Ty's Art

Bonus pic of Tamara photobombing right before she decided she liked the bag enough to smooch all over it.

Happy anniversary, you two :) (even though I’m horribly late)

WIP shot of something I’m working on.

Green stage. Whee!

Starting with that egg for the ribcage and placing things from there.

Jennifer

Oren: ...

Telekinetic, telepathic, and hacker. French-Canadian, likes to look sweet and garner the response of “ (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧  kawaii desu!!” from others. Completely jealous of her classmates that have their own flats and don’t have to live in the dorms.

This fish plays a part in the FATE game that I’m part of. Hilarity ensues.

There are secrets there, obviously; teenager. Nuff said.

These characters are for a FATE game we’re in; Hikari Academy is the name we’re putting this series of sessions under.

Halo brush by the wonderful @gingerhaole.

Then And Now: Jem by tygenco

Again, this is samurai-ko‘s fault.

Corporate life really is a soul-sucking thing, if for some reason anyone had ever thought otherwise. In the midst of the rainfall of clacking keys and discontented sighs there are minds that are clawing away at the current P&P files and finding all the loopholes. Those same minds are jacked into the electrical flow via mp3 players and radios, sucking down amps and voltage like vampires in the throes of blood-lust. Rules that are thought up and decided on in the halls and out beneath the half-broken umbrellas over the smoking area were somehow approved, probably thanks to a corp spinster and a pretty face. Never mind the things that could be happening under the table--they're too numb for that. The putrid scent of half-chewed tobacco and menthol cigarettes mixed with the newest rounds of overdone perfumes and cheap allergy lozenges hits, followed by the predictable and no less hated migraine. There isn't enough air freshener in the world to remove that scent. It's enough to make one want to set up a Level 4 Bio-hazard containment tent. And short of actually contracting something ranking on that level of infection or contagion, one is at a loss. Cough loud and in their faces, it still does nothing. The minds go back to prying apart the rules. With the consistent inconsistencies, the minds are finding patterns. Each mind has a sort of specialized spreadsheet going, categorizing things according to severity and time. Bright points come up like flares in the dark. A veritable matrix is running, and those minds are in a strange sort of contact with each other. Verifying. Confirming. Effectively terrifying and terrifyingly effective. More verifying. It's all there, the means with which to undo the things that shouldn't have been done, buried deep beneath red tape and painted-pressboard doors. Another sigh, another key clicked, another soul snuffed out.

Lady Izanami