Wistful Atmospheric Vulpa, Irynith

local foxwind, tree listener, living in the world, a stranger to no one. name woven upon the wind in thunder and lightning, a purring heartbeat of currents. Sailing the concrete ocean with the Moon and stars. We/She/Creature/Wind

[irynith]

archive stuff

the main purpose of this blog is to server as my personal art archive and just re-posting things i like, this is my main account. Hopefully i won't need to move this to another platform Check out my AO3! I write my original fiction there! My Poetry Collection

tag sorting:

#jimoens - personal writing and poems/lyrics

#froz - specific fiction world thing

#irynith - things i enjoy greatly

#iryart - my drawn art

music bands i like are here

Cool artist - zer0h

I reblog alot of GORE or KINK stuff so be WARNED!

You never know when you will see smut or handholding from my timeline. my dms are open to anyone, i will talk about anything.

[elliespectacular]

you're just distracting yourself from your problems by formulating and enacting solutions to them

[irynith]

[irynith]

[rickeytickey]

[vintage-tigre]

[deathcomequickly]

Commission I completed in May. I loved drawing those mountains. Very happy with the colours on this. So happy to be given lovely things to draw.

Ko-Fi | Carrd

[deathcomequickly]

Tomorrow, but gentler.

[seek-no-longer]

A funeral

The others will comb the sea, transgress the sky, plunder the earth. They will find each mote of Candles. He is a wound, an absence, a decay, but they will assemble his elements for the ceremony.

They shape his catafalque of cinder and devilbone. They set it to orbit and idle Judgement, one that is almost sympathetic. The greater Judgements are not informed. The celebrants are the smaller powers of the Chain: vane-merchants, vagabonds, radiants, axiles, the liberant pariahs and the corsairs of the Curve. They look upon the remnants of the Runt; they grieve; they will not forget.

There is very little left of you by then. His un-siblings take you up, up, and shape the last flickers of you. They set you at the head of the catafalque, to be a light and a memorial. The emanations of the High Wilderness bathe and dessicate you. You stiffen and do not move: but you illuminate. Eternal, indivisible, sessile as oak and dripstone. You are a candle.

You have completed the search for Mr Eaten’s Name, asking the Question. There is nothing to be restored. You have planted a seed in bleak and urgent soil. But this character is finished, forever.

“These are my children and this is my light. These are my words in the merciful night. This is the Sun whose commands run below, and the Feast of it all is the way we must go. The One who denied is love’s enemy but the enemy, love, is the last we shall see.”

[maniatown]

Girl whose most frequent mistake is inaction voice: wow I keep making mistakes I better not do anything

[wosp-reactivated]

Christian babies have so far not found a purpose or use outside of baseball

[houndmother]

i just need eighty six thousand dollars and everything will be okay

[justsomeguycore]

starting to think some of us are too good at “do it alone”. maybe we should try “do it with someone we’re not already 100% sure we’d be really great friends with just to build a potential towards that friendship”

[longseasons]

mutuals we've known each other for so long and I'm ready to meet your parents.

[happyt-r-ail]

attack on my moot loxidoxenonh

[ceruleanheaven]

once i get over it i will be over it

[cartvage]

goth in her room

( my comms are open, dm if interested)