eric

@hiver.bsky.social

366 Followers 163 Following

they/them, creature NSFW “photographic artist” but mostly I post drawings windowsloth on most other platforms

Screenshot of some blender models overlayed over a sketch of the first page
IMPERFECT SCIENCE, Page 25, END. We return to the overhead shot of Maris on the hospital bed, almost identical to when we first saw her wake up, but this time we’ve pulled back even further and we can see a tank where a corpse floats, disemboweled and festooned with more tubes and cables; it was just barely out frame in the scene we saw earlier. This is Maris Keigh. “I’m glad you remember my name. For whatever it’s worth. I always thought you were the best pilot we ever had, Maris. I still do.” Amira is looking up at Maris in the tank. The eyes of the body on the table below her are blank and lifeless. “Always will.”
IMPERFECT SCIENCE, Page 23: “And why stop there? Maris was the proof of concept. If was was left of her could be implanted with some success, maybe what was left could be improved.” An overhead view of corpses being zipped into bodybags by Amira’s gloved hands, the black void slowly obscuring their faces. “Using her as the scaffolding… Maris isn’t the only valuable asset who has come back in pieces, and she showed that there’s value in spare parts. I’d call it an imperfect science, but that would be too generous. It’s impossible to predict what kind of conflicts you’ll end up with when you pour that much overlapping information into one brain.”
IMPERFECT SCIENCE, Page 21: “Usually? Amira what–” Maris is panicked now, blood is starting to run from one of her eyes. “You’re not Maris Keigh,” Amira cuts her off sharply. “You’re not Maris.” We don’t see her eyes as she continues, “They recovered enough of Maris Keigh to get away with not flagging her as officially K.I.A. but that’s a technicality at best.” We Maris mangled and bloody on the hospital bed, cropped so that we can’t see her face. We see her again in street clothes with someone’s arm around her, just enough of her face visible that we can see she doesn’t have a scar. “See, training new pilots is a logistical bottleneck. A good human pilot is always a valuable asset, but how do you find good pilots? Separating the wheat from the chafe isn’t easy. It takes time.” Below this, a close-up of Maris eye with the dilated pupil, tears streaming down her face. Above the eye floats another version of her, like the one that was being lifted out of the Hippolita’s bosom, the black of her pupil clinging and trailing like the cables that joined her to the mech. “And that’s just for good pilots–the actuaries and their algorithms ran the numbers and the odds of finding someone to replace Maris are near zero.”
IMPERFECT SCIENCE, Page 20: “What do you mean?” Asks Maris, brightly, “of course I remember your name. We grew up together, on…” She falters a little, “on…” On the left side of the page is the view of the field again, but now we’re much closer to the figure and we can see it’s Amira, standing between us and the sun that’s slowly sinking toward the horizon, her head turned towards us just enough that we can see a hint of her circular glasses. “You were my… my first… Mine…” Maris continues unsteadily, “Amira–” The figure standing in the field turns to face us and now she’s silhouetted, blocking the sun completely, only her glasses shining white against the void of her face. All around her the flowers are blooming, their centers all pitch black. “--what’s happening to me??” Maris asks frantically, and we see a close-up of her eyes, tears welling at their corners, one pupil huge and blown and black, the other a pinprick. We see Amira standing in her stained apron holding something in her hands as she turns toward Maris, mirroring the pose of her apparition among the flowers. “You know, it’s so rare for you to actually ask that question,” Amira says instead of answering directly, “You’re just usually so confident. As you should be… We do try to control for that.”
IMPERFECT SCIENCE, Page 18: Another black page, but no panel this time, just a speech bubble at the bottom: “--would be reckless and unwise! It’s only been a few days since–”
IMPERFECT SCIENCE, Page 17: Another spread, this it’s another overhead shot of rocky terrain, except this time we see pieces of the lanky enemy mechs strewn all across the ground with the Hippolita lying among them, smoldering and in pieces, its limbs damaged and fluid leaking out from damage in its abdomen. All over the page are speech bubbles: “Name?” “Maris Keigh.” “Name?” “Maris Keigh.” “Name?” “Maris Keigh” “Name?”
