gwilin-stay-winnin

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"men always lie" yeah, lie on their back and hold their legs up and moan

#rentfree

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近藍蓋小菇 Mycena Subcyanocephala fungi translates to the "blue-head" and measures at only a single millimeter.

#who turned gwilin into a mushroom #rentfree

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Please reblog/reply with where and why! I'm curious :)

#hammerfell homies wya #heeheehoohoo

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Ants from The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim

#just can't get enough by the black eyed peas plays in the background #heeheehoohoo

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Malcolm in the Midden

#oh hell yeah #heeheehoohoo

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can we give it up for artificial strawberry flavor

#these piroulines i'm eating right now fuck way too hard. #heeheehoohoo

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Sketches 🕊️ °˖➴

#bro she look just like my sylvie... my sweet and effusive sylvie... #sosylvie #heeheehoohoo

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maybe you call it infodumping or too much information but i call it being interested in concepts that take more than 5 minutes to transmit

#heeheehoohoo

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the idea that restrooms, locker rooms, etc need to be single-sex spaces in order for women to be safe is patriarchy's way of signalling to men & boys that society doesn't expect them to behave themselves around women. it is directly antifeminist. it would be antifeminist even if trans people did not exist. a feminist society would demand that women should be safe in all spaces even when there are men there.

#they have absolutely no faith in the ability of [their ideology] to actually destroy patriarchy. they do not think [it] can #truly build a better world. #oh hey that sounds familiar. i wonder if liberalism leads people to the same sort of myopic and reductionist way of thinking #good post OP #heeheehoohoo #apologies for how humorous that tag appears in comparison to the subject being dealt with here. this is the name of my 'other topics' tag

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this was from like a month ago but we were talking about modern clothes on our ocs in the elder scrolls discord. obviously mister delinquent and miss academia sprung fully formed into my brain

#rb this one again bc the slay is stupendous #heeheehoohoo

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at this rate, i'll finish this fic sometime around 2028

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Chapter 8–Brynjolf discovers Gwilin's been getting a little bit of puss puss on the side, and Sylvie tells Gwilin about her dark past.

"I can only hope the love you say you feel for me is not a falsity, nor that the promises you've made have been vain illusions, because heartbreak is a lie so strongly felt–a shameless trick that so smothers all signs of life–that it launches us into that deepest, darkest well from which there is no escape, and excises from us any will we may have had to seek another, more ruinous love to take its place." Sylvie tenderly looked to Gwilin, clutching the book to her chest. "Isn't that incredible?" Weariness could not hope to approximate what Gwilin felt then. "Eh, sure."

#morning rb <33

[gwilin-stay-winnin]

at this rate, i'll finish this fic sometime around 2028

_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–_–

Chapter 8–Brynjolf discovers Gwilin's been getting a little bit of puss puss on the side, and Sylvie tells Gwilin about her dark past.

"I can only hope the love you say you feel for me is not a falsity, nor that the promises you've made have been vain illusions, because heartbreak is a lie so strongly felt–a shameless trick that so smothers all signs of life–that it launches us into that deepest, darkest well from which there is no escape, and excises from us any will we may have had to seek another, more ruinous love to take its place." Sylvie tenderly looked to Gwilin then, clutching the book to her chest. "Isn't that incredible?" Weariness could not hope to approximate his feeling. "Eh, sure."

#gwilin #tes #tesblr #tes fic #tes vampire #depictions #rentfree

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Workin on some Slips art, so here's this WIP that was an beautiful accident while I went to work on the background + Joke Lore for it.

AU where Slips and Cicero fought the rest of the Falkreath Sanctuary after the Attempted Astrid Stabbing and they won but died shortly after and now haunt the Sanctuary

#holy shit clown this looks amazing!!! #the colors the lighting the EVERYTHING #you're really honing your craft... #combinedeffort #chipmygoodfriendchip #heeheehoohoo

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the autism won today. and not in the good way

#i had a one-hour meltdown that started when i was in the middle of traffic #and followed me home #it was a real 'it's so over' moment for me i'm ngl #heeheehoohoo

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Hiii. I wanted to share this excerpt from the latest chapter of Among the Many Lost Souls (which should be ready for publishing sometime between today and tomorrow). This is Sylvette's (or Sylvie's) backstory in a nutshell. It's <1k words. Trigger warning for allusions to sexual abuse (specifically, CSA), domestic abuse, and general violence. SYLVIE LORE, HERE WE COME

Sylvie remembered, very clearly, the first time a stranger touched her.

