#kiir-do-faal-rahhe

[ego-osbourne]

The Brothel Joke

I don’t think I’ve drawn a more pathetic-looking Ego. Like I feel bad just looking at them

When I showed the cult server this it turned into a downride spiral of misreads and new situations so… thank you to @kiir-do-faal-rahhe and @lilarus for this next one

Miraak launches a bowl at Ego’s head and they die

Hoped you enjoyed the late-night shenanigans

Also the first image was based off of this post

Thank you to @liches-covered-in-lich for sending it to me and tagging Ego :]

[tallysingatsby]

A piece I did for a trade with @kiir-do-faal-rahhe, it’s Odette!!

[comradeacerbus]

@kiir-do-faal-rahhe I am not responsible for this

[fandom-ash]

Drew @kiir-do-faal-rahhe ‘s TES OC, Odette!!!!! She was so pretty I couldn’t stop myself I want to marry her

(What did Miraak say to get this reaction?)

[aureli-us]

wip wednesday!

it is definitely still wednesday. it is not friday. tagged by my beloved @kiir-do-faal-rahhe and i'll tag @elventhief @nusaran @nuwanders @hircines-hunter and anyone who wants to do it!! ((you can wait til next wednesday if you want LMFAO))

this blurb is from a tiny oneshot in the atmora au, so enjoy long haired, 6'4" tharya😎

"Her hair is braided," Dukaan mused as the pair spun through his line of sight again.

"Is it his?"

"I think so." He recognized Miraak's handiwork because he himself had worn it once or twice. The First Mage preferred flatter strands, nothing so loose or tightly portioned as some others but something fashioned to display its natural beauty. Her braid started low, or at least it appeared to, but sheaves of hair at the back of her head were layered so minutely and so loosely it was impossible to see. And it glittered. The braid itself was a five-strand, quite impressive for a woman Dukaan and Zahkriisos had not met nor heard Miraak speak of before tonight. There were smaller braids barely the width of Dukaan's pinky interwoven as well, creating an altogether new pattern that swayed gently downwards. Small gemstones littered her hair, catching and gleaming in the light, and she wore what looked like blue snowlilies tucked into pieces of the braid. It looked like at least two hours of work.

[bougainvillea-and-saltwater]

WIP definitely not Wednesday!

Hi, hi, hello, it's been a long time since I last did a WIP Whenever, but I wrote a lot today and I'm quite happy with myself! Things have been quite hectic currently, but words are finally word-ing so I'm grasping the chance to share a lil' something about ch22 of TPATD...👀

They lie there in silence, as still as a held breath, for what feels like forever. Miraak could stay beside her this way as long as she wanted him, till the rain ceased, till the sun came out again, or not at all. Or—or he could tell her stories from his childhood, those long nights in Atmora before the frost set in. He could tell her about roaming through Frostwood Forest, guided only by the moonlight that carved a ghostly path ahead of him; with shadows, both eerie and fantastic, lurking behind the dense cypresses and spruces that inspired him to spin epic sagas in his head and sing the fear away. He could recount how he found his shelter upon the snow, just as he does now with her, gazing up at the sky and counting the stars, always searching for the Lodestar that’d guide him home. He could describe how his own father sent him to hunt for the family in that unforgiving wilderness, ignoring—or perhaps choosing to ignore—that a boy greener than summer’s grass would likely fall prey to nature’s violence and never find his way back to Jylkurfyk. Tonight, he’d tell her anything. For her, he would at least try; no matter how it hurts—how it hurts to remember. But Jia rises to her feet, wrapping her arms around herself for warmth. The rain and snow have soaked her through her garments, and wet strands of red hair cling to her forehead and cheeks like open wounds. After a little while, Miraak stands up with her. The relentless thunderstorm doesn’t spare him either, but it does little to physically affect him, as the First Dragonborn’s skin is more than resilient to it—it’s made by it. He’s unsure, when he unfastens his cloak and approaches her from behind until he stands tall above her shoulders, for the way she shrinks, jostling her head to the side to check the soft crunch of the sleet underfoot, is the blatant tell of her lingering turmoil. One small step more, and he freezes—her cold body trembles against his chest, yet she doesn’t otherwise pull away. Instead, she remains there, quietly seeking any warmth she can find and shivering helplessly. The little fool is too proud to ask for it aloud. As if a confirmation to his doubts, his arms instantly enfold around her, pulling her close as his cloak cascades over her, and he holds her there, his hands balled into fists upon her bosom. A shaky sigh escapes her when she senses his faint silvery stubble grazing her damp cheekbone, his voice murmuring in her ear—deep and rhythmic as always, like the chime of ancient church bells, so much so that when they sound, it feels like she converses with a God. “This... is no mere storm,” he tells her like he could divine the scrolls of the heavens right this very minute. “This is a growing rage that has been building up for a long, long time, and it had to be unleashed all within an hour. These clouds—racing wild across the sky and pouring out of their bellies all this rainstorm—are but rags torn by the hand of a wrathful god.” Her resolve begins to falter, the cracks in her armor showing. His gaze shifts to her, and he speaks in the language of their souls: “You have been brave tonight, soul of my soul. But you need to pretend no more... Not with me.”

