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Damian sketch page for a friend who really… really likes the guy

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Enjoying indian food more than any else yet having the soap-taste coriander gene is a eros thanatos experience

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more people need to give themselves permission to write and draw pornography

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WIP WEDNESDAY I got tagged by the lovely @sigmaelxgr Thank you for the tag! <3 I really enjoyed reading your work. ^^ ~I am currently setting up two of my ink drawings for aquarell painting, making a base with black tea. One day I might even finish them. :D I will tag: @maxyvert, @elavoria, @yamikuruku, @janonna-art

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WIP Wednesday

tagged by @sulphuricgrin @sigmaelxgr @moriche and @madam-whim!

tagging @snowy-weather @pocket-vvardvark @lambasi @unironicallytes if you want to!

it's getting to be that time of year again where I'm probably going to be pivoting my focus to more irl house things. goals for this year are:

fun!: building a greenhouse :)

less fun, but necessary: building a more suitable workshop & materials storage (not that I don't love my plastic folding table in the driveway, and having to get up on the world's jankiest ladder to store lumber in the hottest, sketchiest attic, but yknow... I have the technology to make some improvements LOL)

but apart from that, I have started on a tes gala piece!

as soon as I saw the theme my brain went "90s high fashion whimsigoth" so that's how we got here. I've always associated asha with mephala and donobhan with namira so I thought doing something with them and incorporating those motifs would be fun :) also here's some inspiration pics for asha's look:

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WIP Wednesday

Hello! I just came back from a beautiful trip so I couldnt respond to the latest tags. Thanks @yansurnummu for your kind support ; this time I have a whole BLOCK of writings to share. I hope it makes justice in english to my version... I'll be tagging @captain-of-silvenar @anne-wild @yansurnummu @lokorum for the next turn. <3 <3 let's get into it (hope you'll like, it's LONG)

v v v

The first vapors summoned the crash of water. It rose in his ears as the fumaroles penetrated his nostrils. When they reached his throat, it took a simple roll of his irises to detect, below the dark stone staircases and craggy rocks, distant moaning gleams. Beyond the thick drizzle generated by swift water fighting ebonite, a black iron plate, engravings, like feverish fireflies seen through damp glass. Above the milky-blue sparse steel, the sound of distant wailing from will-o'-the-wisps. Another breath allowed his pupil to guess more - the dark opaque red of his closed eyelids was etched with increasingly distinguishable images. The bramble-covered blaze on the platform; the crimped skulls beneath the surface; the cloths that embalmed the exhumed corpse - and, finally, perfectly aligned with the scent of the Sanctuary, the smell of clammy slime indistinguishable from putrescine.

He pushed the mutinus incense away from his nose, then exhaled its remaining moribund odor through his mouth. It had time to deposit its bouquet of carrion on his taste buds before finally dying out under the pinch of his fingers, which ruthlessly crushed the stick's border of embers. No normally constituted mortal appreciated the fetid, dripping flavor that some called “Gasp of Bal". The fumes may have been mere gas, but their passage through the bronchi carried with it the deliquescent mucilage of death and drowning. It was a necessity - kept headlong in a bath of odors that flooded both lungs and skull, a healthy mind would soften, gradually anesthetized by the illusion of running out of air. With practice, in the same way as a dream, one could remain lucid in this pestilential half-sleep; concentrated so hard on associating smell with memory, one could summon with sufficient willpower the precise visions of places already visited. Precise visions of spaces where one had already drowned. The precise places where Molag Bal had, in his presence, exhaled his sticky breath.

“Is it your work?” he finally asked. - Mine? No. It's been a decade since I last dipped my hands in the pool below the waterfall. - Who, then? - I don't know…”

Sangre was never helpful when needed. There was nothing to expect from him. Molkhun knew this, but every further attempt to invalidate this assertion and give him a chance proved an inescapable failure to his eyes. It was painful, agreeing with this being who wasn't interested in anything - in anything interesting, to him.

