#Running out of steam I think

[ochiody]

TELEMACHUS PIPEBOMB!!!

@hymnoeides @opheliaveu @solchariot @awnrii

[bloobydabloob]

My little awfully made guys. I think they’re endearingly bad looking

[spearxwind]

Some more dragons!! These are for @felix-the-snow-cheetah, @excaive, @triruntu and @queer-leaflet respectively!! :D

[jymic]

My favorite joes

[raticalshoez]

i'm having hyperfixation drought so i did what i did best and created a crossover episode

[manasurge]

Just a bit of lore relevant vent art (with terrible proportions bc apparently I mess that up horribly when I'm tired ugh. Watch me regret posting this tomorrow. The head size is already driving me mad bc it's too big, and I can feel myself wanting to abort this mission already) of Mourynn just, lying down on top of one of those large elevated Pale Tree roots far above the Grove (and far away from everyone else), and during the time between the early years and before the Personal story. Caithe is gone (Destiny's Edge), Wynne is gone (bc well, y'know...), even Faolain is gone (bc of Caithe in DE), and she's just feeling miserable, lost, and alone. (Her hair is in between her sapling hair and the Zhaitan hair, so it's grown out a bit bc she's depressed, and she's meant to be in the new outfit she designed, but I'm in the process of redesigning it a bit, so I've made a few tentative changes for now. Her collar is now just an extension of her clavicle leaves which can be put up like a collar, or can be draped down over her shoulders or back)

[milkbreadtoast]

some doodles for maid day.... i wanted to draw a more interesting pose but oh well ndbfnd take this for now... sorry yeseo..... 🫶🤎🏃🏻💨

[blackmarquer]

I’m cooking up a comic based on @jellfishjellfish fic Derelection. Check it out on Ao3. Warning. It’s so good you might break into tears.

This story is so heart wrenching, heart breaking,and heart warming; I can’t recommend it enough.

[mo-ok]

🦁 Lion 🦁

maybe one day i'll get around to shading them lmao

[justalittlebluetiefling]

Sometimes I try to write down thoughts about this campaign but I admittedly have not been paying enough attention to feel confident in my character analysis so I write an incoherent text post and then delete it because I don't know if I'm actually making the correct judgments.

[mikimeiko]

Fringe | Season 4 (2011-12), J.J. Abrams, Alex Kurtzman and Roberto Orci

[bennybottlepop]

Something I started back in March!

I plan on making tiney cultists to go inside at some point!

[coriander-candlesticks]

Sometimes your Mental Illness™ is kicking your ass and all you can do is offer the first hot, non-leftover meal you managed to prep in the day at 10:30 pm to Apollo & ask for help getting to *and* getting through your appointment tomorrow and that's okay

[reduxable]

Posting these before i forgetttt

[kastillia]

You won't get away...

[mercysought]

Like a sunrise that comes upon the earth too soon, too quickly, all animals before him cast a sharp shadow.

They scurry and disappear into the nearest alcoves, moving away from the sharp glare of the force that enters the main, splendid temple to the All-Mother within the beating heart of Arlathan. His steps are silent for he does not walk; the walls bend outward, like vines crawling up to the skies, returning to their shape only when he walked beyond and the light that poured from him deemed.

He walked this land which he had moulded, moved into the temple like a tidal wave of ash and lava, burning and all-consuming. Strong to petrify on proximity. Warm enough to melt skin from bones. The flesh was weak but easily sown back together. The doors to the main chamber open because they have no other choice: he is the Lord of all Halls, each atom of this place knew him for he had hand-selected them.

Elgar'nan, the All-Consuming Sun, entered as a burning figure of eternal thunder and eyes as dark as the Abyss. Before him three high priests of Mythal are in the All-Mother's presence; He cannot see them but her? She was the single, shark, dark line that remained still, unmovable against his wrath.

   “Begone."

