply four white walls, a dark wood desk and cabinets and an examination table with black leather upholstery. The harsh afternoon sun and a slight breeze bleed in from the open windows, floating through thin, white curtains. It’s surprisingly serene but still plain and inoffensive.

Dr Targaryen– Aemond as he insists as he shakes her hand– has harsh blue eyes, the left framed by a long scar slicing down his face, a pointed nose, curved lips, a sharp jaw and pale blond hair, stylishly gelled like some movie star. Something about him is unsettling despite the small smile and the impeccable manners as he offers her a seat in the green leather chair on the other side of his desk.

She contracts her hand slightly once he lets go of her. His grip had been rather firm.

He opens a brown leather notebook and flicks through a clipboard on the desk, frowning and tapping a pen against it as he goes over some paperwork and basic information she had given the nurse, as instructed.

She holds her hands together in her lap and winces at how damp her palms are. She’s sure it’s just the weather, and smooths them over her pale blue, rayon skirt. She checks her nails while she’s at it too. She had painted them red the night before, but they are already starting to chip from where she’d started her day with washing the dishes and doing a deep clean of the kitchen.

“You said your husband recommended you seek medical advice, is that right?” he asks, his head tilted down and his eyes meeting hers, expecting a prompt answer, she realises.

She swallows through the scratchy feeling in her throat, wishing she had accepted the receptionist’s offer of water. “Yes, that’s right.”

His eyes move over the page again and he gives a cryptic “hmm.”

The specifics often change but lately she’s realised that each day of her life feels the same. Wake up before her husband, make his coffee and his breakfast, make sure he wants for nothing and see him off to work. Help the mother-in-law with her shopping and her laundry. Bake a cake for the village fundraiser and drop it off at the the Church. Make polite conversation with the vicar and the other women helping out, compliment their babies, ask about the older children. Try not to cry when she’s bombarded with the dreaded question. “How soon can we expect little ones from you?”

Two weeks ago her husband had come home from work and found her on the sofa, staring into space, too tired to even reach for a book or a magazine. Everything had seemed to be going wrong for her that day, evidenced by the broken washing machine, the broken heel on her shoe, the cuts and blisters on her feet, the shopping left unceremoniously on the kitchen counter. She was absolutely exhausted, but when his dinner wasn't ready and waiting for him, her husband hit the roof.

Something snapped. Before she knew it, she was screaming, eyes hot and streaming with tears as she choked on her own sobs. She had never been so loud in her life. She can hardly even remember what she said.

Her husband’s voice screams inside her head. “Emotional… irrational… hysterical…”

“And you went to the nurse first?” Aemond asks. 

“Yes.”

He looks back at the notes. “What did she tell you?”

She shifts in her chair. It should all be right there in front of him, why does she have to say it?

She takes a deep breath, as subtly as she can. “She suggested it could be a hormonal imbalance, or a symptom of…”

Aemond raises a brow, expectantly.

She feels a warmth rushing to her cheeks “... monthly courses,” she says quietly.

“And have you had issues with those?” he asks.

“They can be irregular.”

He hums again and writes something in his notebook.

She clenches her fist around her skirt and notices the soft ticking of the clock on the wall over the desk. It’s not too obtrusive, and the rhythm gives her something to focus on while neither of them are speaking.

Aemond shifts back in his chair, crossing a leg over the other, absentmindedly pressing the lid of his pen to his lips like he’s trying to solve a crossword in the morning paper. “What exactly was your husband’s main concern?”

There comes a familiar feeling, an emptiness in her chest like her body might concave, and a swelling in her eyes. She bites down on her lip to dispel the urge to cry.

Everyone around her loves to comment on how happy she is, how blessed she is to have such a happy marriage and a loving husband.

“He says I’ve been too emotional.”

“Emotional in what way?”

She tells him about the outburst two weeks ago, expecting him to tut and shake his head and chide her for her behaviour. Instead he watches her and listens.

“He says he doesn’t know what else to do with me. He says he does everything he can to make me happy, but that it’ll never be enough for me,” she says.

“And does he make you happy?” he asks.

Her answer hitches in her throat. The obvious response would be of course. He does what any good husband does, works, brings home a salary, sweet talks her mother and smokes cigars with her father when they visit every other Sunday. 

Happiness seems to be an external factor, something people comment on and praise her. When other people say she is happy she wears it with pride, like a medal or a precious piece of jewellery.

She loves her husband, as well as any self respecting woman does. She reminds herself that’s the whole reason why she’s here.

At her silence Aemond smiles to himself and begins to write. She follows how his fingertips grip the pen and how the tendons in his hands flex.

“Wait!” she says, shuffling forward in her seat.

He pauses and looks at her like he did before, with his chin tilted down.

“No– I meant to say yes. Yes, he makes me happy.”

His eyes move around her face and briefly down, over the pearl charm hanging from her neck, her white blouse and her hands bunched in her blue skirt. She releases them when she realises he’s looking and rests them on the arms of the chair instead.

This feels like a test, one in which every word and gesture will be put to scrutiny, earning either a curious “hmm” or a scratching of the pen against the paper. She wonders which is worse.

“How long have you been married?” he asks.

“A year in July.”

“No children?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

His question leaves a tight feeling in her chest and in her gut. 

Aemond sets the pen down on the desk without making a sound. “Sorry, I know these questions can be obtrusive. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but it would be useful to know what I’m working with.”

That’s an odd way to phrase it, she thinks.

“No it’s alright,” she says, her fingers moving anxiously over each other. “It’s not for lack of trying. We… try a few times a week. Usually on the weekends or when he’s not tired– he’s often tired after work.”

“And how is it?”

“Oh, um–” without thinking her hands move back into her lap and she starts to pick at the red nail polish. “He says there’s something wrong with me.”

Aemond tilts his head. “Wrong with you?”

She squeezes her thighs together at the familiar memory of her husband’s downright painful attempts to make love to her. He practically has to force his way inside of her and she can never stand it for more than a few thrusts before she pushes him off. 

He was understanding for the first few months, but she can tell it’s starting to irritate him now. She doesn’t understand why it doesn’t work, what she could possibly be doing wrong.

“Does he prepare you?” 

She looks up with a knitted brow. “Prepare me?”

He tuts and mutters something that sounds like “poor thing,” before scrawling another quick note. 

Then he stands, rolling up the sleeves of his white coat and the black shirt underneath. “I want to check a few things,” he says, cocking his head towards the examination table on the other side of the room.

She follows dutifully, propping her hands against the leather upholstery and pushing herself up to sit on it. Her black heels don’t reach the floor. She crosses them at the ankle and lets them swing a little. 

Once Aemond has washed his hands he approaches her. He’s tall, she realises as he stands before her. His hips are level with her knees and the edge of the table and while he’s not quite close enough to touch her, her legs twitch at the proximity.

She tries to avert her gaze from the somewhat intense expression in his eyes as he simply looks at her. Her eyes don’t stop moving, looking past his shoulder or down at her sides, but there’s not anything interesting to look at.

She focuses on the steady ticking of the clock, counting ten long seconds before she realises she’s holding her breath.

When she finally releases she finds herself focusing instead on the gentle sounds of Aemond’s breath through his nose, the smell of his hair gel, musky aftershave and the lingering scent of smoke. 

Warm fingertips brush against her jaw as he brings her to look at him. She can feel the slight roughness of the pads of his fingers, but he’s gentle when he touches her, almost cautious. 

He leans in a little closer until he’s touching her knees. She doesn’t let herself react but her heart is drumming furiously, more so when his thumb strokes over her cheek. He moves back and forth, grazing the corner of her mouth, before he swipes it over her lower lip. 

She relaxes her mouth as he presses and tugs on the soft flesh. It’s somehow both terrifying and oddly reassuring.

And then he settles, pressing both of her lips into a slight pout while his fingertips rest against her jaw and the top of her neck.

“Open your mouth for me,” he says.

She stares back at him with wide eyes. Had she heard that correctly?

The corners of his mouth curl politely, waiting for her compliance.

So she does as he asks.

With his fingers holding her chin, Aemond inches his thumb into her mouth, settling on her tongue. His skin tastes clean and faintly medicinal from the amber soap.

“You can close your mouth,” he says.

She keeps her eyes on his as she closes her lips around him, careful not to touch him with her teeth.

He hums again, low and contentedly. “Good girl.”

She shudders at the sudden weightlessness in her belly.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

She gives him a small nod.

"Good," he utters, "just breathe."

She loses count of the seconds on the clock as he simply settles inside of her. She does as he says, breathing deeply through her nose, looking up at him through her eyelashes, trying to read if he's pleased or not.

When he starts to withdraw and she instinctively drags her tongue along his thumb. She looks down at his hand, the imprint of her mauve lipstick on his skin, the glistening digit and the small line of spit that trails from her mouth, which he wipes away with his fingers.

“How did that feel?” he asks.

She thinks for a moment. “Good.”

He glances down and her eyes follow, to the fabric of her skirt. When she stands it falls to her shin, but seated, the hem rides up to just below her knees. He places a wide hand on her left knee, their skin separated only by a thin layer of nylon stockings.

“These outbursts of yours,” he mutters, “are they a regular occurrence?”

“Not really,” she says.

“What do you think caused it?”

She presses her teeth together and looks away from him to think. “Lots of things I suppose. It all piles up.”

“How did it feel, to shout at your husband?”

She huffs a laugh at the instinct that appears in her head, it’s not something she should ever admit, but there’s something about Aemond’s eyes and the feeling of his hands that make her want to tell him the truth,

“I liked it, I was just so…” she shakes her head looking for the right word, but she supposes there’s a simpler explanation. “I was so angry, angrier than I’ve ever been in my life.”

“What were you angry at?” Aemond asks, his thumb starting to stroke against her thigh. 

Would it be too much to list every aspect of her life that irritates her?

She hates a lot of things. She hates tidying the house just for it to get messy again. She hates it when her new shoes dig into her skin and make her bleed. She hates that she seems incapable of interacting with another person without suffering their scrutiny. She hates it when people tell her that her life is perfect.