“However, it's possibly Adelstën. - Does the Vampire know how to use his magical meridians? - Not that I know of, but who else? From your brief visions, the garden looked tended to me, he's hardly the only one who knows how I arrange it. - Are you telling me that on his far too much free time, your upyr indulges in the pleasures of landscaping? - Absolutely, murmured tenderly Sangre. - Have you noticed anything else, apart from the way your salads are lined up?”

He pondered as their hands slid a curved metal batten into a bag; his crowbar, faithful colleague to the pickaxe, hammer and chisel. The indispensable equipment of a profaner in search of raw material, little minded to blacken the underside of his short fingernails, which Molkhun kept perfectly filed, with little regard for the arduous decoration work Sangre deployed when he was there.

“Hm, no…” finally replied the latter. But this smell isn't as strong for me, it doesn't remind me of so many things as it does to you. I can pretty well handle it.”

Molkhun hiccupped in disgust before the other continued.

“By the way, are you sure you need to take all this junk with you, back to Shambhala? - I'm planning to make a detour via Eastmarch. - Are you planning to reach Threshold?”

He wrinkled his nose at his excessive curiosity, tied the bag then slung it over his shoulder, over the long, thin, needle-headed shoulder pads that signed his outfit with obvious Telvanni influence. “Are you going to Threshold..?” Sangre repeated with concern, but Molkhun left the cottage without a word, heading for the roads around Molag Amur.

---

Molag Amur was the birthplace of the three of them, in their too-small, too-peopled, too-closeted envelope. An arid, stinking place, if you listened to the middle child, where no greenery blooms and no netch grazes. Hungry, opportunistic beasts in search of prey or corpses, fearsome vertebrate and invertebrate hunters, treacherous and unpredictable land movements. The Houses inhabitants feared this place as much as they despised it. They had shrouded it in myth and mystery, making it the site of the forbidden mating between Vivec, their foolish false god, and their great ancestor Molag Bal, whose name seized the healthiest of these weaklings with bottomless terror. So they had generously reserved this vast space of unholy revelry for the ashlanders, pushing them back again and again to beyond the edge of the brimstone moors. The progeny of the Unthinkable trod these lands; daedra, monsters and scavengers were joined by this tribe of dark elves, indissociable in the memory of the frail house dwellers from the banquet of horrors that took place there. Vengeful, violent, accursed demons and entities striding along the jaws of fire and stone, the maw of the eponymous King of Rape. Magnus never lit the ground here, so dense was the blanket of smoke. The sky was unconditionally dark or grayish. The asphyxiating heat in the air added to that of the earth - there were few places on Vvardenfell that could boast of being as close to the heart of the Red Montain as the disemboweled lands, seething boils and bare lava of these supposedly lifeless plains. The Redoran and Hlaalu of Suran (ignorant of their own culture) thought this would be enough to eradicate the ashlanders they had defeated so far - but the latter, blessed by Boethia's knowledge, resilience and hardiness, made this harsh way of life their pride. Confident in their ancestry, aware of the age-old lessons taught by wise women and the many ashkhans who would succeed one another at the head of their tight-knit group, nothing could triumph over the will of the Erabenimsun - and though few in number, the tribe's warriors would pose a threat to the tranquility of every housemer who strayed, still centuries later, from their towers of clay and stone. Today, Molkhun would make no such mistake, more aware than anyone that it would be enough to leave the greenery of the Azura coast to be spotted by one of their cousins. Dressed up like one of those idiots from the fungi towers, it would only take one gesture too many for his journey to end here.

It didn't displease him to be descended from those so-called bloodthirsty primitives, those demons, those daedra. It was rare that an idea about them didn't inspire visceral contempt, but this one, about sharing their blood, their ancestors, animated a certain… Candor in him. A shy cheerfulness that had to be kept to the point, tidied up, so that no step moved by tenderness strayed from the path marked out. He knew he'd be no match for three armed scouts and didn't have the time to risk it anyway - he had to reach Bal Ur first, while the Vampire was at it.

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Dunmer way of the long death monk. An ashlander that likes a good chat with her ancestors.

