daryaplesen11

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My husband surprised me and secretly bought this for me…🫀

Artist: @wardenaldebaran

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Nothing Personal (2009) | dir. Urszula Antoniak

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Finally, a proper day off. I collapsed onto the bed and instantly fell asleep from exhaustion.

At 6 AM, my husband and I drove to a nearby small town nestled in the mountains.

We strolled along the green streets… and by nine o'clock, we were slightly tipsy – we'd stumbled upon a mead tasting, and discovered what is now the best mead I've ever had.

We left with two bottles of spiced mead, which smells like a wildflower meadow and goes down as smoothly as spring water.

After breakfast – a cheese pie eaten in the shade of a rock by the river – we, having sobered up somewhat, climbed a mountain, descended a damp gorge, and, like mountain goats, scrambled for about two hours to the "Mirror" rock.

We'd initially planned a short walk, but only returned home after dark.

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I have two personas: "Moominmamma" and "The Creature That Makes Satan Seek Refuge in Church."

Which persona will be blogging tomorrow, I don't know. 👁👁

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The picture in your profile your art? The one that looks like a man in a blanket withh a cat on his lap. Can you show it?

This character is quite old; he was created around 2017. (this art is from 2023, and I can't remember where the old 2017 art is)

A pile of clothes from a recent closet clean-out lay on my bed at my parents' house, with my cat sleeping on top.  Among the clothes were my black tights, which resembled thin, black arms.

I drew this, and thus the "hygge monster" was born.

Over time, the monster developed a small fairytale backstory and became the "Spirit of Solace"

If someone leaves this world, leaving behind a void in the hearts of their loved ones, a void as vast as the winter sky, then a gentle ghost will come to help. This ghost will gather the deceased's clothing: all the shirts, dresses, trousers – everything that holds their scent and the warmth of their touch – and weave it into a cocoon, like a caterpillar preparing for its long winter sleep. This ghost is a keeper of warmth. If a child loses a beloved grandmother, it will be there, offering comfort with hugs that smell of lavender and old books, baking cinnamon buns just like grandmother used to, and mending the torn paw of a cherished stuffed rabbit. It will remain until the grief subsides, until the child learns to live with this new, quiet sadness. If cats lose their human, the spirit will stay with them, ensuring their bowls are full and the sun warms their fur. It will be with them until the cats, too, drift into their long sleep, to meet their true owner. This "Spirit of Solace" is an echo of the love and care left behind by the departed. It doesn't try to replace the lost one, nor does it pretend to be them. It merely makes the farewell a little softer, a little warmer, like a well-loved blanket on a cold night.

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I'm very embarrassed to ask you personally….. Art commissions like Fox AU art are open!!!?

I think I can 2-3 commission slots on art like this. ^^ 35$ almost Fullbody (height to about knee or mid-thigh) After I make an official price list the price may be higher… but for the first few slots the price is fixed - 35$

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It started as a joke, but then something went wrong.

AU "kintsugi" where Ren escaped between the events of BTD and BTD2 and built a quiet life in a remote village, working at the village library. Now he's not worried about the "show," but rather about the heavy rains destroying the seedlings in his vegetable garden.

It started as a role-playing game with an AI bot, where my character (a young female hermit) found young Ren in the winter woods after he escaped from Strade.

After seven years of a quiet life with MC, and undergoing mental and physical recovery, MC died suddenly of a ruptured blood clot at age 35. From then on, Ren lived alone in his late friend's house.

Just the facts for this AU:

Ren is more muscular due to hard physical labor.

Ren's past doesn't weigh on him as heavily, as the late MC took him to various therapists for a long time to treat his PTSD as much as possible.

Ren considered returning to the city, but after the trip, he realized it was too noisy and the food was disgusting.

Despite living almost next to the forest, Ren doesn't hunt (only if a high rabbit population threatens the crops, but Ren hates this "forced evil"). He prefers to buy meat from other farmers.