Everything races around in her head, screaming and shouting at her until the noise becomes silent, just a throbbing pain in her head.

“Just… everything,” she groans, rubbing her fingertips against her temple. “I don’t understand it, everyone says our life together is so perfect, but I don’t feel perfect.”

His hand moves away from her and she looks up at the absence.

Aemond takes a slow breath. “Are you familiar with hysteria?”

Her heart sinks and he seems to see it in her face.

He purses his lips for a moment before he explains, “it’s essentially an excess of ill-managed emotions. It can lead to irrational behaviour and quite severe distress.”

She’s heard of the condition before, sparse stories here and there of men who had no choice but to seek proper treatment for their wives when they are too emotional… irrational… hysterical.

She’s not like those women, surely, and her husband knows that, right?

“Is that what's wrong with me?” she asks.

His mouth quirks. “Quite possibly.”

“But I’ve heard of women with this condition before. I’ve heard what their husbands do to them, I—” she can feel her eyes beginning to well with hot, stinging tears. “That’s not going to happen to me, is it?”

She hangs her head, dread pooling in her belly, until his hands cup the sides of her face. Aemond brings her gaze up into his eyes.

“Don’t send me away,” she whispers, blinking the tears from her eyes so they roll down her cheeks. “Please, there must be something you can do–”

“There there, pet,” he says, tracing his thumbs along her teartracks, “everything is going to be alright, hmm? We can sort you out.”

She nods at his reassurance and the feeling of his hands against her skin. It must be entirely improper to be so close to another man, even more so when she starts to realise just how much she likes it, a sweet sort of unease. Perhaps that’s just his nature, perhaps he’s just good at this part of his job.

For a moment he presses his lips together in a strange way, like he’s holding something back. “There is one treatment I’m keen to suggest,” he says.

“What treatment?” she asks.

He tilts his head slightly. “Hysteria is an instability of emotion. You need a release.”

“Like when I shouted at my husband?”

He smiles at that. “It felt good, didn’t it?”

She nods.

“We can undergo controlled releases,” he says, “you’ll be much happier for it.”

She takes a sharp breath when one of his hands moves down from her cheek to rest casually at her waist.

“I can start the treatment today, if you’d like?”

His face is close to hers now, She feels every flutter of his breath, the heat of his body separated by inches of empty space.

“Yes please,” she says quietly, like she might disturb the peacefulness in the room if she speaks any louder. “If it’s not too much trouble?”

“Don’t worry, pet, we’ve still got plenty of time left,” he says, stepping away. “Take your skirt off, and lie back.”

Suddenly her skin feels tight. “My skirt?”

“If you don’t mind?” he says over his shoulder as he walks towards his desk. “It just makes things a little easier, maybe the blouse too.”

She hops down from the table, heels clicking against the floor.  While Aemond’s pen scratches against paper, she turns her back and starts to pick at the buttons on the top of her blouse. She pulls it over her head and folds it, setting it down on the table, where her head will go. Then she pulls down the zip on her skirt and lets it fall around her. For the slightly mortifying prospect of standing there in her stockings and undergarments, the breeze from the window washes over the bare skin of her arms and torso. It’s quite nice, a welcome relief.

She waits with her heels close together and her hands clasped in front of her. Aemond has his back to her and she watches the way the sunlight catches in the silvery streaks of his hair. He tears a sheet from the pad of prescription papers and leaves it on his desk before he moves to the sink to wash his hands. It’s methodical, like before, well rehearsed and memorised for efficiency. Does he even have to think about what he’s doing, she wonders?

Once his hands are dried he reaches into a drawer under his desk. He keeps his eyes on the small object in his hands as he walks towards her.

She straightens her back and puts her hands on the table behind her, testing her weight so she can shuffle on top of it. 

Aemond looks up and she pauses.

His eyes dart up and down her body. “Shoes and stockings off too.”

Blood rushes to her cheeks but she complies, reaching down to undo the small buckles on each shoe. Once they’re under the table she stands straight and curls her thumbs around her stockings.

She looks up to Aemond. He gives her a small nod.

She starts to pull the thin material down her legs, so thin it should hardly make a difference. She shivers as the breeze meets a new part of her body. She straightens again, dutifully awaiting her next instruction. 

The corners of Aemond’s mouth curl. “Perfect,” he mutters. 

He steps closer to her, until she can make out the object in his hands. It’s a coppery colour, gleaming like metal, and no smaller than a tube of lipstick. He slips it into his coat pocket.

She follows Aemond’s hand as he reaches out and runs a slender finger under the strap of her brassiere. “I think we’ll keep this on,” he says.

She nods, though she doesn’t really know why.

A hum sounds in his throat and his eyes look over her face. “Lie back.”

She does as he says and fiddles with her hands, unsure of where to put them until she decides to keep them by her sides. Anticipation sets her nerves alight. She listens to every breath, each taunting footstep as Aemond comes to stand at the foot of the bed.

He moves slowly so as not to agitate her, but her whole body tenses when his hands clasp around her ankles. It’s obvious he’s trying to be gentle, but even when softly spoken his voice leaves a restless feeling in her gut. “Shh, try to relax, and just let me…” he lifts her legs up along her body until her knees are by her hips. His hands go to her thighs next and she lets out a short whimper of surprise when he pulls her closer to him.

“There we go,” he muses to himself, one hand on her thigh while he gently rests the other on her navel, over the hem of her panties.

Her hands are restless, fists clenching and nails digging into her palms.

Aemond looks down at her with a hint of concern. “You can tell me if you want to stop, at any point.”

“No it’s alright,” she breathes, suppressing the urge to arch her back.

His brows raise as he looks down, grazing his fingertips over her skin. Each movement has her breath hitching or her body squirming, no matter how hard she tries to relax, just as he’d instructed.

He brings both hands to her knees, closing them together before he reaches for her panties and slides them from her legs. She doesn’t see where he drops them. Her hands come into fists again as he gradually spreads her legs. 

She’s not sure what to expect or how this is supposed to help her control her emotions, but she tries to concentrate on staying still, keeping whatever dignity she has left.

“Look at that,” Aemond hums, circling his thumbs against her inner thighs, “you’re already getting wet.”

She can feel it, the warmth pooling between her legs. No one has ever told her it’s bad, but it’s one of those things she wonders if she should be ashamed of. She tries to shift but there’s nowhere for her body to go, nowhere she can hide from him.

“I’m sorry,” she mutters, “it’s not bad, is it?”

Aemond frowns. “You mean you don’t…” he trails off as his face melts into an amused sort of sympathy, like he’s piecing together a puzzle. “Bad news for your husband maybe. It means you’re aroused.”

Aroused. She repeats the word to herself a few times. 

Surely it is a bad thing to find herself in such a state, only she finds herself turning her attention to Aemond. Her gaze trails shamelessly over the veins and tendons of his hands and forearms as he kneads at her thighs, the curve of his upper lip and the tip of his tongue swiping between his teeth. If only she could read his mind, figure out what he’s thinking behind those pretty blue eyes, what hypothesis he’s playing around with inside his head. 

And then he reaches into his pocket. She lifts her head to try and get a better look. The coppery object looks more like an oversized bullet, with a slightly pointed head and a black button at its base. When Aemond presses the button it starts to hum. Even the noise of it sparks a reaction from her. She feels something strange, like a shockwave flashing through her body.

“Relax,” Aemond says, bringing his other hand to her hip. “I don’t want to have to tie you down.”

“No,” she utters, “sorry.” She lets her head fall against the upholstery and stares up at the ceiling, determined not to react.

Until something presses to her centre, humming against her. Pleasure pulses through her, unfamiliar but hot and bright. Her eyes snap shut and her hips try to buck but Aemond’s hand holds her down. 

“How does it feel?” he says.

Her first attempt to speak comes out as a broken whimper. “Good,” she manages, stilling her hips from trying to rock against the bullet. “Fuck…”

Something inside of her feels tight, tensing and tensing until she’s sure she can’t take any more. But he keeps it against her, making small, rhythmic movements through her folds, edging her closer to that rising feeling only to relieve her of it.

Her nails start to drag along the leather, clawing at it for purchase. She tries to stay still, to keep her hips steady but something has to give. She turns her head to the side, whimpering and groaning into her shoulder.

“There you go,” Aemond hums, as he finds a truly torturous pattern, slowly swiping upwards from her entrance to the sweet spot of her pearl, only to start over. 

“Please,” she whimpers as he tears her away from that feeling again. Blissful tears blur her vision and she feels utterly weightless. “I can’t stand it…”

He lingers the bullet just below her pearl. She’s so close to something. She can feel it. 

“Do you want to stop?” Aemond asks.

“No!” she cries.

He starts to move in small circles now and her body feels like it’s burning. “Just take it,” he says, “you can take it, just be a good girl for me, hmm?”

“Yes… yes…” she utters like a dreamy chant. 

The button clicks and the vibrations increase. She hardly registers the wanton noises she makes, but she’s all too aware of wet sounds of her arousal and Aemond’s short hums when her hips start to buck again.

“You’re so close, aren’t you?” Aemond says. “Come on, pet, you can do it, you’re almost there…”

She feels the hum of her throat as she groans his name and suddenly the tight feeling snaps. Her whole body releases, just as Aemond promised, and she feels herself come undone. He guides her through it, the bullet whirring against her and his hand steady on her hip.

When he finally withdraws, her limbs don’t feel like her own. She listens to her own breath and feels the rise and fall of her chest as she wills herself into a state of awareness. She props herself onto her elbows and her eyes meet Aemond’s.

He smirks, and looks down again, gently drawing a thumb through her folds. 

Her back arches and her breath hitches, though not as intensely as before. She can feel how slick she is now, how easily he moves against her. She eases under his touch and just lets it feel good.

“You did so well,” he says, “fuck, the way your cunt twitches when you come…”

She gazes at him with a bewildered kind of awe, at his parted lips, the golden glow of sunlight trailing down his jaw and his neck, and now the dark, almost hungry look in his eyes. She can already feel the desire rising again, the wanting for more.

