let me just start this off by saying wow and thank you maybe 100 times?? being able to come online every day to make cool things for you guys and getting your feedback is always a blast :D thank you all so much for liking the stuff i make enough that you’ve followed to see more!! i hope i can continue to impress in the future ;)
so here’s the fun bit: to celebrate recently reaching 1k followers, i’m going to be doing oc character posters!!
rules
must be following me (this is for my followers after all!!)
reblog this post
from 6th-12th nov, create a post with an image or written piece about your oc, including a bit of information about your characters aesthetic (eg. “blue, denim, space, science, robotics”)
tag it with #sprout1k
i’ll make character posters for that oc!!
there’s a one character per person limit, because i’m a humble sprout that’s also gotta write uni essays alongside everything else :’D once again i just wanna thank you guys, and i hope you have fun with this celebration!!
Con-Con-Congratulations on your 1k follower goal !
@sproutaesthetics !
I am not an old follower, but i hope I'll be allowed to participate ❤ (You're also invited and welcome to request something from my aesthetic blog @nyx-is-my-on-switch ).
My character is Ivor Grim (Ivory), from a dnd-ish roleplay, set in a mediaval fantasy land.
He's human youth (around 19), from the northern fishing village Port.Cecil. His only family his mother, he left his village to go to the northern capital city Frostfound and became a wizard apprentice. He now has left on a mission gone sideways, and is managing to fulfil his wonderlust by traveling the known world with his party of a half elf orphan, satyr and centaur. He is to become a warlock, bound to ancient fae deities. (Recently fell in love with a statyr boy 😉).
His aesthetic is boats, cold blue mornings on a ship, cloaks and concealing cloathing, long to travel, mystic magic of the fae, herbs/cooking potions, curiosity.
I know it's a lot of info, but you don't need to use all that, just giving you a general deep image (and who doesn't like to ramble about his OCs). Thanks for considering me ❤
Aesthetics as best I can figure: (I’m not so great at it): Grey, Cyan, Isolation, Night, Street Art, Frustration, Tears, Scars, Bruises,
Where to begin about Dyns... He’s a child. No more than 8 maybe 9. A mess of wavy, light brown hair that falls into his eyes more than he’d ever admit and more, in fact, than he’s prone to even notice. Grey eyes that shine with the exuberance and innocence his age might suggest but that are clouded still with the things he’s been through already in his short life. He smiles and he pantomimes laughter- the action learned and the emotion felt though no sound ever leaves his lips. Born with under-developed vocal cords, Dyns never made a sound without a lot of effort and some pain. He learned quickly that he had to be patient with people. They didn’t understand his Signing. He had to move slowly. He had to over-emote (even compared to the already expressive Signing Language). He had to write. Draw even. Anything to help them to understand. Being upset about it never helped.
(It gets long from there)
TW: Child Abuse, Mental Illness
When he’s 6 and 1/2, maybe 7, his mother has a mental break. She starts listening to voices only she can hear. Pulls him from school one day, convinced she’s helping. She’s going to let his voice out. It’s trapped in his throat. She can get it out. His father comes home, having forgotten something when he left for work, and in doing so saves Dyns’s life. His throat torn apart by the knife in his mothers hand.
In the ICU there were doubts that the boy would make it, but he pulled through. Determined. He asked why his mother hated him. And was told that she didn’t. That she was trapped in a dream and didn’t understand what she’d done. That she was going to get help. That she loved him very much. And he believed it.
His father spiraled downward quickly. With Dyns’s mother in a mental hospital for her safety and the safety of others while she is diagnosed and treated the man found himself suddenly an only father. Mad at himself, at the woman he loved, at the silent child he could project blame onto.
Dyns took to coloring. Learning how first crayons than pencils and eventually a box of paints his mother had bought once and forgotten worked. Thought of the art he’d seen outside on the walls of buildings. The nameless artists who no one ever questioned because no one could find them. He liked to think that one day he could be an artist like that. Hidden and quiet and mysterious. Able to scream through spray paint and defiance.
While Dyns sought solace in art his father sought it at the bottom of a bottle.
All the misplaced blame. The anger. The sorrow. In the man there was no where for it to go. He allowed himself no outlets. Not until he was too sloshed to stop himself. The first time he struck Dyns was a shock to them both. It would soon enough become commonplace. Dyns was an easy target. No way to alert anyone. Too certain that his mother would come home and fix it to risk being taken away. He was easy to isolate him. Easy to pretend nothing had happened. Easy to drink more and try to forget, new instances stacking on top of the old ones before one set of bruises even had time to heal.
Dyns’s father was increasingly out of money as he tried to keep Dyns in a private school while paying for medical bills and hospital stays and all the normal bills that come with being an adult and the alcohol. Eventually, he believed the only choice was to pull Dyns from his school and send him to public.
It was not a choice that the boy found ideal.
At the private school everyone Signed. Everyone understood him. He had friends and teachers who believed he was capable. The public school was not the same. No one understood him. The children mistook his silence for either disinterest or deafness. He was upset and frustrated by the time they tried to assign him an interpreter. The boy refused the service. Refused to speak with the man who was only trying to help. He wanted his Mom back. He wanted his old life.
Dyns was certain he’d get it. Eventually. His mother would get better. She’d wake up from her dream. She’d come home. He’d go back to his old school. His father wouldn’t be angry anymore. It would all go back to how it was supposed to be. If he could just be patient.
The scars on his neck were determinant reminders of the day that his life was upended. The bruises on his arms and torso temporary claims that it was his fault. He covered the bruises with a hoodie. His favorite one. Grey and bright blue- Cyan he insisted. Covered the scars with a ribbon from his mother's art supplies. Worn every day around his neck, the ribbon faded quickly. If he was patient, he continued to tell himself, then someday he wouldn’t have to hide anything. It would all be ok. Eventually.
candy wickerman is the personification of trick or treat. She’s the lead singer of the internationally famous “Lovers Grim”. she is not human, made from 100% sugar and born from magic.
aesthetic: candy, pink, daddy’s little girl, murderous cutie