IMPERFECT SCIENCE, page 15: “Name?” “Maris Keigh.” This page is divided into two columns. On the right, we see Maris and the tech in a two-shot and we slowly push in until the frame is just their faces. “Did you ever want to be a pilot?” Maris asks. “Oh no, never even tried,” answers the tech. “Really?” Maris is incredulous. “No joyrides? Not even something analog–a sim?” “Really. I don’t have the skillset. Don’t fit the profile.” “I don;t now, I think that you definitely have–ah,” Maris blushes, the tech is standing quite close and we can’t quite see what she is doing with her hands out of frame, “the dexterity…” “Well, autonomic responses seem normal,” says the tech calmly. “Sorry, can’t help it. Not my fault you’re… good with your hands.” The left hand column is chaotic and gory. An arm being torn from its socket. Lips being violently pulled away from clenched teeth. Explosions, or holes being punched into a fleshy substance. Coiled entrails and organs, leaking blood out of the panel.
IMPERFECT SCIENCE, Page 14: A two-page spread, technically! Two speech bubbles, again: “Name?” “Maris Keigh.” We see two separate panels (on opposite sides of the spread) of Maris and the tech as they banter back and forth a little. “So, got anyone keeping you company here on base?” Maris asks. “...that’s classified,” comes the reply from the tech. “Aww, don’t be like that, I can keep a secret!” “I’m not being like anything”, says the tech, “it is classified.” “Well, I guess that just means I have plausible deniability, don’t I?” Behind them, we see images of the Hippolita repeated over and over in a kind of grid. Each row is like a film strip, or a zoetrope, we see the mech running, twisting, leaping, each time being blown to pieces partway through the action. Below, at the bottom of the page and looming into the foreground, we see the Hippolita lying on its back, chest opened up to extract the pilot. We see other technicians silhouetted on catwalks and on a crane up above as Maris is floating out of the open hole in the Hippolita’s chest as if she’s still suspended in fluid, cables and wires trailing below her.
IMPERFECT SCIENCE, Page 13: Another black page, just like the title page, except the panel showing the field of flowers is a little bigger now, and there’s a figure standing in the middle distance facing away from us. Below that are two speech bubbles: “Name?” “Maris Keigh.”
IMPERFECT SCIENCE, Page 11: “...And that wraps up the usual sensation and reflex response tests,” the tech says as we fade back in. “Hey what’s the actual protocol?” asks Maris, “I mean, I’ve never been flagged for anything, have I? So how does it actually work? Everyone’s heard the rumors.” “Do you throw me out, just like that, if I have a symptom or whatever? Is that it for me? Just zzzzt–liquidated?” She playfully draws a line across her throat with a thumb and sticks out her tongue. “Depends on the symptom,” the tech deadpans, before smiling a little and continuing, “But don’t worry, it’s not like I’d get rid of you that easily.” “Oh really, am I just too valuable of an asset? Or would you miss me too much?” Maris teases, turning to watch the tech as she works. “Mmm, I think I’ll let you figure that one out for yourself.”
IMPERFECT SCIENCE, Page 9: “Even all fucked up like this, I’m still the best pilot you’ve ever had,” the pilot says, smugly. “Mmmm, no comment,” the technician replies, nonplussed. “I’m just here for the debrief, and to check your baseline levels. Make sure everything is within tolerances. You know the drill, right?” The tech asks, raising the pilot’s bed so that she’s sitting up slightly. “It’s me, MARIS KEIGH! Ace pilot, special strike unit HIPPOLITA, deadliest motherf–” The pilot enthusiastically begins, before being immediately cut short. “So, clearly you do not know the drill.” The tech says, dryly, “I need you to wait until I prompt you with a question, same as always.” “Sooooorrrrryyyy, doc.”
IMPERFECT SCIENCE, Page 7: A few small black panels that that grow in size and slowly resolve into a point-of-view shot of an eye blearily opening to see someone leaning down from above. It’s a woman with dark hair and large round glasses. She is smiling, and her face is framed by hanging wires and cables. “Oh good,” She says, “You’re coming back on line.”
IMPERFECT SCIENCE, Page 6/the Title page! The title appears! The page is mostly black, the word IMPERFECT is at the top repeated several times in type that gets increasingly less blurry and noisy towards the center of the page, with the word SCIENCE repeated in the same fashion below that. In the middle of the page is a small panel showing a field covered in budding flowers with the sun shining overhead.