Poor Jiraak... They truly live up to their "Soggy Kittens™" name with all this thunderstorm drenching them both... It's okay though, it's hot.

Okay, so, I'm tagging: @kiir-do-faal-rahhe, @thequeenofthewinter,

@miraakulous-cloud-district, @oblivions-dawn,

@blossom-adventures, @hircines-hunter and everyone who wishes to share something—don't forget to tag me back so I can see it! 💖 No pressure of course!

[illumiera]

WIP Wednesday

I've at last started work on the final draft of chapter eight of i fear no fate (for you are my fate) or as I like to call it, i fear no eight, so I thought I'd post a little WIP Wednesday progress update! ✨

Perhaps it’s soul-knowledge, or perhaps it’s simple deductive reasoning, but either way, Elentari knows precisely where and when she is the very instant the dream unfolds around her. Merethic Era Atmora is—it should be beyond unfamiliar to her. It’s colder than even the windswept shores of the Northern Coast and a thousand times more alive than any of the quill-and-ink illustrations in the Arcanaeum’s history books, and yet, there’s a part of her soul—a part of the soul-within-her-soul—that knows it as surely as she once knew Daggerfall’s cobbled streets. She’s facing a nearby lake ringed with sky-grazing conifers and thawing with the beginnings of pale spring, but when she turns, she’s met with what she supposes must be a village. The houses and halls are all thatch-roofed and wooden-walled and adorned with great gables carved to resemble the heads of horses and wolves and bears, and the few people—people!—she can see going about their lives are dressed from top to toe in rich embroidery and plush furs. But none of them are the dreamer of this dream. Elentari draws her own furs tighter around herself—a strange twist of reality, that, considering her physical self, more than four thousand years away, is clad in nothing but a nightgown—and lets herself be led both by her own feet and the deep sense of soul-knowledge that comes from far beyond her. Her destination, when she finds it, would be hard to miss, and it’s not just because of the tug behind her ribs guiding her there. It’s because the little house with the hawk-head gables near the outskirts of the village would be totally unremarkable were it not for all the ravens. By her reckoning, there’s at least a dozen of them, each one perching on the roof or on the ledge of the home’s single window or circling overhead with wide-spread black wings in the cold, and despite their sheer number, they’re all as silent as a held breath. The nearer she gets to the door and whatever waits behind it, the more she feels the weight of their bright, clever eyes, as though they already know exactly who she is and for whom she has come. As always, Elentari pushes open the door.

tagging @bougainvillea-and-saltwater, @bostoniangirl21, @dracolichbitch, @miraakulous-cloud-district, @kiir-do-faal-rahhe, @aethersflames and @titanwolfackerman — no pressure! 💖

[miraakulous-cloud-district]

No way, am I actually posting a WIP?!

My dears, so much is happening, and as always, when I am entirely too busy for anything, inspiration hits. I still have very complicated feelings about my writing, but progress is progress and I've been tagged by @illumiera for a wip wednesday.

I am very conflicted about ch. 17 of WYGTYA because it's just so sad, angsty, and the subject is something that I relate to very much, and I feel my readers might do the same, so I really want to do it justice. For now, I'll post a scene form ch. 3 of HOTHS. I'm cooking up something about the Akaviri swordsman because he is joining the crew now! I'm gonna tag @bougainvillea-and-saltwater @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @dirty-bosmer @bostoniangirl21 @pitiable-arisen only if you want to, of course!