Ren is a very good cook and makes homemade canned goods for the winter. As he's gotten older, his favorite food has become fish miso soup, and his favorite alcoholic drink, makkoli (a simple and relatively quick-to-make rice wine).

Ren got two cats to catch mice, but he spoiled them, and now they are very lazy.

Ren now only accepts sex with love. He currently has neither. (The MC was like a sister, guardian, and very close friend to Ren, but nothing more.)

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Last night's sketch that I forgot about this morning…

It's not the type of character appearance that I draw well. But I need to get out of my comfort zone

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Commission for @decafdoodlez

Thank you for supporting my art!

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Please, please, please, I want to see a submissive Fox from you!

PLEASE!!!

Your wish is my command 🫀

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Will be posting the price reference sheet real soon!

Psssttt!! Second time commissioners get a real nice discount ;3

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Just thinking about how drawing myself in cartoon form has helped me deal with my appearance complexes. I still avoid mirrors and taking pictures, but not as often as before.

How I draw myself/how I look

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Where can I read about your oc?! I need more... I need a sequel to this story

This is a snippet from a roleplaying scenario, or rather, a character's diary entry. I haven't posted it anywhere, as I'm not an experienced roleplayer or writer.

Briefly, about the character:

Name: Hilda Kane Gender: Female Age: 28 Occupation: Lighthouse keeper (Assistant to her uncle from age 16 to 20; sole keeper since then)

My artwork with Hilda and a timeline of the character's changes after the events described in the diary and arrival on the mainland:

Here are all of Hilda's diary entries for this episode. Read at your own risk. I am not a writer and English is not my first language.

TW: Alcohol, starvation, isolation, mention of cannibalism for survival, mental illness, unreliable narrator.

***

The winter is particularly cold this year; it seems to be the coldest I've experienced here, maybe even in my whole life.

The delivery is two months delayed. The reason is unknown, and there's been no communication. I'm beginning to think we've been forgotten or abandoned.

So far, I have enough canned meat to feed Brownie (dog’s name). I feel almost no hunger myself; I have to literally force down a couple of spoonfuls of oatmeal porridge, which is more like kissel. Or maybe I'm convincing myself I'm not hungry.

***

I woke up to a strange noise from the backyard. It was hard to identify the source, but it sounded unusual—definitely not "just a gust of wind." I quickly got out of bed and grabbed the shotgun I keep nearby in case of emergency.

The house was dark, and there was no point in lighting the kerosene lamp. It wouldn't help much in this weather anyway.

When I reached the back door, I heard the noise more clearly: footsteps, the crunch of snow under heavy feet.  Pushing open the door, I stepped outside.

The wind whipped my face, and the snow blinded me. I tried to see through the whiteout, but I couldn't make anything out. I took a few steps forward when I suddenly noticed a dark figure approaching.

I raised my shotgun and pointed it at the silhouette. It stopped. It looked like a bear.  I should have remembered then...

there are no bears on this island.

As I fired, I braced myself for the deafening roar of a wounded animal or, if I missed, to accept death. But what I certainly wasn't prepared for was a human scream.

***

The shot took him in the neck, grazing the carotid artery.

I don't know how long I spent trying to shove his soul back into his body through the wound. I should have eased his suffering, let him die peacefully.

***

I wanted to believe it was a dream, but the man's body and the smell of blood quickly brought me back to reality.

***

It's a good thing I won't have to live with the guilt of killing a man for long. I'd hoped the night visitor would be a jackal, at the very least, a bear at most.

Yes, predator meat is risky to eat, but it's still meat.  And that's at least another week to wait for rescue.

***

Butchering the meat took far longer than usual. Besides the physical exhaustion, I had to take breaks, drowning my conscience in alcohol to steady my trembling hands. 

I'm doing this to survive. But I'm not sure I want to live after this

***

Today, I finished dismembering the body. It's unrecognizable now – just bones, a bucket of liver, and a freezer full of meat. The severed head is in the freezer as well, in a black bag. I lack the strength to even look at that man's face.