“There’s something else I want to try,” he says. His thumb slips further down, teasing her entrance. “If you’ll let me?”

She holds her bottom lip between her teeth and nods.

“Good girl,” he hums.

That alone has her trying to roll her hips against him, but then he’s gone. She wants to groan in protest but keeps her mouth shut as she watches him remove his white coat and black shirt, both of which he drapes over his chair. For his seemingly slender frame, he’s surprisingly muscular. 

With his back still turned to her she watches his hands move to his trousers. She hears the clinking of his belt buckle and the sound of his fly coming undone. He reaches back into the same drawer, tears something between his teeth and discards a small, white packet on the desk. 

As he comes to stand before her once more she can’t help the small smile that graces her lips, unashamedly appreciating the muscles of his torso, his pectorals and the lines of his abdominals, and his now freed cock, already hard, and certainly larger than her husband’s.

He stands before her once again, bringing her knees down so he can slot himself between her legs.

She can already feel herself twitching and her heart racing. 

He doesn’t waste much time on preamble. “You’re fucking soaked,” he mutters, lining the his cock to her entrance and taking a hold of her thigh, “be a shame to waste it.”

She expects it to hurt when he pushes inside of her, and for a moment it does. She feels the way he stretches her out with just the tip. He moves slowly, dragging in and out of her, each time pushing in a little more. She can take the pain, at least until it starts to melt away. After a few strokes it feels effortless.

Aemond lets out a sharp grunt as he comes close to bottoming out. “How does it feel?” he asks with a small amount of strain.

It’s a different kind of pleasure, it’s duller and deeper, less frantic but it still burns in the best way.

“Good,” she breathes.

Aemond’s hands take hold of her waist as he increases his pace, dragging her into him to match his thrusts.

The air feels hot and thick now, the ticking of the clock drowned out by laboured panting, breathless moans and the soft sounds of skin meeting skin.

“Fuck you’re tight,” he hisses, sinking his fingertips deeper into her flesh.

“I don’t suppose that’s a medical term?” she says with a dazed grin.

Aemond huffs a laugh but it seems to spur him on, his jaw slack and his brow furrowed in determination. 

She wraps her legs around his hips and reaches up for him, but all she manages is to graze her fingertips over his torso. He snatches her wrists, leaning over to pin them on either side of her head as he brutally starts to snap her hips into hers. Like this he fucks her deeper and harder against the leather.

She feels her release building slowly, his cock brushing against a spot that has her eyes watering again.

“Going to come for me?” Aemond grits out, pressing his forehead to hers. 

“I want to,” she whimpers, arching her back to get closer to him, “fuck–”

He releases one of her wrists and slips his hand between them, circling her pearl with the pads of his fingers. 

He brings his lips to the shell of her ear. “You’re squeezing me so good,” he whispers harshly, “nearly there, nearly there sweetheart…”

Her legs start to shake as her pleasure peaks and her climax washes over her. Every part of her body tenses and moulds itself into him. Aemond doesn’t relent, he keeps fucking her until she’s whining and squirming, until finally he lets out a guttural groan into her neck. His hips still and she feels him throbbing inside of her, spilling himself into the condom.

For a moment she’s content to lie there, no matter how uncomfortable the surface of the bed is. She likes Aemond’s weight on top of her, his breath on her neck, the scent of him, the sweat from his brow against her skin. But they don’t stay like that for long. He pulls away from her and makes quick work of disposing of the condom and tucking himself back into his trousers.

“Nothing wrong in that regard,” he says, reaching for her hand to help her sit up. “If you’re having trouble it’s the fault of your husband. He needs to prepare you before he tries to fuck you.”

She flicks her hair from her neck to relieve some of the heat. “Oh, right.” She can feel herself trembling, but she feels light, like a weight has been lifted from her shoulders. 

“How are you feeling now?” he asks, placing a reassuring hold to her arm.

“Good,” she says.

Aemond carefully helps her back into her panties, stockings, shoes, blouse and skirt. He rights her necklace, wipes the dried tears from her cheeks, drags his thumb around her mouth where her lipstick has smudged and helps her down from the bed, keeping a firm hand on her until she nods to let him know she’s alright. 

He tears off a prescription paper and hands it to her. She quickly skims over it. He’s not prescribed any medication or recommended a lobotomy, thank God. 

“Contraction therapy?” she reads, looking up at him with a raised brow.

“I want to see you twice weekly,” he says, buttoning up his shirt. “Maybe we can go for three times a week, if you feel it would be beneficial.”

She tries her best to hide her smile. “Well I’m sure you know best, doctor.”

General Taglist (comment if you wanna be added): @randomdragonfires @jamespotterismydaddy

#aemond targaryen #my fics #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond smut #aemond fanfic #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x y/n #aemond targaryen x y/n #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon fanfiction

[spacecatsocblog]

Concept for one of the main characters of Space Cats, Psyche!

Psyche is actually the first character I ever made for this story back in the 6th grade... around 8 years ago (omg I cant believe this story is almost 9 yrs old...)

info on Psyche (this is long im very sorry):

He is a jaded 35 yr old fighter pilot for the Felis Military, he does his job because he has to, as he signed his life way at 18 to become a soldier.

Psyche is smart and has figured out how shit and secretive the government is, but he has accepted that there is nothing he can do about it. He is pretty much always grumpy, he doesn't like to talk much, and he's short with most people.

However he is actually an amazing pilot and fighter, he's sure to rise in the ranks, as long as he doesn't lose his temper too much and reveal his distaste for the government.

...

Almost all soldiers in the Felis Military are assigned a partner during training in the academy. If a cat has family in the academy at the time, they are almost always partnered with them. Psyche very much so knew this when he joined, as he and his (adopted) brother Clvic joined the military together so they could be eachother's copilots.

Psyche doesn't like to talk about Clvic anymore... his brother is gone, and he's gotten in enough trouble for questioning his death. He refuses to believe the government is telling the truth, but as he knows, there's nothing he can do about it.

For the longest time Psyche was a rare lone pilot, refusing to be assigned another copilot. The government only allowed it because Psyche was one of their best pilots in the force, they warned him however that eventually he would be assigned a new pilot.

When that day came Psyche was assigned Tygam, a cat who had lost his hind legs in battle and had to let his copilot be reassigned while he recovered. Psyche was absolutely pissed about this whole situation, especially since Tygam is a talkative, cocky, idiot (Psyche's words).

However they actually become a great duo, Tygam gets Psyche out of his shell, and Psyche gets Tygam to stop and think before he flings himself at danger and looses another limb.

...

Other fact that I didn't fit in above, Psyche is bi and poly, he is mates with a molly named Silo who is slightly insane and a high end weapons designer (i love her).

Psyche also eventually becomes mates with Tygam as well and the three of them raise Tygam's orphaned niece as their child! In prev versions of this story Psyche and Silo also have kittens but in not sure if I will keep that this time around... idk 🤷‍♂️

...

Extra facts about prev versions of Psyche:

In the 6th grade when he was first created he was originally named Cycodelic Space Cat (yes spelled that way) and he was pink bec I had one pack of gell pens and they were all bright colors.

I am glad i made him tho bec his story has come so far, and if I hadn't made him pink the space cat species would look so boring.

Psyche was also a happy spunky guy when I first made him but now he's all sad and traumatized :p makes him more interesting hehe

Also in the first versions the government was chill and they were fighting space dogs, (I was a big fan of the Cats vs Dogs movie) but now the government sucks and the plot is about rebellion yay!

...

[Image 1 ID: a digital drawing of Psyche, a alien cat oc. He is standing with his right side showing and his right paw raised. He has a tired, unimpressed expression on his face. He is a a slender long furred mostly white cat with pink patches of fur and green eyes. The patches of pink, are on the top of his head, covering his ears and forehead, and going down between his eyes, pink also lines his under eye. There is another large patch of pink on his flank and covering his tail. He has scars on his flank and the bridge of his nose, and they, along with his nose and ears are bright green. He is also wearing a dull green collar with a red plus symbol in a circle, a grey star and a grey bar on it./End ID]

[Image 2 ID: a drawing the same as the previous one, but this time Psyche is wearing a bulky/puffy dull green jacket with red accents. The jacket has large bulky sleeves and a large collar, the cuffs of the jacket, the zipper, and the edge of the collar are all bright red. The jacket also has darker green thick vertical stripes, one on the sleeve and two on the back. There us also a large red circular patch with a darker red plus on the shoulder of the jacket./End ID]

#Cryptidclaw’sSpaceCats #space cats #Psyche #ocs #cat ocs #my ocs #cats #digital drawing #my art #original character #original story #character design #warriors

[sheepprovider4sammy]

Kurapika Inccorect Quote drawing

The quote is not mine; I found it with a quick interwebs (google) search.

Pencil, Sakura ink pens, alcohol markers, white gell ballpoint pen.

Originally posted on my DeviantArt

#kurapika #incorrect quote #hxh fanart #hxh meme

[thegreateggbandit]

I ran out of post worthy art so enjoy some doodles I did on some work

Word of advice - never pull out a white gell pen infront of people, it becomes the centre of attention in seconds

#doodles #shouldnt have drawn it on work tho #my bad #GreatEggBanditArt #i guess? #art #my art #artists of tumblr #i didnt know what else to tag so i did the usuals #okie byieee see y’all soon!

[unfortunate-arrow]

𝐁𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐭 𝐉𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 | hpma character profile

warnings: mentions of mysterious disappearances, death, a creature attack, & a stroke

✧ IDENTITY ✧

Full Name: Benedict Jasper Whitten

Nicknames: Ben, Benny 

Name Meanings: Benedict → Latin, “blessed” ; Jasper → Persian, “bringer of treasure” ; Whitten → English or Scottish or Irish, “white farmstead.” 