~

“It is a one time thing. You have to trust me on this one.” The Altmer shouts.

“Trust, huh? To think that I still have some to spare…” Signe sighs. She gives Rhaim a firm, but apologetic look and turns towards the Akaviri brothers. “Lead them all to the big ship.” She says, and now raises her voice a little louder. “Whoever is able to fight and wants to bring these motherfuckers to their doom is more than welcome. We need to hold them off until the big ship leaves dock, and fight our way through the frigate.” 

“I’ll fight with you.” Renjiro says with a determined look under his furrowed brows.

“What?!” Both Signe and his brother speak at the same time.

“You need me. They all do. I want to do this.” Those determined eyes now turn to pleading.

“I don’t -”

“There’s more to me than meets the eye. Trust me.”

Signe sighs, rolling the word trust in her mind until she’s seen all its faces and meanings.

“I don’t want to put a kid in danger.”

“I’m not a kid. I’m nineteen!”

“Your name ends with ‘teen’!”

Renjiro grunts, then takes a step closer to Signe. “I’m the greatest Akaviri swordsman. With these swords, I killed a God. I think I’ll manage some pointy-eared assholes in fancy robes.”

Signe doesn’t know quite what to say to that, but the intrigue makes its presence known. He barely whispered it like it’s a secret that he’s laying right at her feet. She looks into his deep obsidian eyes and yeah, there’s a young, ambitious kid staring back, but there’s also something more.

“Alright. Say goodbye to your brother. We might not go back home for a while after this, if we survive.” 

The young man gives her the most brilliant grin and turns to his brother, saying something to him in a language that Signe does not understand. His brother swiftly brings their foreheads together and says something back, looking more proud than concerned. ‘Good,’ Signe thinks, and then, with no warning, the young Akaviri unsheathes his swords and sprints to the approaching Thalmor. So many that they were forming a sea of soldiers, the sand barely visible under their robes.

“I like the kid. Think he’ll fit in just fine.” Rhaim winks at Signe before transforming into a werewolf and charging towards the Thalmor.

~

Initially, he was supposed to appear only in a couple of chapters, but I love him so much that I had to add him to the crew! Still not sure if I will go with the 'I killed a god' storyline, but I like it so far, so probably it will stay!

[vokriid]

it's still WIP Wednesday!

tagged by the lovely @kiir-do-faal-rahhe. you said any kind of wip, so here's what I'm making in the creation kit: I'm (still) converting Blackreach into a more livable place for my snelf ocs, by making the entire worldspace prettier and by adding living spaces.

first, Blackreach gets more vegetation. a lot more.

making Blackreach city an actual city! with apartment buildings! I've only started the interiors of two apartments though.

also adding a one-room suite to the Hall of Debate for convenience.

I had to add an accessibility ramp for Serana because her pathfinding ai was having some difficulty lol

yeah, I may be going overboard with this mod a bit. alas!

I won't tag anyone because it's already so late and I missed most of the day, but ty again jules! 😊😊😊

[throughtrialbyfire]

𝐢𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐖𝐈𝐏 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 ♥

you already know what time it is!!

thank you to the lovely and incredibly talented @skyrim-forever @your-talos-is-problematic @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @mareenavee @thequeenofthewinter and @dirty-bosmer for the tags this week!! i've been having an amazing time reading/looking at all your wips, and i know i say it always but i can't wait to see how your works turn out, whether writing or art!! wednesday has easily become my favorite day of the week bc of this community <3

i'm passing the tag to @umbracirrus @wispstalk @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @orfeoarte @caliblorn @thana-topsy @totally-not-deacon @aphocryphas @gilgamish and YOU! if you wanna hop in, tag me back, and no pressure as always!!

this week i've got a bit of a treat: i'm working on some art! it's one that's really pushing me out of my comfort zone in terms of pose, expression, and perspective, and i'm extremely excited to finish it and show what i've been up to! featuring the beloved Cicero, of course

aaaaaaaand since i posted chapter 14 of Cycle of the Serpent this past weekend, i'm gonna give you guys a long snippet of chapter 23. >:3c emeros is asking for the group's imperial pardon from general tullius, and it comes with a catch. fair warning, the snippet is LONG bc i am incapable of being normal about this fic. are you ready, because i sure fucking am