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Consider following me on bluesky!

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WIP Wednesday

tagged by @sulphuricgrin! (and a bunch of ppl last week!)

tagging @sigmaelxgr @captain-of-silvenar @pocket-vvardvark @moriche @madam-whim

@snowy-weather @sanzas-reverie @varlaisvea

here's a little piece of the drals/zerith oneshot! it's like 90% of the way done, but wednesday is the last day this week where it won't be pouring rain here so I've been scrambling on a couple irl projects (building a catio! also spring planting) and might not get to finishing it yet haha

this bit isn't explicit or anything, but i'll put it under a cut anyways. it's just a liiittle dirty. they're getting a little handsy after fighting through a delve :)

Zerith-var leaned on the wall next to him, his eyes drawn to his tamiit's exposed throat. His dark hair was damp where stray strands fell against his forehead, his eye shut and lips parted as he caught his breath. Perhaps he was still feeling the rush of adrenaline from combat, but Zerith-var’s gaze raked over his body – his form-fitting armour covered in sand and blood, his warm grey skin shining with sweat – suddenly consumed by desire. He didn’t have to think very long about it before he shifted, crowding Drals with his hands on the wall on either side of him. His one uncovered eye opened, looking up at Zerith-var with first confusion, then recognition. 

“I feel like a bloody mess,” Drals scoffed, though his gaze was dark as he eyed Zerith-var back. 

Zerith-var chuckled at his Dunmeri cadence. He raised his hand and wiped at a series of drying droplets of blood across Drals’ cheek with the palm of his glove. Drals leaned into his hand, and Zerith-var didn’t miss the way the tender touch caused his breath to hitch. He knew that he, himself, had not fared much better, longing for a warm bath whenever they might find their way back to town to fully clean the dirt and viscera from his fur. 

“I think it is safe to say we are both 'bloody messes' after that ordeal,” Zerith-var replied, his tone perhaps a bit huskier than he intended it to be as he shifted closer to his tamiit. 

Drals rolled his eye, a tired hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. His hands found Zerith-var’s waist, drawing him closer until their bodies pressed together. There was a dull clank as the armour covering both their chests met.

Zerith-var leaned in then, burying his nose against his tamiit’s neck and breathing in the scent of him. He smelled of the crypts and combat, of dust and iron, of sweat and the leather of his armour. Zerith-var ran his tongue over warm, damp skin, his desire building as he drank in the salty taste of him. Drals shivered, tilting his head to expose more of his skin, his hands gripping tighter at his waist. Zerith-var hummed, pushing his hand into black and silver hair while grazing his teeth over his flesh, feeling Drals melt against him.

With their hands wandering, Zerith-var recalled the things they were capable of. He marvelled at Drals’ cold, calculating precision with a sword, his command over the arcane. There was a power behind his body, both in his physical form and something deeper and otherworldly. Those hands were capable of great and terrible violence, and now they dug into Zerith-var’s shoulders, small whimpers falling from his lips as sharp teeth nipped at his skin.

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WIP WEDNESDAY .𓋼𓍊 𓆏 𓍊𓋼𓍊.

thank you sm @sigmaelxgr for tagging (and boosting my motivation to draw)!! hope your drawing/writing process is going nicely!!

im currently working on comic page with first yata's appearance. takes a lot of patience this one but it'll be worth it!! (•̀ᴗ•́ )و

would love to see whats @socialprawn @elavoria and @wabart are cooking!! (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

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an effigy of your former self

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fuck it, i'm curious. reblog and tag with the first fictional death to ever rewrite your brain chemistry and/or make you cry like a baby. mine was ares from the underland chronicles (who, for context, was a giant bat.) to this day i will weep if i think too hard about it. okay, go.

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Uncommon Questions for OCs and their creators:

Send me a # (questions for OCs) or a letter (questions for creators) and I’ll answer

QUESTIONS FOR YOUR OCs

What’s the maximum amount of time your character can sit still with nothing to do?

How easy is it for your character to laugh?

How do they put themselves to bed at night (reading, singing, thinking?)