Date of Birth: February 28, 1997 (at 11:16 pm) 

Gender: Male ; he/him

Sexuality: Heterosexual 

Blood Status: Muggleborn

Nationality: Irish, English, British 

Residence: The Lotus Clover Bed & Breakfast, County Cork, Ireland (1 to 18) ; TBD

✧ APPEARANCE ✧

Faceclaim: Luke Newton

Gif Source

Height: 6’1”

Build: Lean and athletic physique 

Hair: Brown hair that is short, messy, and occasionally gelled back 

Eye Color: Blue 

Scarring: 

Childhood & Hogwarts: Benedict has a long surgical scar that runs down the middle of his chest because he had open heart surgery as a baby. Over time, the scar has thinned and faded. 

Adulthood: None

Modifications: (glasses, piercings, tattoos, etc.) None

Other Distinguishing Marks: None

Clothing Style: Simple ; outdoorsman-ish ; jeans ; t-shirts in earthy tones ; plaid shirts ; sweaters ; chino trousers ; chambray shirts ; windbreakers that tend to be obnoxiously bright ; hiking boots ; jean jackets

Accessories: A wrist watch 

What’s in His Pockets: His wand ; a pocket knife ; a compass ; his wallet 

What’s in His School Bag: Textbooks ; parchment ; quills ; ink ; notebooks ; pens ; pencils ; a book ; a laminated card that includes all relevant information about his heart ; tissues ; a windbreaker ; quidditch gloves

✧ SPEECH & LANGUAGE ✧

Voiceclaim: Luke Newton 

Accent: Irish 

Dialect: Cork English

Languages Spoken: English

Languages Understood: English 

✧ PERSONALITY ✧

MBTI Type: INTP — the logician 

→ A Logician (INTP) is someone with the Introverted, Intuitive, Thinking, and Prospecting personality traits. These flexible thinkers enjoy taking an unconventional approach to many aspects of life. They often seek out unlikely paths, mixing willingness to experiment with personal creativity.

Enneagram Type: 6 — the skeptic 

→ Sixes are defined by their desire for safety and security. They seek to anticipate and avoid risk, and to ally themselves with trustworthy authority figures and institutions. Sixes are alert and vigilant, always thinking several steps ahead to anticipate and prepare for what could go wrong.

Positive Traits: Original, open-minded, curious, intelligent, kind, logical, athletic, loyal, organized 

Neutral Traits: Analytical, objective, independent, stubborn, reserved, prepared 

Negative Traits: Disconnected, can be insensitive, impatient, has perfectionist tendencies, has difficulties with emotions, extremely private 

Common Stressors: Exams ; grades ; abandonment issues ; big games ; figuring out what he wants to do with his life

Comforting Things: Being outside ; reading ; being with his brother ; flying ; quidditch 

Interests & Hobbies: Hiking, flying, quidditch, biking, reading, football/soccer, fishing

Description: Quiet, intelligent, and logical, Benedict prefers to keep things to himself due to his reserved nature. He tends to look at things rationally and gets frustrated when emotions color his thought process too much. He takes a while to add emotions into the picture and usually reserves them for actions related to his family. Like his twin, Ben has abandonment issues that cause him to push people away. He doesn’t like to talk about his emotions and issues and generally ignores them. Despite all of this, though, Benedict is still a kind and loyal friend. It just takes him a while to let people in and see the person underneath the rationality and logic.

✧ MAGIC ✧

Wand: Benedict’s wand is made of ash wood with a unicorn tail hair core and is 11 inches with an unyielding flexibility. 

→ Ash wands cleaved to its one true master and ought not to be passed on or gifted from the original owner, because it would lose power and skill. This tendency was extreme if the core was of unicorn hair. Those witches and wizards best suited to ash wands were not lightly swayed from their beliefs or purposes. However, the brash or over-confident witch or wizard, who often insisted of trying wands on this prestigious wood, would be disappointed by its effects. The ideal owner might be stubborn, and would certainly be courageous, but never crass or arrogant.

Other Magical Abilities: None

Patronus: Penguin

Patronus Memory: Catching his first large fish

Boggart: His parents telling him that he was never wanted 

Riddikulus: His parents start to tell terrible and punny jokes 

Amortentia:

Benedict smells like spearmint toothpaste, cinnamon, soap, and sandalwood.

Benedict smells peat, damp grass, peanut butter, raspberries, parchment, and popcorn. 

Mirror of Erised: Ben sees himself with his parents, and a few other important people.

✧ HOGWARTS ✧

House: Ravenclaw 

OWL Classes:

Astronomy — Exceeds Expectations 

Charms — Outstanding 

Defense Against the Dark Arts — Outstanding 

Flying — Outstanding 

Herbology — Exceeds Expectations 

History of Magic — Acceptable 

Potions — Outstanding 

Transfiguration — Exceeds Expectations

OWL Electives:

Arithmancy — Exceeds Expectations

Care of Magical Creatures — Acceptable

Study of Ancient Runes — Exceeds Expectations 

NEWT Classes:

Charms — Outstanding

Defense Against the Dark Arts — Exceeds Expectations

History of Magic — Exceeds Expectations

Study of Ancient Runes — Exceeds Expectations

Transfiguration — Outstanding 

Extracurriculars: Seeker on the Ravenclaw team from second to seventh year ; frog choir

✧ EMPLOYMENT ✧

Affiliations: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry ; the Ministry of Magic ; The Wizarding Natural History Museum 

Professions:

Age 18 to 26 - Archivist at the ministry

Age 26 to 92 - Curator at The Wizarding Natural History Museum

✧ FAMILY ✧

Father: Edward John Whitten [deceased, 1966-1997]

Born on January 22, 1966, Edward was the second son of George and Mary Whitten, joining elder brother, Robert George (then 3). Edward had a good childhood, growing up in the city of Cork until the age of fifteen and spending his final years at home in the city of Cobh. His childhood, in general, could be described as idyllic as his family was well off and he had a good relationship with his older brother. At the age of 18, Edward decided to study at a university in Dublin, where he majored in history with a concentration in Irish and Celtic history. In his fourth year at university, Edward did a semester at a university in London where he met Eleanora Blythe and they became friends quickly. He also decided to get his PhD from the same London university, where he furthered his friendship with Eleanora.

Edward began dating Eleanora when he was twenty-five and they dated for two years before marrying in 1993, when he was twenty-seven. They agreed to wait to have children until their PhDs were completed and on February 28, 1997, their only children, Jack Edward and Benedict Jasper, were born. Edward adored his sons, doting on them the best he could. 

Unfortunately, Edward’s time with his sons was cut short in November of 1997. While researching an ancient Celtic settlement, Edward and his wife disappeared without a trace. Their twin sons were found alone, and an extensive search entailed but nothing was ever found. Eventually, in 2025, the Whittens were discovered to have become the victims of a Dobhar-chú, a blood-thirsty creature that resembles a cross between a hound and a giant otter (or fish) and haunts the waters (and the land) of Ireland. 

Benedict doesn’t have any memories of his father, only the stories that his uncle tells and the old photographs. Despite knowing how completely irrational it is, Benedict holds some resentment towards his father for disappearing. He knows, logically by all accounts, that his father didn’t leave by choice, but it’s hard to grapple with that emotionally. 

Faceclaim: Chris Evans 

Mother: Eleanora Susan Whitten [deceased, 1967-1997]

Born on May 30, 1967, Eleanora was the only child of Jasper and Nancy Blythe. Growing up on the outskirts of London, Eleanora had a good childhood, full of love. She had a good relationship with her parents, who did their best to provide her with the best possible childhood. At the age of 18, Eleanora began attending a university in London, studying history with a concentration in women’s history. She met Edward Whitten during her third year, when he was a sort of exchange student in his fourth year. They became friends quite quickly, sharing their love for different aspects of history. Eleanora was secretly quite pleased when Edward continued on with his PhD at her university. She also pursued a PhD.

Eleanora began dating Edward when she was twenty-four and they dated for two years before marrying in 1993. They waited until after they had achieved their PhDs to have children and on February 28, 1997, their twin sons, Jack Edward and Benedict Jasper, were born. Eleanora adored her sons and doted on them as well as she could. 

Unfortunately, Eleanora didn’t get to have as much time with her sons. Alongside her husband, Eleanora disappeared in November of 1997. It was discovered in 2025 that she was a victim of a Dobhar-cú.

Benedict has no memories of his mother, only the old photographs and his uncle’s stories. He also holds some resentment towards her for disappearing, despite being frustrated that he feels that way. 

Faceclaim: Hayley Atwell

Brother: Jack Edward Whitten

Born at 10:59 pm on February 28, 1997, Jack is the eldest son of Edward and Eleanora Whitten, seventeen minutes older than Benedict, and a Slytherin. They have a good relationship and are quite close. However, Ben and Jack bicker a lot, mostly over meaningless things. Ben knows that Jack will always have his back and he knows that he can count on his brother.

Faceclaim: Luke Newton

Uncle: Robert George Whitten 

Born on July 19, 1962, Robert was the first son of George and Mary Whitten and the older brother of Benedict’s father, Edward. Robert took in Ben and his twin brother, Jack, after their parents disappeared. Robert is also the father of Benedict’s cousins, Darcy, Thea, and Clary. Robert is a kind man with the patience of a saint.

Benedict has a good relationship with his uncle. It’s a little distant, as they’re very different people, but they do have things that they can do together. Ben knows that he can count on his uncle for anything, though. 

Faceclaim: John Corbett

Aunt: Mai Louise Whitten née Daniels [deceased, 1965-2010]

Born on May 15, 1965, Mai is the adopted daughter of Clarence and Emily Daniels and the wife of Jack’s uncle Robert. Mai, along with her husband, took in her nephews when their parents disappeared. Mai is also the mother of Jack’s cousins, Darcy, Thea, and Clary. Mai had a good heart and a lot of patience. Unfortunately in 2010, Mai suffered a fatal stroke when an aneurysm that she had always had burst.

Benedict has a good, albeit distant, relationship with his aunt. They never quite clicked for some reason, but Ben knew that he could count on his aunt. He was hurt and shocked by her sudden death, which made him withdraw and become a little more standoffish for a few months. 