Emeros stifled a scoff. Athenath did not. Instead, the Altmer made a step forward, the Bosmer eyeing him with a quirked brow. The bard said, "we helped Hadvar, he said he'd help us out if we needed it." "Precisely." Emeros leveled. "In fact, he said that should we wish to acquire an Imperial pardon, to come directly to you, General Tullius." He lowered his brow. The General waited, shifting from foot to foot as he considered this, before waving an enormous hand and resting it again on the table, facing the map sprawled before him. Wooden pegs painted in red and blues littered various points, stuck in deep with metal ends. The light landed along the metal gleam of his armor, golden color running rotten in the days glare. "You know, not many survived that place. If you could give us a hand, Legate Rikke-" he motioned to the woman beside him, stray hairs catching the light, "-could have some use for you. Besides, I'm sure your being imprisoned was all a big misunderstanding." Wyndrelis cleared his throat and looked up at the Bosmer, already making a slow, calculated stride to the General, his teeth grit together. With a deep inhale, he spoke, ignoring the light twitch of his under eye, the pittering in his chest. "General, I do not wish to waste your time, nor do I believe mine is of any less value," he began, "however, my compatriots and I have come a long way to be here. Not to mention, the scene we witnessed in your town square-" "Roggvir, the traitor," Tullius scoffed, shaking his head, disbelief clearly running courses through him, "he opened the gate for Ulfric Stormcloak after he murdered High King Torygg-" "And started this bloody Civil War proper, yes, I'm well aware of the stories, sir." Emeros interrupted in a bored drone, his wrist making idle motions. General Tullius craned his neck to peer back at Emeros, one wrinkled brow raised. His face had the character of a man well beyond the usual glory days of a soldier, a war and weather-battered face, with the scarred and sun-roughened arms to match. He was no man to be trifled with in the slightest, and yet (despite the atrocious nerves burdening his every action, the weight of every word weighed heavy on the blade the General carried to cut out sharp-tongues like his) the alchemist bothered not with patience nor obedience here. Instead, the Bosmer lifted his chin, his posture taking all the hallmarks of Aldmeri society, his arms straight at his sides, his spine taut, his eyes skimming the face of the Imperial like a bird to a field mouse among the brush. "We are here for our pardon. Nothing more."

General Tullius turned again to face the Bosmer. "And we're low on men. Our ranks are thin enough as is. If you want your pardon, you'll have to earn it." He made no motion, no step, nothing to indicate intimidation, but the bead of sweat down the back of his neck brandished his demeanor, the stress he was under already. In the shadows, Emeros observed the bruise-dark circles forming under the man's eyes over the past few weeks of sleepless nights, the kind he'd seen on many an Imperial soldier returning to Cyrodiil from the front lines in the Great War. He'd been younger then, thought nothing of the bloodshed. But here? He saw the thirty years aftermath and the absurdity of the Civil War plain and simple.

"Then I believe we are at an impasse." Emeros simply turned on his heel and began the walk down the antechamber, guards unsure whether to apprehend the Bosmer or allow him to step away. General Tullius watched in disbelief, and as the doors parted, gave a great sigh.

"Wait, now."

Emeros stood on the precipice, light filtering in, casting his shadow long behind him. He turned. "Yes, sir?"

"I understand the urgency of your request, elf-"

"Emeros Nightlock."

General Tullius sighed again. "I understand the urgency of your request, mister Nightlock, but I can't grant something like that on a whim. I need to know you're not here to cause trouble. I know your winding up on the Helgen prison cart was probably just a misunderstanding, as well as these…" he gestured vaguely to Athenath and Wyndrelis, who were halfway through the antechamber and to their friends side when he'd turned back at the General's request, "…fine young people. But until I can verify that you've no intentions to make me regret that decision…"

"Ah," Emeros ticked, "a deed for a deed." He shut the doors, and made a solid march back to the war room as though nothing had happened. "Really, General, I would prefer if you had said so in the first place."

General Tullius inhaled deeply through his nose, leveling out whatever turmoil brewed behind his cold exterior. He made a motion to the Nord, Legate Rikke, who watched the trio with bewildered amusement. "You will speak to the Legate here, and do what she asks. Only then, can I grant your pardon."

