A bunker full of strange surplus weapons and war gear of the forgotten and shortlived Alaskan Empire, simply waiting for it's Empress to awaken. The owner and clerk are like Sydorivich from Stalker but trans and hot. ... That is to say this is the artblog of the Once and Future Alaskan, link in pin, which is an eclectic mix of mild kink art, original setting stuff, and very occasional fanart. No minors, i will block you if your bio is blank or doesn't list an age.
WELCOME TO THE DEDICATED ART BLOG. JUST ART HERE, NO/VERY LIMITED REBLOGS.
Just like the main blog, I’ll be remaking this post intermittently whenever I complete additional refs/further decentralize my online presence. Below you’ll find links to the other blog and any current other sites. For now, here’s the only two character refs I’ve ever completed lol.
My Main blog (Very reblog heavy)
My Deviantart.
Alaskan Surplus is my art tag.
Current OC Tags are - OC: Sam, OC: Nika, OC: Ronny
Current Setting Tags are - Setting: Følslava, Setting: 931, Setting: Mother of Demons
As always happens with OCs I strongly like, I considered turning the "Former US Army General turned 3rd world maoist" into a woman. Ultimately, I have decided it'd be much better if he is still AMAB, but realizes at like 55 while laying on the snow covered stairs of the Denver library, staring up through the shattered skylight and ruined buildings at the ash choked post nuclear sky, that s/he's trans but has such an unhealthy relationship with sex and gender that she thinks it's "too late" for her and she doesn't "deserve" that happiness.
Pyotr sits in the watch tower of the Forward Operating Base, his rifle propped in a slot in the sandbags. The old AK, pulled from sealed stockpiles years ago, is equipped with an infrared scope that paints the night in eerie luminescent green. The optic is ancient, older than the rifle itself, large, heavy, and cumbersome, but it worked and freed up better options for more elite units and that was all that mattered anymore.
Before him, a few hundred meters out, in bombed ruins of a town almost unrecognizable from countless battles and amidst trenches that have changed hands a thousand times was a distinctive four legged silhouette. It resembled one of those headless dog drones the police used back home, but those drones are little while this thing was massive, standing at least 3 stories tall. It had been heavily armored in every way, Cage, Reactive, spaced, and the body itself - what little could actually be seen under everything else - was nothing but slopes and angles to deflect any round that made it through. Beneath it hung dozens of large objects that swayed with it's movements, giving the impression of something like utters.
Cages. They weren't easy to make out in the lack of detail but it hadn't taken long to figure out what the things under it were.
The "Dogs" legs appeared oddly uneven and lumpy in a way inconsistent with the rest of it's structure but this too was another illusion. The Dog came too a halt and within scant moment the lumps began shifting and ebbing before abruptly falling off to the ground below.
At least a dozen bipedal automatons fell from the towering drones legs, it's passengers and escort, they were very boxy and stocky in their design but possessed inexplicably human faces that people often compared to porcelain dolls. He'd seen one up close once, what remained of it after it had taken a tank round for it's Dog, though it's mask was cracked in half it had an oddly serene and motherly face.
The robots began quickly yet methodically searching the battlefield in a hexagonal perimeter around the Dog. A lucky one found it's objective immediately, it picked up the limp body of a soldier and his rifle and carried it bridal style back to the Dog to deposit it into one of the under slung cages.
The machines continued their search pattern like this for several more minutes before screaming rang out. He pivoted his rifle to see a soldier, likely wounded and left behind, struggling against one of the drones. He was a German, based on the expletives, and struggling to crawl away from the drones grasp. His voice was soaking in fear and desperation.
Pyotr clicks the safety of his AK off and down to automatic, training his crosshair on the center of the drone, but feels a calloused hand squeeze his shoulder.
"Don't intervene." The hands much older voice says to him. "You'll just doom us too."
Pyotr hesitates, his comrade had been here since the initial invasion 15 years ago. He'd been in the trenches outside Warsaw when the Americans scorched the earth in nuclear hellfire. He'd heard communications fall apart as the satellites cascaded into each other. He'd watched the Warminds take more control from human commanders and seen the very first of the Dogs and their Harvesters. This man knew better than anyone the consequences of any action.
And yet...Pyotr shrugged the mans hand off his shoulder, he moved his finger to the trigger and prepared to fire.
It didn't matter.
The moments hesitation was enough. The Harvesters hand focused into a precise point and stabbed into the mans chest, tearing through Kevlar, shattering ceramic plate, and puncturing his heart. The poor bastard was silent and limp in seconds.
The Harvester collected it's bounty and returned too it's Dog, depositing the body in another cage and returning too the search. After 10 minutes the Harvesters had completed their sweep and clambered back onto the motionless Dogs legs. The towering construct set out again for another quiet battlefield. It would do this until the sun rose or until it's cages overflowed with the dead, then it would return home to deliver it's bounty unto the BioStahl factories.
Pyotr made an effort to not think about where any new equipment came from.
Was at work and found out BACKXWASH dropped her new single, 9th Heaven, and put it on a loop for half an hour. It's incredible, as always. I had a fit of inspiration to draw something that turned into a self portrait with the lyrics, so I sketched the second image on my break.
I've realized two of the three self portraits I've done are overlayed with lyrics I was fixated on at the time. More things change, etc etc.
It doesn't show here, but the old image on the right at the time took me maybe half an hour or longer, the new sketch only took 2 minutes lol.
The sun is leaving again, heading off below the horizon to continue her work on another side of the world. The dim twilight of her descent glitters through the pines and stretches long shadows through the open door of the temple.
The priestess works diligently in the fading light, carefully lighting the candles and preparing the incense. Her four arms work independently and precisely, the flickering of the candle light reflects off the blue porcelain of her skin. The one eye not concealed behind her long blue hair flitters across the altar, ensuring everything is as it should be.