Faceclaim: Ali Wong

Cousin: Darcy Mai Whitten 

Born on January 17, 1993, Darcy is the eldest daughter of Robert and Mai Whitten, four years older than Jack. Darcy is a muggle and has a very kind heart with a desire to help people. She enjoys being around others and was a fixture at the Lotus Clover’s check-in desk. 

Benedict has a good relationship with his cousin, although they’ve never been very close. They’re very different in personality, as Darcy prefers social gatherings and Ben doesn’t. However, Benedict knows that he can count on his cousins for anything. After all, she’s like an older sister to him. 

Faceclaim: Janel Parrish 

Cousin: Thea Vinh Whitten 

Born on May 29, 1997, Thea was the middle daughter of Mai and Robert Whitten, three months younger than Benedict, and a Gryffindor. Ben has a good relationship with his cousin. They’re not overly close and probably have the most distant relationship, but they get along quite well. Ben knows that he can count on Thea for anything. 

Faceclaim: Lana Condor 

Cousin: Clary Xuan Whitten 

Born on October 19, 2002, Clary is the youngest daughter of Robert and Mai Whitten, five years younger than Benedict. Clary is a muggle and more similar in personality to Benedict than Jack or her sisters. She doesn’t love being surrounded by people, but she does love the Lotus Clover and is the one to continue running the bed and breakfast after Robert retires. 

Benedict has a good relationship with his younger cousin. They get along quite well and Ben can often be found helping Clary with her homework. He enjoys spending time with her, even if they aren’t overly close either. Ben knows that he can count on Clary for anything. 

Faceclaim: Anna Cathcart 

Pets: 

Childhood: An owl names Florence, a tabby cat named Mittsy, and a golden retriever named Wilbur 

Adulthood: TBD

✧ ROMANCE & CHILDREN ✧

Love Interest: Poppy Concordia Easterbrook @cursebreakerfarrier 

→ Story: TBD

Daughter: Iris Adeline Whitten 

Hufflepuff | b. April 24, 2025 

Benedict has a good relationship with his daughter. He adores Iris and is very proud of her. He loves her dearly. 

Faceclaim: Bailee Madison 

Daughter: Nora Mary Whitten 

Ravenclaw | Prefect | Bisexual | b. February 4, 2027

Benedict has a good relationship with his daughter. Nora is a good combination of Ben and Poppy, which makes it easier for Benedict to bond with her. He adores her and is very proud of her. Benedict loves his middle daughter dearly. 

Faceclaim: Sophie Nelisse 

Daughter: Felicity Noelle Whitten 

Ravenclaw | b. December 26, 2028

Benedict has a good relationship with his daughter. He adores her and is quite proud of her. Ben loves his daughter dearly. 

Faceclaim: Keiran Shipka 

Son: Leo Benedict Whitten

Gryffindor | Keeper | Heterosexual | b. July 20, 2034

Benedict had a good relationship with his son, who was a bit of a surprise baby as he was born approximately six years after his sisters. Leo is his only son, so there’s a bit of a special bond and Leo is somewhat similar in personality to Benedict’s as well. He was the one to introduce Leo to quidditch and help foster the boy’s interests. Ben adores his son and loves Leo dearly. 

Faceclaim: Walker Scobell

✧ OTHER RELATIONSHIPS ✧

Best Friends:

Sage Carridan @kc-and-co

Close Friends: TBD

Friends:

Duncan Donovan @amerrymystery

Noa March @thatravenpuffwitch

Ryan Oakley @hogwartsmysteryho

Efesto & Levi Vecellio @nicos-oc-hell

Acquaintances: TBD

It’s Complicated: TBD

Hogwarts Dormmates: There are four open spots in Ben’s dorm! 

Rivals: TBD

Enemies: TBD

✧ HISTORY & BACKGROUND ✧

Place of Birth: London, England 

Hometown: County Cork, Ireland

Childhood: 

Born at 11:16 pm on February 28, 1997, Benedict Jasper Whitten was the first child born to Edward and Eleanora Whitten, joining his twin brother, Jack Edward, who had been born seventeen minutes earlier at 10:59 pm. The first eight months or so of Benedict’s life were pretty happy and calm. Everything changed, though, in November of 1997 when his parents disappeared without a trace. From that point on, Benedict and his brother were raised by their father’s older brother, Robert, and their aunt, Mai, alongside their cousins, Darcy (b. January 17, 1993), Thea (b. May 29, 1997), and Clary (b. October 19, 2002). 

Growing up at a bed and breakfast was an interesting experience and it gave Benedict a good childhood, even though there weren’t always the vacations and such that his school friends went on. At the age of 15 months, Ben had open heart surgery in order to close a small-ish congenital hole in his heart. 

Hogwarts Years:

Upon starting Hogwarts, Benedict was sorted into Ravenclaw. He found his niche in the house quite quickly and was startled when he let Sage Carridan in rather quickly, as she was the first non-relative that Ben actually opened himself up to. In his second year, he joined the Ravenclaw quidditch team where he played the position of seeker. He enjoyed his time at Hogwarts and slowly began falling in love with his fellow Ravenclaw, Poppy Easterbrook. 

Adulthood:

After graduating from Hogwarts, Benedict began working as an archivist for the ministry of magic. He was not exactly thrilled with the work, and when, at the age of 26, he was offered a position as the curator for a new wizarding natural history museum, Ben jumped at it. He would later discover that the position came about because Poppy, Jack, Sage, Thea, and Noa recommended him for the position as Jack’s boss had first brought it up.

When Benedict was 28, his brother suggested that they hire an investigator to discover what had happened to their parents all those years ago. In late 2025, it was discovered that Edward and Eleanora were the victims of a Dobhar-chú. This discovery settled something inside of Benedict, which enabled him to be a better father to his children.

Benedict married Poppy in 2024. Their first child, Iris Adeline, was born on April 24, 2025, and their second child, Nora Mary, was born two years later on February 4, 2027. Approximately a year and a half later, their third child, Felicity Noelle, was born on December 26, 2028. Their youngest child and only son, Leo Benedict, was born on July 20, 2034. 

Old Age:

Benedict retired at the age of 92 and devoted the remainder of his life to his family. He traveled some with Poppy, visiting places that they had both discussed visiting before their children were born. He also devoted time to his grandchildren, doting on them the best he could.

Death: 

Benedict passed away in his sleep at the age of 120. He had lived a long and fulfilled life and he left behind four children, nine grandchildren, twelve great-grandchildren, and three great-great-grandchildren.

✧ MISCELLANEOUS ✧ 

Favorite Color: Dark blue

Favorite Food: Ravioli 

Favorite Drink: Hot chocolate 

Favorite Weather: Crisp air with the sun shining 

Favorite Season: Autumn

Favorite Music: Bastille, Mumford & Sons, Johnny Cash, Of Monsters and Men

Dislikes: Being called “Benny” ; bullies ; oranges ; crowds ; fussing 

Trivia:

Benedict had open heart surgery at 15 months old as he had a Ventricular Septal Defect, or a hole between the chambers of the lower heart. The hole was big enough that it had to be closed surgically and small enough that it wasn’t immediately life threatening.

Benedict is usually quite stoic and tends to bottle up his emotions. He’s not an easy person to get to know because of the walls that he has built up. 

Benedict is an outdoorsman. Being outside and doing things helps Ben clear his mind and stop overthinking things. 

Benedict is usually the voice of reason amongst his cousin and brother. He’s the only one that actually seems to consistently think before acting and that means that he’s going to stop Jack and Thea before things get more intense. 

Important Links:

Benedict’s tag

More information about Benedict’s children, Iris, Nora, Felicity, & Leo

#benedict whitten #hpma #magic awakened #hpma character profile #my character profile #my aesthetic #please check out ben’s bro jack’s profile too! #(his cousin thea will be linked soon!)

[boilingcowboy]

gay sal forever and i stand by that

(i don’t really like how i drew sal somethings off so might redraw him, ignore the white fixes my gell pens hate me and again click on the image for better quality!!)

#andie bell #salil singh #sal singh #sal and andie #agggtm #a good girls guide to murder #good girl bad blood #as good as dead #my art #artblr #artist on tumblr #art #artist

[campbells-content]

Random au where they go to boarding school

Sasha goes there as a last stitch effort of his parents to keep him out of jail.

Anne goes for their great sports teams.

Marcy goes there as a compromise with their parents who constantly move.

Random bits

Sasha may or may not of almost burned down his last school, taking his role as JD in the school play a little too far.

Marcy takes mostly science classes.

Sasha takes a mix of history, math and physical classes.

Anne takes mostly sport classes.

They all have a theater class together.

In swim season, Anne always smells like chlorine.

Sasha has bonfires on the weekends and usually smells like smoke or barbecue on Mondays.

Marcy and Sasha share a room in the dorms and Anne is their next door.

Sasha has burns on his arms and legs from looseing track of his firey hobby.

The school funds mostly the science and sport classes so if you're not interested in those extracurriculars are hard to come by.

Im bored so character design

Sasha

Gelled back dirty blonde hair with black streaks

Dark jeans with ripped cuffs rolled up to hide the tears

Interchangeable black hoodies with band designs or leather jacket

Red/pink vans

Marcy

Overgrown/unkept undercut cause they only get 1 haircut a year

Cargo shorts or sweatpants on lab days, usually covered in pen and marker

Button ups with different patterns

Crew socks

Probably some gray sneakers

Anne

Her hair is usually braided to stay out of her face

When it's cold she wears a letterman jacket

Plain, sometimes striped, polos

Jeans and basketball shorts

White tenis shoes or black basketball shoes

They wear uniforms on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

White button up

Black slacks

Black dress shoes

Tie or bow tie

Optional sweater or suit jacket.

On uniform days

Sasha is usually missing his tie but always has the jacket on.

Marcy wheres a long sleeve button up but rolls up the sleeves.

Anne only ever wears a short sleeve button up and constantly forgets her jacket.