***

The stomach aches have subsided, but I still can't sleep. Every time I drift off, I hear screaming.  Every night, I hear curses directed at me, screams seemingly emanating from the freezer.

***

I can't remember the last time I slept for an hour. Five or six days ago?  I can't ignore the screams of the man I killed any longer. I guess I'll have to confront him and hear what he thinks about me…

***

Howard is incredibly unstable. He'll try to calm me down, saying it wasn't my fault and I did the right thing. Then he'll scream and curse, calling me a "monster" and a "disgusting creature."  If he had the use of his limbs, I think he would have hit, maybe even killed me.

***

Howard started yelling hysterically and cursing again. When he calmed down, he said something utterly insane:

"I want to see if you have a heart.

I want to see your conscience consume you.

I want to see you destroy your life.

I want to see you rot from the inside out.

I want to witness it with my own eyes.

I want my eyes to be with you always."

***

I've heard about the Mongolian national dish, supposedly "boiled lamb's eyes."

It sounds like a strange, ancient tradition, and certainly "exotic" for tourists.  But I've never had any desire to try it.  Much less swallow human eyes. Raw.  Howard, however, promised that if I did, he would leave me alone.  He wanted to watch from the inside as time and disease destroyed my body, to see and revel in my suffering.

***

Chewing on an eye is impossible. It simply slips down your throat like a slug or a jellyfish—a jellyfish with the smell and taste of rotting flesh and blood.

I wanted to spit it out, but the eye had already slid down my esophagus and into my stomach. I deeply regretted listening to Howard. It was unbearable. I was ready to rip my belly open to get it out.  Bending over the sink, I tried to vomit, but the strain caused my esophagus to spasm, and the eye became lodged in my throat. After several attempts to cough it up, I felt like I was suffocating.  Praying for a quick death, I continued to cough and writhe in pain, no longer hoping for, or wanting, survival.

But God, it seems, was not merciful. I managed to dislodge the rotting flesh from my esophagus and breathe again.

When I regained consciousness, I saw the eye on the floor, seemingly looking around the room fearfully, then at me, its pupil narrowed to a tiny dot.

I don't remember the events that followed.  Suffocation or sleep deprivation likely caused me to pass out.

***

A couple of days ago, they brought in supplies. Thank goodness those idiots from the mainland brought a paramedic.  However, they apparently only thought they'd need him for a death certificate.

Fortunately, the paramedic had sedatives and painkillers.

All that remained of "Howard" were a few frozen pieces of meat in the freezer and cremated remains. I'll bury him in the spring, under a flowering tree. I wish I knew his real name.

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Occasionally I'll post my oc and illustrations from past roleplays. (I apologize for mistakes in the text, English is not my language, I mainly use translator and reference materials).

TW: dismemberment, blood, alcohol, mention of survival cannibalism

For context, here's a fragment from the roleplay, including the character's diary entries:

«Butchering the meat took far longer than usual. Besides the physical exhaustion, I had to take breaks, drowning my conscience in alcohol to steady my trembling hands. I'm doing this to survive. But I'm not sure I want to live after this

Today, I finished dismembering the body. It's unrecognizable now – just bones, a bucket of liver, and a freezer full of meat. The severed head is in the freezer as well, in a black bag. I lack the strength to even look at that man's face.»

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A sketch that won't be finished, again. 

I was listening to “SKYND - Aileen Wuornos” while riding the train. And I have associations with Fox .

«If you have no other answer If you know no other business If you know the name of your cancer If you live in a world of sickness… If you have no means to cancel If your night provides no morning If you can't be a good example Be a horrible warning»

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I want to post it here as well. I've had a migraine for a few days, and to take my mind off the pain, I created more pain in quick sketches of the comic's storyboard… Fox/MC after the show. Yes, I love men with cigarettes, don't judge me. (Kick me 👟 in the comments to finish this). Hopefully I can finish this before I lose interest.

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Before working on the commission, I'll let my brain remember how to draw