IMPERFECT SCIENCE, Page 4: A series of panels are scattered across the top of the page, chaotic at first but gradually becoming more organized. We see the Hippolita’s pilot coughing up blood, disoriented, and finally gritting her teeth in determination. “We just picked up some heavy plasma discharge,” A voice asks over comms, “everything okay?” “It was a trap. A stupid one, too.” The pilot replies, and we see an insert shot of something clicking into place in Hippolita’s hand. “I’ll be fine,” she continues, “Just gotta clean up after myself.” We pull back to a wide shot and see the arm that was holding the enemy mech arm is smoldering, the armor plating shorn away in the blast, smoke billowing everywhere. A large battle axe is gripped in its other fist, and the mech crouches in anticipation. “Might need a ride home, though.”
IMPERFECT SCIENCE, Page 1: An overhead shot of a crater with a building perched on its edge. There is some smoking wreckage on the opposite side of the crater and several figures stand in the center. The following panel is a slightly zoomed-in version of the same scene except viewed through a thermal camera or something similar: the figures in the crater are lit up white against the dark ground. A wide shot establishes them as a group of lean, dark colored mechs. Several of them seem to be assembling some sort of canon, another is crouched, and another stands and looks into the distance. “All units, in position. We have visual on the research outpost.” “Sir!” One of the mechs interjects, addressing the one standing above them, “Got something on the sensors, it’s approaching fast!” A two-shot of the two mechs, as the leader asks, “Another patrol?” “Negative, just one signature–”
A page from Imperfect Science: Overhead shot of Maris lying on a hospital bed of some kind, surrounded by monitors and tubes and cables. There is blood on face and splattered across the table. “Easy now,” says the technician, “you’re a little worse for wear this time.” “Ha, worse for wear…” Maris replies…
the cover of IMPERFECT SCIENCE, a mechsploitation-inspired comic I wrote/drew. It features mech pilot Maris Keigh sitting at the center of the frame holding her piloting headset. Behind her stands the technician, looking at her handheld tablet and resting her free hand in Maris’ shoulder. In the background Maris’ mech, the Hippolita, looms. Wires and flowering plants weave around the edges of the frame.
the first page of IMPERFECT SCIENCE, my mechsploitation comic, without text in the speech bubbles. It shows several mechs in a crater, setting up some kind of mounted weapon
Sketchy drawing of a woman in the cockpit of a mech, sitting with upright posture
a couple drifting in the wind
photo of an empty lot in Brooklyn; golden sunlight is illuminating some plants in the foreground but the shadows and fencing leave a large swath of the bottom-right corner of the image in shadow, with only a few tendrils of plant reaching up into the light.
drawing of sadako, hanako, and tae wol (in wolf form) from Sal Jiang's wicked spot
termite, of steel jaws fame
page from Hand Jumper: Ryujin is thinking about Sayeon and the narration says “I feel like… just being around her… turns me into a bad person…”
the page from Bloom Into You where Sayaka says “do you love Touko? I love her.” to Yuu
farah reyes from of the devil, sitting with her legs crossed while on her phone, looking up as if she's been interrupted
photo of a big ol hunk of glass in the rear tire of my bike
WIP line art from my upcoming mechsploitation/lesbian mech pilot comic, imperfect science…. Pre-order now (there’s nothing to preorder I’m just gonna post for free but like. Pre-order it in spirit yk)
sketchy black and white drawing of a woman with ball-jointed limbs. She’s wearing trousers of some kind with a t-shirt tucked into them that says “VILE” on it. There’s a carabiner with some keys and a little character charm clipped to a belt loop. Her left hand is in her pocket, but her right hand is at her side, and she clenches her fist as the platting on her forearm unfolds in a few segments as if venting something. She has shoulder-length hair with straight bangs and no eyebrows.
screenshot of some tumblr tags: the epic battle that my dog was picturing when he spied a fatt ass [sic] oppousm on our walk this morning”
photo of me holding a drill while looking at an open panel on the side of the machine
An excerpt from Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir: “No, I won’t,” said Stratt. The bailiff walked toward. “Ma’am. I’ll have to restrain you if you don’t comply.” “You and what army?” Stratt asked. Five armed men in military fatigues entered the courtroom and took up station around her. “Because I have the U.S. Army,” she said, “Ans that’s a damn fine army.”