#amphibia #amphibia au #sasha waybright #marcy wu #anne boonchuy #amphibia anne #amphibia sasha #amphibia marcy #sashanne #sasharcy #sashannarcy #marcanne #he/him sasha waybright

[3thansgay]

Songs of the isle Pt 5

*Vick reaches into the box and moves a few of the books around till he gets to a journal, with wore grey leather cover and takes it*

Vick: how the hell is this held itself together.

*Vick takes the grey journal out gently picking it up like it was both the most precious thing in existence, and a straight up bomb in his hands*

Vick: what is this made from.....it’s so soft even after all these years.

*Vick opens the grey journal at its first page it is written with an older pen and the handwritten, it was done quickly and sharply simpler to a doctor just clearer the first page reads “Augustus Arawn” *

Vick: Hey Papa.

Papa: Yeah, son

Vick: Who was Augustus Arawn?

Papa: oh he was......well he was my father.

Vick: Really?

Papa: yeah.....yeah he was....well he was one of the best hunters ever, there wasn’t an animal he couldn’t hunt your great grandfather could wrestle a bear he could shoot a bullet a clip a flies wings, and when he growled all manner of beasts would coward away.

Vick: You really admired him...didn’t you?

Papa: He was my father, son...I loved him.

*Vick flicks through the grey journal while Papa continues looking though the rusting box Vick goes through the journal flicking passed page after page of his great grandfathers’ life, then stops as he finds something between the pages there is a necklace.

The necklace has a chain with a long rectangle piece of mental on the end, both are in pristine condition retaining its sliver shin*

Vick: Fuck, hasn’t aged a day might be worth something

Papa: That was my father’s chain I thought he was buried with that thing.

Vick: oh sorry.

*Vick hastily takes the chain and holds it out to his Papa*

Papa: What are you doing, son?

Vick: Mhhhh this.

Papa: Keep it, son

Vick: Really?

Papa: yes, it’s been collecting dusk for far, *sign *far too long you should have something from our family, he would have loved you

Vick: thank you, thanks.

Papa: It's ok...now take that journal up with you and when you are done then we will have stuff to talk about.

Vick: Ok.

*Vick carefully takes the journal into both hands then transitions the journal to his left hand with a firm but still relaxed grip then he spins his right wrist as he stands up wrapping the chain around his knuckles.

Vick walks slowly to the stair and as his foot reaches the first step*

Papa: Vick?

*Vick half jumps then turns his head to face his Papa*

Vick: Yeah.

Papa: Please take care of that.....it means a lot to not just me but our family, and I know it sounds odd but please keep the necklace it’ll keep you safe.

Vick: Sure thing, Papa.

*The scene comes back and Vick is in his room laying on his bed on his back reading the journal*

Vick: Day 1: I Augustus Arawn will be documenting my findings and encounters with the enemy that my family has been dealing with for approximately 4200 years now.  

Vick: Pfft method acting.

*The scene changes to a young man with jet black hair in a very oversized three-piece suit, he is slender and pale his hair slicked back with something that looks like glue to keep it tamed.

The man is sitting in a train carriage that he packed himself as far as he can get into the window side of his seat, practically hugging the glass with his left shoulder in his right hand is a notebook and in his left a fountain pen.

He is nervously writing and speaking to himself in a hushed voice his hands trembling from the force of his writing hand, and from the cold of his anxiety but interrupting his half concentration is a that woman sits across from him.

The woman makes eye contact which is both welcoming and warning she is accompanied by a light white evening dress, with two shoulder straps that lead all the way down to the floor covering her whole body in angelic white silk.

Her arms are covered from fingertips to elbows with the same white silk she takes a draw from her cigarette leaving a faint red print of her lips, onto it her short hair is styled with a low bun and gelled hair along her forehead in small ornate curls*

The woman: How are you, darling.

Augustus: Pardon?

The woman: Well....you look like you are about to explode and I wanted to know if I needed to leave the carriage.

Augustus: *small laugh* Ah no I don’t think that will be necessary, Madam.

*Augustus looks back at his note pad*

The woman: And.

*Augustus looks up and the woman is leaning in with her elbows on the table which is separating them*

The woman: You looked awfully lonely.

Augustus: Oh....I’m fine I prefer it.

The woman: But do you mind company.

Augustus: I guess not.

The woman: well....what do you say to me and you keeping each other company.

Augustus: sure....where are you heading.

The woman: Foxdale....decided to leave the city and get as far as I could yknow clear my mind.

*Augustus laughs then neatly places his pen into his notebook and slips it into his breast pocket careful not to ruin his suit*  

The woman: Oh did that amuse you.

Augustus: Not at all just it’s a same place I am going

The woman: Lucky us then, Darling

Augustus: well since we are traveling together....I am Augustus Arawn and you are?

The woman: Anna Eisenberg, Darling.

Vick: Day 2: I met a very interesting woman on the train yesterday I met her on my first entre she is staying at the town of Foxdale, while I am staying at our new house on the isle Father built it with some local workers however I am unsure of where he found them, it felt as though they fell out of the sky but that is the furthest thing from my mind as of this moment.

My mind is fixated on Anna Eisenberg German name I think but no German accent she has a smooth English accent like mine, but alas I cannot pin it down to a specific place or people she asked me to join her for a meal, this afternoon in Foxdale then perhaps I will ask her to join me for a walk in the forest outside my new home.

I have been dying to explore that place the only thing that has stopped me thus far is my father, he has some unusual behaviour whenever I bring up the forest I think he is afraid of something but with my marksmanship if there is anything then i hope it will make a good dinner.

*The scene cuts to Vick sleeping with the journal on his chest with his body spread eagle on the bed the scene changes again, to Vick sitting at the dining table eating cereal as he is eating Debbie walks in*

Debbie: how are you, sweetie?

Vick: *gritting his teeth* fine.

#comics #gay #horror #lgbtqia #mythology and folklore #original character #script #webcomic

[etlu-yume]

Gold Rush - Still No Gold

I still can't believe that - from my meager sample of two (2) Artline metalic marker pens (a gold and a copper) that *neither* worked on black paper as their metalic forms and both looked awfully silver. The copper did, however, work properly on the white paper. I didn't think to test the gold, I just thought it was a pissy little champagne gold instead of the usual /mustard/ (and here's me wanting something warmer), but no.

I'm like 80% sure that these have got to be a silver base with coloured pigment thrown in. This is how we get metallic inks with the pantone system - most of the coloured metallics are silver plus another pantone. The only real exception iirc is base metallics like golds, copper and silver.

But no. Apparently that rule of thumb doesn't apply to Artline gold.

Whoops.

(My search for a Good Gold is still very dismal, I think the closest to a 'warm gold' I found today was actually - surprisingly - the Sharpie metallic gold. Even the POSCA gold, while not /quite/ as dark and mustardy as many others [see metallic gell pens like the Uniball Signo for example], was still a little yellow-green rather than the orange-yellow I'm hunting for.)

#artists on tumblr #rambles #art rambles #markers #metallic #posca #artline #uniball #next time I really should do a proper comparison and take a photo

[songs-about-girls-like-me]

chapter 9: an unidentified bug

(Author's note: le puse "Mr. G" a nuestro maestro. I was giggling so much when I came up with that. Also, I will call people "random girl/boy" when they are irrelevant. Ok, cool)

I was highlighting something in my geography textbook to make a "bright sun" (which was a graphic organiser thing) in my notebook during class. Our teacher, Mr. G, the one who had sang and danced at the disco, was obsessed with making us do "original significative sentences" or "bears" by its initials in spanish. It was a friday and the school day was almost over. I was bored and I just wanted it to be 1:30 already. We were told to use our glue stick to make a circle for the center of the sun with red ink pen. I always thought these graphic organizers were ugly as sin, and I wished we could just do mind maps or a normal summary instead. We couldn't even color it in or use different colors and my sunbeams always looked wonky.

The girls sitting with me in my team were: a girl called Queenie who was in jazz with us, Poppy, wearing a side pony with white ribbon in her hair, and another random girl classmate. Random girl and Queenie were part of the girls who teased Poppy about her bra during camp, and all three were friends and were now talking about their friday outing over Mr. G who was still talking about how to do a "Bear". I yawned and got my ruler out to make the sunbeams when Random girl and Queenie started looking secretively at each other, and I noticed they were side eyeing Poppy. I took a glance and I instantly knew. There was something walking on Poppy's perfectly gelled hair. A little insect of some sort, colored in black and some green or yellow. It was a bug I'd never seen before, at least half a centimeter big or even larger. I knew they were probably thinking it was lice, and I supposed it was a fair guess, adding up the fact that we had had "lice season" in school just before the summer holidays. But I wasn't sure, it seemed way too big. And the color made no sense and it was walking over the gelled rock hard hair, not her side bangs or the rest of her fluffy hair. I had had lice when I was in 3rd grade. Well, not lice, just nits or whatever baby lice are called. I knew they sucked but I also knew some hair washes with alcohol would terminate them in a weekend. I thought we should say something to Poppy and even to Mr. G so that she could go to the school nurse, who was the one to check on lice always. The school nurse and I shared first name and was never mean.

"OMG, IT MOVED!" Random girl screamed and I rolled my eyes. "OMG, OMG" Went Queenie. "What?" Poppy was looking nervous. "You have-" I started.

"You have lice!!" Said Random girl. "What??!" Poppy was terrified. She looked like she couldn't even move. The two girls moved back a meter, pushing their chairs away with their feet while still sitting down. "You- there's an insect on your hair, you should-" I really tried, but my classmates screamed and Poppy was stiff as a board and she looked like crying with her eyes closed, gripping her chair tightly as if that would help. I got a bit pissed at her friends cause I knew this could be handled better and they literally were still screaming !!?

