artydesk art

Ian Murray and Rollo from the Outlander series (Diana Gabaldon)

I’m not sure about the designs but I was in the middle of the 8th book and had to try something. I didn’t do much research other than looking through my hundreds of kindle notes/bookmarks trying to find physical descriptions of Ian, and image searching ‘wolfhound wolf cross’ which didn’t really help that much. But YAY dramatic lighting!!?

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Toothless said nothing. Neither did Hiccup. They circled the remains once, two pairs of solemn eyes taking in the damage. Scattered flames riding on wood chips dispersed with the currents of the ocean. The scent of Aspen swelled further, drowning their senses.

Toothless’ ear-plates tugged at the sound of a sharp inhale.

::Are you okay?::

It sounded like Hiccup was trying to get his breathing under control, but Toothless felt a hand rub behind the crown of his skull reassuringly.

::Did it help?::

“I don’t know,” Hiccup answered, his honesty shone through an otherwise coarse voice.

Hitchups, chapter 37 by avannak

(not feeling the art vibes tonight but I wanted to finish it, so the coloring is kind of meh.)

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Toothless had his arms wrapped around Astrid’s waist, and was holding on far more tightly than he actually needed to. No one spoke for a long time. Ru had to fly high, and slower than he would have liked in order to keep his wing beats as quiet as possible.

Eventually, Astrid noticed that Toothless was actually shaking against her. At one point, the clouds melted beneath them, and for a few moments, they could see the distant ocean surface glittering below. Toothless tensed, his arms hugging Astrid tight enough to hurt

-Umbreytingu Ch 17 by elfpen

Another update, another drawing. Dangit, Elfy.

I kept Ru’s design really simple because I’m lazy and have mediocre dragon drawing skills. I also didn’t double check details so it may or may not be off from the chapter but oh well.

Hiccup was never sure if he would be a good parent. He didn’t have many opportunities to practice his child-rearing skills (if he had any), and when he found out that he was going to be a father, he was excited, but also terrified. Dragons and children where very different. Babies were a lot less durable, for one. Who’s to say the harsh north winter wouldn’t claim the fragile life prematurely? Or worse, what if he screwed up and something happened? What if he dropped him (or gods forbid, her; even though he was married, he still had no idea how girls operated)? For months, his mind was plagued with doubt and worries, until The Day came.

After many, many tense hours of laboring, pacing, and crying, Hiccup finally saw… her. Them, but now separate. Now there was a second face, and, unsurprisingly, a damp, but substantial mop of bright red-orange hair.

Hiccup still wasn’t sure if he was a good parent, but a few years later, after getting home from one of many celebrations, he would take in her sleepy-but-hopeful face and realize that he could have been a lot worse. And as he gently took her hands and allowed her to put her small, pale feet on his, he stepped back and forth in a semblance of dance, and marveled at his luck.

/whispers oh man I am not a writer but hey I tried/

Fluff I drew between classes (which is why it’s kind of messy) and then colored in Photoshop. I left the wife’s name/appearance out because I couldn’t choose, so I guess it’s Choose Your Own Pairing Blurb or something.

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Sometimes when the parents are too busy (or exhausted), Toothless will take on the role of Babysitter. (But first, Hiccup had to make sure Toothless understood that the title wasn’t meant in a literal sense, so maybe it’s more appropriate to say he was the Babywatcher.)

4x4" aquabord, watercolor, pen, tad Photoshop editing.

After reading Eleanor & Park (by Rainbow Rowell), of course I had to relieve my emotions by drawing them.

While reading, I don’t really think too much about what they would look like, unless they’re being described, and since I read the book in less than two days, I may have missed a few details and/or failed to portray them correctly…the details I remember are pretty general/vague. I’ll probably have to read the book two or three more times before I can confidently illustrated it as well. :P

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Finally adding my name to the extremely long list of artists taking commissions on this site, because I’m an unemployed community college student living with her parents. Likes/reblogs are appreciated. :) <3

(all payments are through Paypal)

More bullet points:

  • If you’ve looked through my other stuff and see/want a style in particular, feel free to tell me.
  • Watercolor, pastel/charcoal, and oil paints are also an option, but it’s a lot more expensive. However, if you’re interested, let me know.
  • Any/all details or references given (especially for OCs) are appreciated. The more information, the more accurate, and the more customer satisfaction. :D
  • I also sell Prints!

If you have any questions, feel free to message me!

2

He was grateful that the Great Hall was empty. The floors and tables were still cluttered from the celebration. Well, Hiccup had trouble thinking of the majority of the village getting drunk and loud (well, drunker and louder) as a celebration, considering the reason behind it. Stoick had only been gone for three days–actually, it was more like four, Hiccup thought, noting the faint light coming from the crack under the door–and the village hadn’t stopped “celebrating” since. Despite the fuzziness from all the mead he’d been given, Hiccup was very well aware of the tightness in his throat and his burning eyes.

Hiccup had been holding it together all week. Barely. He’d survived on giving sad smiles and reassuring speeches to any pitying looks, and he was so, so tired. He was tired of pretending to be strong, of making excuses and swallowing his tears. His beard had grown out over the last few days and thankfully, the itchiness had subsided, and instead was replaced by a sore back and shaking hands. He tried to steady his hands by gripping his mead tighter. His eyes shining, he glanced around the giant room, and once he found it was still completely empty, he let out a quiet keel and finally let go.

His beard became soaked, his face strained and red, and his teeth bared. He wiped the heel of his hand against his eye, feeling kind of relieved and yet still completely lost.

I don’t usually write, but I feel like this one needed some extra context.

“All right. So you don’t want to thump me. But what if I were someone else?”

“Who, for instance?”

“Who would you like to thump?”

“How about Guinevere?” Terence asked hopefully.

“Terence, you can’t go around thumping women. Especially her.”

“There, you see? What’s the sense of being a knight? I have to thump people I don’t want to thump, and I can’t thump people who would really be better off for a good thumping.”

“How about Sir Lancelot? You’d like to thump him, wouldn’t you?”

Terence thought about this. “No, I’d like to hang him by his toes over the edge of the North Tower.”

- The Squire, His Knight, and His Lady by Gerald Morris

#context is everything

as usual, I did no extra research for this, as far as clothing…or cudgels. My head cannon for Terrence keeps changing, cause I never know how old he is/what he’s supposed to look like, so don’t expect any consistency in the future.