She halts and her cat like ears twist to the sides when a shadow falls over her.
The priestess doll reaches for the long atgeir leaning against the nearest pillar without even thinking. She holds it with her upper left hand and plants the base of it's pole on the stone floor. Turning, she sees a small figure in the tall arched doorway of the temple, silhouetted by the vanishing light. The figure shifts nervously under the dolls gaze, uncertain. The dolls ears relax and return to being upright, it beckons them to come in.
The figure takes a step back.
"I-I should go-" The figure stutters. Her voice is a feminine one. She begins to turn away. "I shouldn't have come, I'm sorry-"
"You've come a long way to turn back now." The doll replies.
She stops, looks back over her shoulder at the priestess. The doll raises its lower right hand to be level with its breast and turns the open palm to face the girl, thumb extended straight to the side.
"Come, speak with us." The doll says.
The girl hesitates again. With the fading sunlight behind her, it is impossible to make out any detail, but the doll feels her gaze scrutinizing it. After several long moments, she at last eases the tension in her shoulders and steps over the threshold into the temple.
The doll lowers her hand and knits the fingers of her lower arms into one another at her waist and inspects the stranger. The girls clothes are baggy, an oversized hoodie that gives no form or structure and long pants that are much the same. Her face is hidden in shadow within the cavernous hood.
"I-I heard there was a doll in these woods." She stutters. She wrings her hands constantly, head tilted down towards the stone floor. "A doll with no witch, a doll that was forged by it's own hands. A doll that tends to a temple of old gods."
"And you have found her." The doll answers. It makes a slight bow while extending its upper right arm in a mild flourish. It rights itself and smooths its robes with its free right hand before giving a slight tilt of the head towards her to continue.
"I-I just hoped...I-I thought maybe you could make me...like you." She says.
It tilts its head to the side curiously, one of it's cat like ears flicks, a trickle of blood begins to run from the empty socket concealed by its hair. The doll leans to the side and leave its weapon to rest against the nearest pillar. The girl doesn't notice, far too wrapped up studying the irregular stone tiles.
"I've just...no witch will take me, not as I am, anyway." She starts. The doll steps in close to her, she doesn't notice.
"They've all got too many dolls as it is, you see, and it's so troublesome to have to walk a doll through Becoming and Stillness-" The speech is well rehearsed, she's clearly given it a thousand times, to her friends, to other dolls, to herself. It completely escapes her notice when the doll takes both her hands by the wrists and begins to study them.
"And yeah, yeah, I know about doll hrt. It's just it's not the same as a witch, you know? And I know I'll never look how I want on it. Not to mention all the-" She stops when the blood from the dolls socket drips onto the back of her hand, breaking her trance and making her realize the position she's in. She looks up into the dolls face to find it twisted into determined concentration, a steady stream of blood runs from behind the hair covering where the right eye should be and runs down and drips off its chin. The girl attempts to pull away, unsuccessfully. "I...I really should-"
The doll quickly unknits its lower hands and raises the right up to be level with its breast again, the ring finger and thumb are touching one another over the palm while the remaining digits remain upright.
The girl stops unconsciously and stares at the unfamiliar gesture.
"How strange," The doll finally speaks again. It releases the girls left hand with its upper right and brings it over to her still restrained right arm. The doll adjusts its lower right hand, folding all but the index finger down and touching the pad of the thumb to the nails. It pushes the baggy sleeve of the girls sweater above her elbow and runs the fingers of its upper right hand along it gently, a trail of crimson smears across the limbs smooth, glossy surface.
"I don't think I understand, this was a mistake. I really must-" The girl insists. The last rays of the sun vanish somewhere below the horizon.
"How strange," The priestess says again. It places its blood smeared hand under the new comers chin and lifts their face to at last look into it's own.
The shadow of the hood gives way in the candle light. Beautiful, delicate white porcelain reflects in the gloom, two intricate stained glass eyes stare back at the priestess.
"-that that one could have thought it was anything but a doll." The priestess concludes.
The spark of stillness finally lights within the new doll.
Developing an OC that gets to say "You can't kill me in any way that matters." But like Instead of it being that he's edgy or knows the face of God or whatever, he's just literally impossible to kill. Shoot him in the face and he'll get back, it's fine.
I mean he has also seen the face of God, but that's incidental.
Eh screw it, it can go here too since I like it despite being a simple edit. The art is credited in Vendals bio, but the source is Debyjull on Twitter.
New stupid lore: Weed by the "present" in Følslava is simultaneously the most hyper potent it has ever been ever, and yet by this point there isn't really much of a culture around it.
This is shit you do not just do casually. You do not do this when you have any plans or responsibilities to deal with. It is exclusively a weekend substance at this point. This is Ur Weed, the primordial THC made manifest, the stuff people who have no idea how drugs work imagine it's like.
But unlike irl, where there are people whose entire personality is "dude, weed" and you can consume it in every possible form, Følslava weed is just a thing you can pick up at your local smoke shop for the equivalent of like 10 bucks. You can smoke it, or you can make edibles at home if you know how, and thats it. Nobody gives a fuck.
And like, why would you? There is an entire universe of new and fascinating substances you can put in your body nowadays! Who would give a fuck about pot?
While we're on the subject of swinging our fists at God
Mastercard's new policy unfairly targets the adult content industry, making sex workers more vulnerable, especially Black trans women. It mu
The ACLU is gonna take action against Mastercard for their anti-porn schtick! Y'know, one of the major reasons the internet turned to shit in the last ten years? It's literally like 95% of the way there, we just need a few more signatures and the petition Gets There. You have to be USAmerican to sign, but there's enough of us here to fill in the last few signatures needed several times over, so go on over and throw your name on there!!