So I stood up with all my Hermione-Granger-personality-complex that made me think I was really more capable than my classmates at times and went looking for our teacher. But Random girl stood up too and we both went to look for Mr. G and she talked loudly over me so she got to tell him about the bug however she wanted to. Then Poppy was sent to the school nurse and that was that. But it almost felt like she got “evacuated” from our classroom because of these girls’ behavior. I was annoyed at them because it would’ve been nicer to keep people's lice a bit quiet, specially if they are your friend! And we weren’t even sure if it was actual lice or a random bug! I shook my head in disapproval and rolled my eyes, going back to take a seat to finish my school work.

Then, 20 minutes later, the school day finally finished and we were lining up in the hallway with our schoolbags to head out to the yard. The tiny hallway was always chaos with all the kids from our class (we were around 80 kids), and we all would push each other making the line so messy some people would even fall to the floor. It could be kinda fun. I wasn't Hermione all the Time. Except for when you actually hurt yourself, like, someone stepping on you, or falling with an elbow all the way to the slippery cream-colored tiles, etc. Everyone was chatting really loud, and Ella, Liv and I were no exception. They asked me a bit about Poppy’s bug incident which was the hot topic of the afternoon. I said I thought it could’ve been just an insect and I wasn't sure it was lice. She still wasn't back from the nurse when I looked around, though. My friends agreed that her friends had been quite sucky.

Ella somehow knew today it was Poppy's birthday party and I had to open my eyes big for how much of a pity that was. I felt bad for her.

"Damn" said Liv making a face. We all agreed to that "damn" and then kept talking about a Disney Channel show or started playing fight or something.

"I think I won't go" in the hallway it was easy to overhear people's conversations cause we all were really close.

"Well, obviously! She's got lice. Like-- I wish I could go, Queenie, we just can't. Even if it's her birthday party! No one should go." It also wasn't as if they were trying to keep it quiet.

Queenie was lowkey dumb so I never minded her much, but Random girl seemed a bit too decided on the matter. She didn't necessarily looked happy, but she was too serious. It definitely seemed like she was taking on the opportunity to throw Poppy under the bus and shit-talk her. And she was just always finding ways to try to walk over her.

When my mom picked me and my sisters up later and asked about our days, I started talking about it, speaking about Poppy as "Poppy [Last Name]" cause I had never talked about her before. When I had a full story to tell in the car, I would sit on the edge of the car seat (I always got the middle seat) and would rest my elbows on the back of the front seats to be closer to the driver. Sometimes I even rested my chin on my hands. I don't know why I did that, maybe so I could get everyone's reaction from that point of view. My sisters and my mom thought Random girl was obviously a terrible friend, more like, she even probably hated Poppy [Last Name] and was actively being mean to her. My older sister thought Random girl was jealous cause Poppy [Last Name] was really pretty and boys liked her, unlike her who was not, and was also a bitter envious bitch. She didn't actually say "bitch" though, cause we would never curse in front of my mom. My younger sister would always provide very good reactions like "no! really?" and "omg, she didn't" or even a small gasp or a shake of the head which was always good to have as support while explaining things.

"Yeah! and now... like- She's probably not going to have a birthday party!" I said, my eyebrows raised in a worried look. I think about this and I am reminded of how young I was lol.

"Yes, probably not. Poor Poppy." Said my mom, driving us. "But you can be nice to her, Rees."

I sat back and rested my back on the seat, pulling my schoolbag close to my chest. "Yea" I nodded. The september sun was still very warm and the car air always felt horribly stale with the carpeted surfaces of the car and the day-long-worn school uniforms. I had taken off my brown ballet flats with a flick of my feet. For a second I kept thinking about that party and if anyone would show up, or who had she invited. Or whether Poppy would be sad or angry at the moment. I would try to show up, if I had been invited.

#chapter 9 #chapter nine #unidentified bug

[lorefolked]

going through the motions was just a facet of james' life. fleeting, swirled faces that never lingered for long, pressing questions from all sides ; like a thick pair of jaws fastened around him, canines sinking in until he was bled dry, thin and weak. the queries never ended, nor did the expectations. he was this kind of figure now, clad in dark shades, hair wild and untamed -- a figment of his signature. he practically bled black.

he'd become somewhat, undeniably, accustomed to the press conferences. skin thickening with each discussion, once soft-toned and demure responses edging into something more curt, abrupt and monosyllabic, as brief as james could possibly be. instead of answering he'd begun volleying back his own questions -- "how do you feel about it?" "what is there to say?" "is that how you interpret it?" seeing the looks on those journalists' faces was perhaps better than any kind of acid ( now criminalized, just like those reporters the moment their quizzes were turned back on them ). his reputation had tacked on words like jerk and evasive, headlines screeching warnings of WATCH OUT and RIVERS BACK AT IT AGAIN! without care to truly understand the intention of his words. james had never cared much for the press -- he found them to be sleazy; sell outs; only interested in one thing, and it was never the truth. they'd likened james to a petulant child in the two years he'd been an artist, so he'd turned his back on them and done the same. their faces red with embarrassment and irritation, brows furrowed and jaws clenched, fully inked pens gripped by white-tipped fingers. why won't you answer? why? why? look in the mirror.

but those moments of satisfaction had been swallowed by the other mounting feelings wedged in james' chest. sly smirks gave way to thinned lips, expressionless and cold. this was who he was now. empty, barren hotel rooms, untouched sheets. a narrow spine pushed against the wall, black collared jacket swept around his feet, legs pressed into his stomach. the tears never came. sickness churned in his belly, fingers curled around porcelain toilets as he bent over, dry heaving. platform saddle shoes digging into the dirty tile underneath. help me. he wanted to cry out, wanted to beg god for forgiveness, but the sky lay empty at night and no deity ever answered him back. hands covered his face, fingers tangled in messy black hair. he was alone.

then he met oliver noble ( and after that, he'd never felt more alone in his entire life ). sleek brunette hair, stylized and gelled ; deep brown eyes focusing in on james' face, never leaving, like they belonged there. fleas on a dog's hide, burrowed deep. he smelled of citrus and wood, a crackling hearth, sparked with amber flames. he looked like he shaved daily. for james, brushing his teeth was a chore -- jaws gnashed as bitterness ran through him. noble was older, only a little, and wore tailored suits. wrinkles pressed out and tie expertly wrapped. he held out a hand, a grin on his face. one that screamed shark. james took it anyway, felt the softness against his own callouses. backed away, intent on getting away and slipping through the crowd, but noble followed.

james expected many things. questions that he'd heard a million times, something any idiot could find in the paper. headline material. he had already begun working up a detached answer to the usual "how does it feel to be the most highly regarded artist right now?" but what came was neither what he expected nor what he wished to answer. a deep look in those sharp browns, like they saw something no one else did. "how do you handle performance anxiety, mr. rivers?"

performance anxiety. as if james didn't live in front of crowds. as if a camera wasn't always in his face. as if his hands didn't tremble before he stepped on stage. teeth clenched, adjusting his sunglasses, wanting something to do with his hands as the question speared through him. he felt protected by his shades, like his eyes couldn't be bored into. even though noble's face looked like he was staring right through him. "it's just life. how do you handle life?" he bunted back. waited for the cross look. it never came.

noble nodded slowly, like he'd come to understand something that was never there in the first place. "life is difficult. i understand what you mean. but dealing with it -- now that's the million dollar question, isn't it?" he replied, voice silky sweet with sympathy. like james was liquid putty in his hands, molded and shaped however he saw fit. i'm worth twenty thousand of you, he wanted to say. wanted to scream. how did he deflect a question when it was no longer his answer?

"people deal with life in different ways. it all comes down to what you know," james said reluctantly. you're manipulating me. was it manipulation if he knew it? or was he, at that point, just as guilty?

"and what do you know, mr. rivers?" noble positioned himself in front of james, staring at him. he wasn't even holding a pen or a notepad. like he was committing all of this to memory, as if someone of his stature cared that much. he looked more like a renowned businessman to james than anything else ; a carnivorous hound, teeth bared and jaws foaming. each word was like a clap of thunder, and if noble was a hound then james was nothing more than a house dog, shaken and frail. weak underpaw, walking a line he didn't quite know how to tread yet. trying to be delicate but feeling as though he'd just shattered fine china. but it was his life. his life. how could someone take away all he knew in such a short amount of time?

james didn't want to answer. where had that person gone, the one that fired back at journalists like this? where was that cold mask? why were his hands shaking when he should be cool and confident? noble was using him, twisting up his words in order to pad his story with interest. and yet, james couldn't help but wonder how much of what noble was twisting up was true. "i'm just a singer. i'm no scholar. if i was a scholar i wouldn't be singing, would i?"

"many would beg to differ," noble responded, quick and light, weightless. "you're a hero to so many. your words carry power." james heard the undertone of mockery, saw the veiled interest in noble's eyes. nothing he could say would ever resonate with this man. he'd already made up his mind about james -- prick. cagey. uninteresting.

that familiar resentment ran flush through him, sinking into the cores of his teeth. the marrow in his bones. who was he to change noble's mind? who was he to change anyone's mind? embracing the idea that he was this character now ( black clothed, reticent, strung out ) was what felt like the current best option. let noble have his headliner. let everyone see james for the person he put on. who would have the last laugh then? it had to be him. it had to be. they'd all be fools, because james would know what he was. he'd never lose sight of himself. and even though the empty space in his chest was an open chasm, maw wide and gaping, he wouldn't allow himself to fall in. sidestepping was easy, a dance he knew well. this was just another part of himself he'd keep from the world.