She couldn't have been older than three. One of the servants put her out in the hallway that day. They were angry with her over something she'd done; she'd long since forgotten what. There was rain bearing down on the tiny windowpanes a world above her. She couldn't see it, but she could hear it. Something sad swelled in her. Sylvie scraped at the wall with the talisman the servant had given to keep her busy as she began to sniffle. Someone tall knelt next to her before she could arrive at tears, however, and she neglected her makeshift toy to look. Her wet, little eyes were like two wilted, orange poppies reaching up to meet the stranger's smile.

"Do you want up?" he asked, and Sylvie's face lit up like a Fire Festival mage's fingertips. His own fingertips slipped under her legs, and he raised her up above his head. Sylvie could still see the rain running like a great, distorted curtain down that hand-wrought glass if she closed her eyes. She could still see the shapes she traced with her tiny finger, on the breathprints that appeared in front of her nose. The wispy cobwebs, the splintered wood, the cracked paint. All of it. The only image she conserved more clearly from that moment was the one she put together as the man lowered her into his arms.

His eyes. Hazy with sadness, like hers not a minute ago. And yet teeming with love.

He breathed in deep then, and pressed her head to his breast. His chest jerked as he fell into inconsolable sobbing. Sylvie was confused. She vaguely wondered if he was sad he couldn't see the rain up close, like she had. She wished she was tall and strong, like him, so she could lift him up to look. Meanwhile, she buried her nose in the soft wrinkles of his robes. He smelled nice. Deep, musky, sweet, she'd think, years later. Like a leather-bound book filled with more flowers than pages.

One of the servant's voices in the adjacent room made him start. Quickly, but gently, the stranger set Sylvie down. He must've glanced back at her three or four times before disappearing around the corner of the hallway.

Moments later, she heard someone else coming up the stairs. Those were footsteps Sylvie knew well. She began to strike the floor with the talisman as quietly and harshly as she could, leaving dreadful etches in the woodwork. His voice broke out like a roar. He gained ground. She trembled uncontrollably as he grabbed her arm and yanked her off the floor, chastising her for always ruining all the nice things he bought for her. Sylvie didn't often struggle against her father once they made it to her room.

But on that day, she did.

There came a point in time she thought it all so normal. Her father's visits became like the rain–sporadic, unknowable, uncontrollable occurrences she regarded with complete indifference, except when they occurred with an unusually intense violence. Similarly did all the servants, not to mention her mother, Lousine, concern themselves with what was unfolding under their roof. At least in her mother's case, Sylvie supposed, she couldn't be blamed for failing to protect her. She had her own screams to let out on the marriage bed.

For eighteen years was unthinking cruelty the routine within the jarl's longhouse, and for eighteen years did Lousine sit on the secret that would increase it tenfold, from the moment it got out.

She went to go talk to her during the evening, on her birthday. Sylvie cried a lot. Lousine, however, cried very little, even as her daughter begged her not to go tell her husband what they now both knew–even as Sylvie fell to her knees, pulled at her dress, and did everything to plead as fervently as she could without drawing the jarl's attention. But still Lousine left her.

The sepulchral silence of the hours that followed scared Sylvie worse than any of her father's doings ever had. Her mother was dead. She had to be. Sylvie spent the night curled up in bed, praying, though she'd never been very devout, that the Divines spare her the jarl's wrath. That she'd wake in the morning, and he'd be dead or gone, and she and her real father could leave it all behind to go live in High Rock together.

Instead, at first light, the jarl issued a decree.

Sylvie did not get the chance to speak to Florence as he was arrested in the merchant's square, nor as she felt, in the soles of her boots, the force with which he was beaten against the cobbles of the road leading to his house, nor as she heard the jarl declare this former thane of his a traitor of the highest degree, undeserving of any of the titles and properties he had so graciously been granted. These, he said, were now forfeit. Having seized all of his belongings, the guards bound, gagged, and threw Florence on the steps of his ruined home. In a final act of humiliation, the jarl handed his wife the torch. Sylvie heard every word he whispered into Lousine's ear then.

"Time to make your whore go up in smoke."

#morning rb <33

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#omg gwilin all three!! #rentfree

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#GWILIN WAS RAISED BY FLYS #rentfree