"Thank you for your time, General Tullius." Emeros approached the Legate with a polite smile, the kind that barely graced his eyes, and spoke again. "What can we do for you, Legate Rikke?"

The Legate, her eyes keenly examining the three before her, barely tamped down the burgeoning smirk on her lips. "You three survived Helgen?" She shifted her light-hued gaze between their faces. Wyndrelis' nervous fidgeting, Athenath's fingers combing through his dark curls, and Emeros' cold expression, his posture high and solid - he silently hoped the shaking palms eluded her. "Not many made it out alive, you know. I've got a good feeling about you three, and I don't often get good feelings about anything. A warrior knows to trust her gut."

"Legate Rikke, I appreciate the sentiment deeply, but I would like to know what it is you're expecting us to… Do, exactly." Emeros watched the Legate as she lifted her brow, internally mulling something over before she spoke up again.

"You know, bravado gets soldiers killed."

"Fascinating. I will note that down for any soldiers I may meet."

"Emeros," Athenath hissed quietly, tugging his arm. The Bosmer seemed to come back to the room around him, as though he had been operating in some sort of pre-determined mode, a Dwemer automata wound up and gaining sentience. For a moment, his eyes flashed cold-sweat panic to the Altmer, then narrowed sternly. He returned his gaze to the Legate.

"Well," Legate Rikke breathed, sliding a palm over the map before her, "I'm sending you to clear out Fort Hraagstad. If you survive, you'll pass. If you die, then I'll have no further use for your corpses."

An icy fear grasped the trio, but Emeros merely cleared his throat and spoke again. "What is the purpose of this assignment?"

"The ancients built many of the fortresses that dot the landscape of Skyrim. Sadly, most have fallen into disrepair. And nearly all have been overrun with bandits or other vagabonds. Fort Hraagstad is one of the few that remains mostly intact. We're going to install a garrison there, but first, you three are going to clean out the bandits that have moved in."

"Mark it on our map, and we'll be off by morning." Emeros made a gesture behind himself, Wyndrelis fumbling with the map he tugged from his pocket, passing it to the Bosmer. He allowed Legate Rikke to make scratches along the surface with a quill, easy lines detailing the best path up to the fort, her face stern as she passed it back over to him.

"Good luck."

[ego-osbourne]

WIP Game

Tagged by the lovely @gergoats-gogurt ty friend :]

I might have to repurpose this one a bit but here’s a wip of a redraw I did sometime a year or two back I forget. When it’s done I’ll link the og :] it’s sanguine being doused in wine

Lemme round up @liches-covered-in-lich @saltymaplesyrup @kiir-do-faal-rahhe and @mellowscrolls . Watcha got?

[mellowscrolls]

WIP WEDNESDAY

some aldercaine outfits! eventually they're all going to get a turnaround, but probably not now lol (and yes, that's her body type lol)

tagging @frogotart @ego-osbourne @metallic-scaled-scarf @bforblitz @kiir-do-faal-rahhe @linda-likes-to-draw and @liches-covered-in-lich, show us what you have!

[linda-likes-to-draw]

🏴‍☠️SHIPS AHOY!🏴‍☠️

Featuring the Salt In The Wound crew!

Velehk Sain, Scuttle and Ego by @ego-osbourne

Rhytma by @inkhajiitswetrust

Kynreeveby @the-troll-of-the-bridge

Heracles by @mellowscrolls

Diana, Luce by @bostoniangirl21

Calamity by @metallic-scaled-scarf

Lorelei by @liches-covered-in-lich

Landlubber, Capsize by @bforblitz

Morale by @kiir-do-faal-rahhe

OK YEETS THIS IN YALL FACES BAIIII

[fandom-ash]

@kiir-do-faal-rahhe

I heard this audio and I couldn’t help myself…. Enjoy 👀

[aureli-us]

wip wednesday

y'all it's ACTUALLY wednesday this time‼️i've been in a job search sludge and not writing anything longform lately, so here is a blurb continuing the atmora au blurb from last week 😎 i was tagged by @hircines-hunter AND @kiir-do-faal-rahhe and i'll leave the tagging open for anyone who wants to!! (aka im tired rn and a bit lazy so no brain worky - tag me if you're inspired to post!!)