The flesh within them itself speaks; it rings and they are shaken into action. His words call to action and they answer for there is no other option offered. Their eyes do not move to the All Mother when they start descending the steps of Her Seat of Judgement.

   “The All-Father forgets Himself." from the shadow a shape forms, thin silver threads that soften the blinding light.

Mythal's voice is fresh air that cracks a freshly formed and burnt pot and when she turns to them, her priests, her generals, her children it akin to looking upon a fresh spring of water that they could find relief from the beating sun "You have your orders. I will call upon you once my audience with the All-Father is finished."

Moonlit eyes follow her Faithful out, only then does her attention finally fall upon the figure of the All-Father. Woven into flesh with hair as light as an early Winter Morning. The weight of the word upon his brows and grimace as he followed her figure, still atop the stairs.

Mythal, hand touching the arm of her Seat, sits “Since when do you dismiss my faithful, ma'vun (my sun)?"

   “Ever since you have made it clear that you will not do it before I reach these chambers."

He speaks with the same calm tone though no less pointed. No less accusing. Covered in red robes with glittering beads, even in the dim silver light he beams in gold. He stands at the bottom of the stairs, staring up to Mythal, but it is him who towers all that is in Elvhenan.

   “Solas." he continues, not waiting for her. Walking up the steps, the pearlescent stone beneath his feet glows into a feverish pitch with each step "My tolerance for his mischief is wearing dangerously thin. Remind him to mess not with affairs which do not concern you, Mythal."

He reaches the top, standing before her; the light that poured from the walls and ceiling no longer reached his face. The man that stood before her was a shadow, one whose all that it consumed was spilt from the bright, angry, irises.

   “Tighten the leash on your hound, lest I find the whip first."

The hiss crackles against the walls; welcomed by the soft dripping of running water in the distance. Mythal remains as she had been: akin to a statue of warm, rich, deep marble. She looks up, into the burning embers of his eyes.

She is unmoved.

   “I would take great care, my beloved heart," she finally speaks, somewhere in the temple the waters seem to pull from their ponds, their glasses, their fountain. In the deadly silence, there is only the warning in the breeze of something yet to come "with the demands and tone, you employ with me."

Blinking, she rises from her feet, walking past him without glancing. Behind her the lights slowly dim “Wolves cannot be leashed, Elgar'nan. The notion is ridiculous."

He leans until his back is straightened, allowing her to turn his back on her and hearing her feet touch upon the stone despite no sound truly being allowed to pass. Around them there is a growing maelstrom and like with all things before, now and in the future: they both stood in the eye of the storm.

His expression falling for a moment, replaced by another: one of grim entertainment. Akin to blinking and sinking the world anew through a new lense, a new light. It wasn't that she didn't wish to control her pet wolf —

   “You cannot control him." she speaks and it is filled with wicked, crackling, ill-contained mirth.

The laugh that pours from the mouth of the beast is a terrible thing. It cracks the world open like an orange, eating at its spilling juice and sinking teeth into flesh with glee.

   “Mythal, the All-Mother!" he laughs, a jackal at his mouth, turning to look down at her in front of her own throne "For all Her grandstanding and hatred of cruelty of her fellow Evanuris, She too unleashes her monsters and horrors upon the People." one step is taken down once the laughter dies, despite their echoes being etched into the very walls around them. He smiles, he smiles an impossibly large smile, a hungry smile.

A content smile, a familiar smile of seeing an old friend, an old, hungry, reckless love "How refreshing it is, to see your true face again."

She looks to him, face drawn as the sharp rocks that wrap themselves like a crown around the lands in the East. In the distance a loud thundering sound comes, like galloping horses.

   "I afford you what I do not anyone else:" he speaks, taking one last step to be at the same level as his wife. One hand grabs and covers hers. They are impossibly warm, like being wrapped by melting rock itself; her hand recoils under it "a warning."

   "Control your pets, ma'lea'vune (my moonlight), keep them entertained, or I will make sure they are disciplined accordingly."