How easy is it to earn their trust?

How easy is it to earn their mistrust?

Do they consider laws flexible, or immovable?

What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

What were they told to stop/start doing most often as a child

Do they swear? Do they remember their first swear word?

What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

How do they cope with confusion (seek clarification, pretend they understand, etc)?

How do they deal with an itch found in a place they can’t quite reach?

What color do they think they look best in? Do they actually look best in that color?

What animal do they fear most?

How do they speak? Is what they say usually thought of on the spot, or do they rehearse it in their mind first?

What makes their stomach turn?

Are they easily embarrassed?

What embarrasses them?

What is their favorite number?

If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

Why do they get up in the morning? 

How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)? 

How does envy manifest itself in them (they take what they want, they become resentful, etc)? 

 Is sex something that they’re comfortable speaking about? To whom? 

 What are their thoughts on marriage? 

 What is their preferred mode of transportation? 

 What causes them to feel dread? 

 Would they prefer a lie over an unpleasant truth? 

 Do they usually live up to their own ideals? 

 Who do they most regret meeting? 

 Who are they the most glad to have met? 

 Do they have a go-to story in conversation? Or a joke? 

 Could they be considered lazy? 

 How hard is it for them to shake a sense of guilt? 

 How do they treat the things their friends come to them excited about? Are they supportive? 

Do they actively seek romance, or do they wait for it to fall into their lap? 

Do they have a system for remembering names, long lists of numbers, things that need to go in a certain order (like anagrams, putting things to melodies, etc)? 

What memory do they revisit the most often? 

How easy is it for them to ignore flaws in other people? 

How sensitive are they to their own flaws?

How do they feel about children? 

How badly do they want to reach their end goal? 

If someone asked them to explain their sexuality, how would they do so? 

QUESTIONS FOR CREATORS

A) Why are you excited about this character? B) What inspired you to create them? C) Did you have trouble figuring out where they fit in their own story? D) Have they always had the same physical appearance, or have you had to edit how they look? E) Are they someone you would get along with? Would they get along with you? F) What do you feel when you think of your OC (pride, excitement, frustration, etc)? G) What trait of theirs bothers you the most? H) What trait do you admire most? I) Do you prefer to keep them in their canon universe? J) Did you have to manipulate or exclude canon factors to allow them to create their character?

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The other day, I was playing ESO, and some guy asked for help with the Unmaker boss in the Deadlands for a daily. I wasn't planning on helping people with dailies since I was just there to farm portals, but the Deadlands bosses are pretty tough, so I decided to go help.

Anyway, this guy wanted to take on the Unmaker as just two people, they were all like, "I solo-ed it with my other character," and I'm thinking taking on the Unmaker with just two people is a dumb idea, but I'm pretty strong, so we totally could have done it. The thing was, they kept trying to fight the havocrels and weren't helping me with the main boss, so when the Unmaker locked onto me for the power attack that you can't break free from on your own, they never came to free me so I died. Then, of course, they would die after me.

So I'm like, "you have to break me free of the power attack," and they're like, "I don't know how to do that," and I don't say it, but I'm thinking, "didn't you say you solo-ed this boss? what do you mean you don't know how to do that?" And I didn't even want to fight the Unmaker in the first place, so I'm like, "I don't feel like teaching this," and dip.

Then this guy comes at me like, "the only time I ever died fighting this boss was with you, so you're a bad teacher, go fuck yourself," and don't say anything back because I'm not a child, but I am still petty at heart, so I'm just thinking to myself, "hun, you're the one who asked for help! how about you try solo-ing it if you're so good at that! good luck trying to find someone else to help you in the middle of the night in one of the least popular regions in the whole game!"

And then I found an oblivion portal, and I farmed it about ten times and had a great time.

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We ask your questions anonymously so you don’t have to! Submissions are open on the 1st and 15th of the month.

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is tumblr more broken than usual for anyone else? it's been weird about embedding links for a while now but lately my whole dash just breaks every time I go to make/reblog a post and I have to refresh the page to get it to work again