They approached only after Miraak spotted the three of them, looking surprised. So...his intentions hadn't been to display the new woman? Dukaan was sure he'd stood in their line of sight to get their attention, but was it possible he simply didn't see them? No. Miraak would never be so uncalculating.

"My brother," he greeted Vahlok warmly, with a hug and a kiss on the cheek customary of older siblings to their younger brood. It was quite comical to see someone as short as Miraak perform that little kiss on someone so obviously taller than him. "Dukaan, Zahkriisos. My father hasn't yet arrived?"

"Not to my knowledge. He may be mingling," Dukaan replied with a shrug. "Do introduce us to the beam of winter sun you keep in your umbra, brother. Let her shine a bit more in our direction." With a chuckle Vahlok gave Miraak's heavy violet robes, decorated with thick silver embroidery and small gems sewn on at random to resemble stars, a small tug, and he stepped aside. The woman looked a bit startled but took his offered hand, glancing between all three of them. She was not meek, even if she was out of place. She looked comfortable if guarded, and let Miraak introduce her, but did not let him be her voice.

[bougainvillea-and-saltwater]

WIP Wednesday! (insert meme: it's been 84 years...)

Hello! I think I've neglected these beautiful WIP tag games as of late, so I took the chance, after being tagged by the lovelies @bostoniangirl21 and @miraakulous-cloud-district (thank you both so much!🧡), to share a bit of CH20 of The Priest and the Dragoness (I'm seriously thinking of changing the title of my fic, so if someone wants to give me their opinion about this Cursed Thought™, I'll gladly take it!). Also, the beloved @miraakulous-cloud-district had the idea of making this WIP combo with a picrew of ocs! I'm so excited to share! 😍

Tonight, in that dream, she does not see the precious faces of her dear mother and father she always recognized even if she never knew them or touched them or kissed them in the waking world, nor does she hear the rough but heartwarming voice of her wise old wolf, Kodlak Whitemane.  She does not dream of Vilkas and Farkas’ affectionate fraternal teasing, the tender motherly sternness of Aela, nor does she blend her youthful voice with Whiterun’s liveliness during the New Life Festival, in its songs, dances, feasts, in Magnus’ slow return to Nirn. She sees neither the darkness, the shackles, the rot of Northwatch Keep, nor even senses Caranthir’s breath chilling the back of her neck.  Sometimes, Jia dreams of herself as a dragon. She falls to her weak, human knees, weeps and screams without voice, only to feel her spine crack lengthwise and then split in half like the shell of an egg, as the acrid stench of seething, ripped-out flesh engulfs her like a firestorm, dominates her from head to toe. And then, she sees her two blood-leaking wings spreading through her shadow, and she takes flight, and she brings debris and death.  But tonight, in that dream, she is not a fire-breathing, blood-raining wyrm. In that dream, she is a bird, a swallow, and behind her soft, feathery wings, she knows a delicate shaft of the warmest, most pristine sunlight dovetails with her close behind, creating technicolor colorings upon her lustrous plumage; and from beneath her small-boned body, she sows springs and summers, meadows and groves, all with a single wingstroke.  In that dream, she flies towards a colossal tree. Though suddenly her flight grows swift, erratic, hopeless, so much as one would wonder how a swallow’s flickering little heart can withstand this kind of fear and despair. For this tree that she hunts with time’s passing, is not for nesting and is barren of verdure or fruit in spite of the spring-bearer’s sight; this is an unearthly shade of dark, black wood, of twisting, writhing branches as if they are coming to life, haunted, rotten to the roots and even beyond those, like—  Like a hanged man’s tree. “Sleep,” Miraak tells her, when she startles awake, in a whisper drawn out of the loveliest lullaby, as though he is, too, tethered between reality and a dream, his caressing fingers blindly running up and down her back. “It was just a dream.” They are never just dreams, the words her brain pushes to speak aloud, but her eyes close again, and she’s plunging into a vision that she may not remember come morning.

Now for the lovely picrew!

OH but of course I would make not only Jia but her Miraak too, what do you mean... 😇

I'm tagging some people with the hope I'm not bothering them, so absolutely no pressure for this! Still, it'd be wonderful to see your creations, whichever they are! 🥰 @blossom-adventures, @sothas, @prettytamagnii, @illumiera, @kiir-do-faal-rahhe, @thequeenofthewinter, @ruskycreations