rowan, 30+, they/them. hobby artist, crafter, occasional fursuiter. personal account for posting art, thoughts, etc !
current brainrots: e33, bg3, the expanse / captive's war
AnasAbdin
Xuebing Du
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me

Kaledo Art
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
occasionally subtle
Claire Keane

⁂
RMH
Sade Olutola

pixel skylines

JBB: An Artblog!

titsay
ojovivo

shark vs the universe

No title available
we're not kids anymore.
NASA
noise dept.
No title available

seen from Poland

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seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Türkiye

seen from United States
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seen from Malaysia

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@dessendreapologist
rowan, 30+, they/them. hobby artist, crafter, occasional fursuiter. personal account for posting art, thoughts, etc !
current brainrots: e33, bg3, the expanse / captive's war
As Hornet assembles her first Cogfly in a ruined workshop in the High Halls of the Citadel, she remembers the Pale King and wonders whether she will meet the same fate as her father.
1,200 words . ( on AO3 here ) . art by @catarium
𝐄𝟑𝟑 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐭 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐝 — 𝐕𝐨𝐥 𝟒: 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐫
“If you seek hope, wield the sword. If you wish to survive, see me as death. My son, follow me. Do not flee. Do not falter. Not until you are unstoppable.”
happy pride month !!
"i should do more physical media and physical sketchbooks" i say, and then buy one and lose it almost immediately to child being bored at restaurants or in lines or at the store or whatever, the struggle no one ever talks about 😭
I could live this life, with you here with me.
I have turned another character into a dog
Contributing to our shared canvas fun with @undiagnosedjestersyndrome :)
Original photo of model Taylor Lashae by Amberly Valentine under read more
lumière s'éteint (light dies)
[prints]
little sketch for @x-ray-diation for our parisian boys ❤️❤️
--
“Simon,” and there was that infuriating little half-smile, “Why do you think I brought you here?”
Simon snorted. “To get me drunk and seduce me?”
Verso laughed. “See? You do know me.”
“Mhm. I should throw you over the railing into the sea.”
Verso leaned in, kissed him again. It was soft, less desperate, and he found grounding in that moment. “You’d just jump in after,” he smirked, and Simon could feel the words against his mouth and goddamn it all, he knew it to be true.
imagine: verso braiding simon's hair pre-fracture, just soft and easy, simon having been talked into it with a bit of reluctance because his hair is important to him and he doesn't let people mess with it often ( verso had to learn how to braid monoco's hair sometime ——)
and then, imagine them after the abyss, simon cracked and broken and memory in tatters, verso scarred and mentally exhausted, and this time verso's doing his hair because simon can't with one arm anymore, not easily, and his hair is all dry and rough and they're just both so heavy, but maybe in that moment, that little moment, simon remembers what it used to be like and just little by little those old things falling back into place
Verso was quiet for a long time, reaching out to tangle his fingers in the sheets, even as he sank into a bed that smelled like Gustave and felt like comfort. "Are you walking away?" he asked, when Gustave hadn't said anything for a long time. Gustave opened his eyes and stared at Verso, at the barely hidden heartbreak in Verso's eyes, and the exhaustion in his face.
Art for Dérive chapter 15! Collaboration with @arialerendeair who's writing the fic!
Finally finished my E33 tribute piece ❤️
verso
kind of waffling on doing artfight this year, honestly. these rules are super tone deaf and I had a really crappy experience with it last year anyway. D:
a lil siverso snippet for this ... shamelessly saucy lil thing i'm working on —— ( not explicit, fanfic snippet )
Simon is fascinated by the way his hands fit upon Verso’s rail-slim waist: the heels of his palms dip flawlessly against the dip of muscle and bone alongside his hips, his long fingers curling ‘round his waist and falling to splay towards the curve where spine met the swell of his ass. He feels —— giant, coarse, his calloused hands seeming massive and brutish. And still: the way Verso looked at him with that purely exasperating crooked smile, the keen ice-blue of his eyes seeming to pierce through him and see him, purely and completely. Simon is not a man who bends to others easily, and yet he realizes with a sharp pull in his chest that whatever judgment they render he would accept as truth and gospel both. Verso utters a sound in his throat, infuriatingly low and softly humored, and Simon burns with the sudden desire to seal his mouth over his throat and feel it against his tongue. There’s an impatience to the way Verso shifts against him, rolling towards him in a bold hint that drives Simon mad. “ You stopped, ” Verso says, a tch of his tongue on the last consonant: a slow lazy grin, fingers walking up Simon’s middle like he’s mapping territory that already belongs to him. Bold. Careless. Simon adores it, wildly. “ I’m taking my time, you little villain, ” Simon breathes in response, a soft fond humor of his own in the words — and he realizes then that yes, yes, god he belongs to Verso already. Fully. It aches to realize, but it’s a pleasant ache, a beautiful ache. Mark me, he encourages, desperately. Mark me, claim me, I’m already yours. “ Have some patience. ”