"power is only what people give it," james murmured, motioning out toward the crowd choked around them. "and if people see me as a hero, then maybe i am one. what are you doing about the state of things? writing columns about me?" hazel eyes narrowed at noble, taking in the acceptance on the other man's face. expectations had just been met. "maybe it's you who needs to think about how to handle life. i'm certainly doing a better job of it than you."

james didn't wait for an answer. he couldn't. he just saw noble's lips press into a thin line and then he was off, desperate to be away from this place and these people. returning home -- or whatever he could truly call home, living in the desolation of a hotel room. a black abyss, calling out to him. and the time passed, as it always did. that night was just a ledger in his mind. and for a moment, he'd thought, he isn't writing about me. he'd deflected, successfully. was that all it took? speaking highly of himself?

and then the magazine landed across his desk days later. the ledbetter, it read. title : IS JAMES RIVERS WORTHY OF PRAISE AFTER ALL? author, oliver noble. james felt sick as he read it. tanned hands picked up the pack of newports, bringing the cigarette to his lips. he breathed smoke, lived in it, ash in a fire. the last one standing in a burning house. hearth-dwelling noble, setting the place ablaze. james had never felt worthy of his celebrity standing, but this certainly overwhelmed any other criticism -- and to be so wrong at the same time? it was no hullabaloo magazine, but people would certainly read this. chapped lips parted as smoke puffed out, trailing thick tendrils through the empty white room, legs lifting to set his feet upon the desk. he scrubbed a hand through his hair. when was the last time he'd even bothered to wash it? it all just felt so far away, a distant echo crying out in a bottomless cave. nothing matters. nothing ever has. nothing ever will. he eyed the setlist sitting on his desk, wondered what those people thought of him. but then, did it really matter? what of oliver noble? what of mary, his own manager? if the world saw him one way, was that really who he was? maybe it only mattered what he was deep down. but if no one else saw that, was he even human at that point? or was he just a cardboard cutout, a caricature?

anger swelled inside of him, gripping the magazine and throwing it across the room, watching the gaudy pages flutter in the air. a kaleidoscope of color, planting to the ground. his chest heaved, his hands shook. he had a show tonight. there was no reason to get worked up. but oliver noble had found him, crooked and bleeding, and kicked him in the face. watched him go down, laughing, laughing, laughing. that grin haunted his mind. commensalism was so often the relationship between musician and reporter. but what of this?

james shook his head, bit down on the cigarette and closed his eyes. maybe he'd write a song about this. call it parasite. the suckling leech, oliver noble. he just hoped to never see him again. it wouldn't be far out if he didn't. but those words would continue living in his head, at least until james could let it go. but the idea of being bested stuck with him, and so it never slipped his mind.

performance anxiety. what a joke.

#*dumps 1800 words on you* #PHEW #this was very difficult but fun #just a little character study <3 maybe even a look at james and oliver's first meeting? #this kind of strays from my usual style BUT i'm trying to be a little more descriptive here and just get better at writing in general #and woo boy is this guy fun to explore #so many issues lol. of course as he's my character but ... so many problems #messy messy boys !!! #i'm a little tired of writing after this but i'm sure i'll whip up something again soon #as my brainrot is full with these characters rn #so ... enjoy anyone reading #JAMES RIVERS. #OLIVER NOBLE. #writing

[nevebennett-viscom]

Final reflection

Binding method

The binding method was done to give the spreads continuity and allow them to lay flat to make it easier to see the pictures and this is best for children's books , I tried to make it look like 4 even spaced loops on the spine so it appears and seems neat and still sturdy.

Acetate

I decided to not bind the acetate into the book last minute and instead bind it as a slip flap ontop of the page, although this may seem less sturdy, binding the acetate with the folds and small sharp corners in the inside of a different spread made me uneasy since it felt unsafe and it would be negligent of me to not have considered it and have found what might have been a safer way, so until that's figured out, I went with the way that I did.

Some parts with mistakes

There are some mistakes or elements that I would change upon doing it again , the biggest thing was the kerning and lots of printing errors due to the printer being over worked, I eventually had to use what I had

Additionally, some of the cutting out had gone fuzzy over time and has now left white on the sides or pulls of paper which makes it look less professional

Glossy cover

I decided to use different stock with the cover since it makes it glossy, I did this becuase this is kore conventional pf children's books, and it makes it less likely to get damaged.

Problems with paper stock

This paper within my book creases easily and creates white lines and also, some other elements when flicking through it go wrinkly and crinkled, re printing it would be on different paper that woukd hopefully gold the ink better.

Flocking experiment

And issue I encountered when doing some of the final touches was that my flocking didn't feature my characters faces anymore, I then had to experiment with pens to figure out which pens bled and worked on flocking to draw the features. I found a ball point gell worked.

#nbfmplvl5

[kanashiart]

Juvy ACEO card - small traditional drawing

Lately, I began to draw traditionally again, mostly making ACEO/ATC cards (size of a Pokemon card). This one is my beloved OC, Juvy. Done with alcohol markers and colored pencils & white gell pen of course.

Find me more active on IG: @KanashiArt

Posted using PostyBirb

#horse #aceo #atc #art #equine #green #card #traditionalart #alcoholmarkers

[sheepprovider4sammy]

Yoomon (as in human Idk what his name is)

Based off of a scene from Homesick on Webtoon. It's a very good series I highly recommend :D. Also my first time really drawing a cat and someone who's blond (????). Ignore the words at the top the only sketchbook I could find was a prompt thing.

Pencil, alchohol markers, Sakura ink pens, white gell ballpoint pen.

Originally posted on DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/sheepprovider4sammy/art/Yoomon-as-in-human-Idk-what-his-name-is-992859604

#cat #gakuran

[thebirdmanhewatches]

Lol art dump

[ ID: the first photo is a pixel art drawing of three people from the ribs up on the left is angel in the middle is Magnus and on the right is jonnithann they are in an alley behind them is scaffolding clothing lines and distantly a train. angel is a white boy with his eyes covered in hair his hair is brown he is wearing a jacket with a fluffy hood and a grey t shirt. Magnus is a racially ambiguous girl with straight brown hair she is smiling and holding her hands up to her chest in fists she is wearing a white t shirt with a smiling sun on it. jonnithann is a Asian person with long mahogany hair and a fringe wearing a black strapless crop top and a green hoodie vey are looking at Magnus in surprise. the second photo is of the same three characters hugging on a dark red background it is painted digitally and all the characters are in shadow Magnus is sitting up straight in the middle with angel on her left leaning on her shoulder and jonnithann on her right with veyre legs on her lap leaning into her other shoulder all of the characters appear to be asleep end ID ]

[ ID: the first photo is a digital drawing of Eira and Louie on a blue sofa Eira is half sitting up and Louie is lying down one of Louie legs is on top of Eiras and one of eiras legs is on top of Louie both characters look calm .Eira has black earbuds in plugged into a phone with a pink phone case with a silhouette of a cats face on it in yellow Eira has almost shoulder length blonde hair with pink tips and is wearing a tank top with spaghetti straps jogging bottoms and dark pink socks. Louie has one hand behind his head glowing blue eyes short hair a orange hoodie and jeans. The second photo is a digital drawing of shiro louie patchwork and Andrew lying down asleep hugging, shiro is on the left lying on his side with one arm around Louie, Louie is on the centre left with one hand on patchworks back, patchwork is on the centre right face down on top of Louie and Andrew with one arm around louie and the other on Andrews chest, Andrew is on the right with his chin on patchworks head. Shiro is a tall thin Asian man with scars on his back and face and no hands he has an black undercut and is wearing a muscle t shirt. Louie is small thin black man with dreadlocks and a scar on his chest. Patchwork is a short Asian man with extensive scarring on his back and arms he has chin length dark brown hair. Andrew is a tall Mexican man with green scales on his forehead and dark brown hair with bleached blond tips he is wearing a dark green hoodie and a dark grey face mask. End ID ]

[ ID: the first photo is digital drawing of jonnithann at night behind vem is the taeon citadel a silhouette of a glowing gold palace with five symmetrical towers and jonnithann is crossing veyre arms and looking to the side vey have black feathers sprouting from veyre shoulders and cheeks the second photo is of a digital drawing of jonnithann sitting on the side of a building hair flowing behind vem and Magnus standing next to vem the drawing is drawn with stylised messy line art mimicking orange and purple ballpoint pen and messy painted colours end ID ]

Pro tip post the gay art after pride month

This is all old art from like half a year ago some of the designs are out of date

Magnus is currently ambiguously blasian riots in thaurel characters have a habit of having fluctuating ambiguous races because of the art style I started drawing them in (orange purple and black ballpoint pen with a dying purple orange yellow and pink felt tips pen + a lil neon sparkly gell pen for spice)

#the ID goes and fucks itself near the end because it’s like 00:30 sorry #rooks many ocs #art #art dump #artwork #oc artwork #oc art #queer characters #poly characters #y’know I was going to look for something on tumblr but then I decided to post this and forgot

[erleleven2002]

lost/found project evaluation

I found the lost/found project to be interesting. I would have preferred more time to experiment with other objects but I feel that the work I produced works fairly well. getting to grips with image compositing in photoshop took a while, but I feel confident with most of the basics. using the pen tool helped with getting the octopus cut-out in a clean way, though it is tedious to use at times (especially with complex shapes). the idea to composite an octopus and a bath together was inspired by 50s B-movies. I also decided to use this object/location as I was using seafood in my graded unit work, so to some extent it was convenient. if I was going to do this project again I would have used a more interesting location like a tall building. I may have used the octopus as the insert object in combination with other sea life. I would have also used tried wildly different objects in combination with different locations in order to have a baseline of decent composites that could be tinkered with and perfected later on. I feel like the work is technically sound but unadventurous and I could have done a lot more if I had looked out more photoshop tutorials. one aspect of the two shoots that gelled well together was the lighting, I feel like the single studio light I used was a good match for the light fixture in the bathroom. in terms of health and safety, the octopus was frozen before use and I made sure to wash my hands whenever I handled it or used rubber gloves (though they break easily). the windows in the studio were all open to dissipate the smell of the octopus. shooting in studio was fairly easy with a lot of space and good quality lighting and equipment, shooting at home was the opposite with little space and limited equipment. I ended up augmenting the lighting in the room with a pair of small LED panels to pick up some areas that were noticeably shady, though they had little impact overall as they are quite weak. The final image was converted to black and white in order to pay homage to the B-movies I mentioned earlier like “THEM” and “it came from beneath the sea”. these films almost always featured oversized mutant animals like giant ants, giant tarantulas or giant octopi. 

#lostandfound