#the makobs

[wispstalk]

Realized I have not drawn Rona at all so here are some sketches. She is excited to have a gf that makes her feel tall. Plus a bonus Big and Little Makob. the latter is excited to have a new phrase in his arsenal.

#tes oblivion #elder scrolls #oc: coradri #oc: rona #the makobs #ray draws

[nagisaamane]

Cinnamoroll hair with Makobs omanjuu

#persona 3 #persona #nagikoto #nagisa amane #makoto yuki #minato arisato

[digitalsatyr23]

Wouldn’t every meat-eater be considered a ghoul? Some myths are more specific but a prevailing point is that ghouls feed on cadavers. Good job narrowing it down for us, Makob the All-Knowing. When’s the last time you ate a live cow?

#hypothetical #ghoul #carnivore #being dumb

[goriaucom]

16 Perwira Polri Dikurung Terkait Kasus Sambo, 2 Brigjen, Ini Daftarnya

JAKARTA – Sebanyak 16 perwira Polri saat ini dikurung di Makob Brimob dan Provos Divisi Propam Polri terkait kasus pembunuhan berencana terhadap Brigadir Nofriansyah Yoshua Hutabarat atau Brigadir J yang diduga didalangi Irjen Ferdy Sambo. http://dlvr.it/SWYwDQ

[buttered-ghost-toast]

Its Wiinguish! Its said like "distinguish" but instead of "dist" its a W. Im native american and im going by my tradition name instead of my English one! Although my English name was also Ojibwe, since I was named after a river. Otherwise it would've been "Akob", and the full name is Makobe

Ok but hear me out I was so stumped though at first....

But fam, idc anymore because you literally have all the coolest names I've ever heard in my life! Even as Iinguis!

A badass name, thats what kinda name that is. 💘

#thank you for coming back to explain because i was legit lost

[wowanothergotdamnedartist]

I have absolutely no clue how this works, but the tag thingie that I see going around the Obey Me! community

I was tagged by @houses-of-lamentation so thanks luv

Rules: tag 20 people youd like to know better, and wrangle them into answering the questions below

Nickname: The name Makobe kinda makes a lot of chances for a nickname, soo... let me name off a few real quick. Mak, MJ, (Corn on the) Cob, Macaroni, KD, Koko...

Gender: 100% Canadian female raised without antibiotics (That was an A&W joke please dont murder me Tumblr)

Star Sign: Sagittarius, but I'm pretty sure the stars lied

Height: 160cm, 5'3'' in American

Hogwarts House: I am a Hufflepuff, and I've taken the test a few times. I got Gryffindor once, but that was because I was trying to get Slytherin

Favourite Animal: How could ya'll make me choose? We have 5 cats, but aside from those I'd have to say either owls or bears

Number of blankets: 1 normally, depending on how much I want to be crushed under the weight of a cozy prison though, sometimes it's 3 and a cat

Where I'm from: Ontario, Canada, and although I was born there, I lived in Alberta for most of my development years. But I'm back now so that's cool

When I started this account: March 5th, 2020. Also known as, 2 weeks ago and a day

Why I started this accident: I want someplace to post my art, and if right now it's going to be mostly Obey Me! then that's cool to my dudes

As I've only been on Tumblr for like, 2 weeks, I dont think I know 20 people, and most of them have already been tagged, so sorry if I tag you again, @sassy-stupid-satan @cloudedcheese @belphegor-in-the-attic @shokujin-shot @belphie-in-wonderland @un-beel-ievable @the-real-lord-diavolo @sassmodeus (as a courtesy but I know you were just tagged by like, three people?)

That's all the people I can think of soooooo.... have fun ya'll and if someone who's not tagged somehow sees this? Do it yourself honestly. Say I tagged you, make me look more active than I actually am please

[sailoreuterpe]

If I were a better artist I’d start Makober, for drawing Mako Mori. And then I’d draw Mako Kino, too. They’d be such good friends. :3

#pacific rim #sailormoon #sailor moon #mako mori #makoto kino #mako kino #lita kino #sm #pr #pac rim #art #drawing #Notes by Nikki

[isleofhoy]

North Bay Fire 72

North Bay Fire 72

The backcountry hasn’t found its way back into rain for weeks. Fires breathe in dark green between Lehay and Makobe. Is rain the manifestation of touch? Tenuous lightening spreading, like the shadows of low clouds over Maple Mountain? It feels so much when you barely feel it. The skin turns spirit. I’ve followed them on the maps for days. Despite what we feel, they’re not out of control; something…

View On WordPress

#Canada #nature #ontario #Poetry #temagami #Writer #writing

[tiararalene-blog]

Rutan Teroris Makob Brimob Kelapa Dua Rusuh, Pintu Sel Dijebol

Tiara Ralene Rutan Teroris Makob Brimob Kelapa Dua Rusuh, Pintu Sel Dijebol Artikel Baru Nih Artikel Tentang Rutan Teroris Makob Brimob Kelapa Dua Rusuh, Pintu Sel Dijebol Pencarian Artikel Tentang Berita Rutan Teroris Makob Brimob Kelapa Dua Rusuh, Pintu Sel Dijebol Silahkan Cari Dalam Database Kami, Pada Kolom Pencarian Tersedia. Jika Tidak Menemukan Apa Yang Anda Cari, Kemungkinan Artikel Sudah Tidak Dalam Database Kami. Judul Informasi Artikel : Rutan Teroris Makob Brimob Kelapa Dua Rusuh, Pintu Sel Dijebol Keributan terjadi di Rutan teroris Mako Brimob, Kelapa Dua, Depok, cabang Rutan Salemba, pada pukul 16.00 WIB, Jumat (10/11/2017). http://www.unikbaca.com

#Tiara Ralene Rutan Teroris Makob Brimob Kelapa Dua Rusuh #Pintu Sel Dijebol

[soudybrown]

Shirika Letu la @Shilawadu linawatakia Waislamu wote Mfungo Mwema wa Mwezi mtukufu Wa Ramadhani, Hii haiwahusu #Makobe 😂 . #Shilawadu #Hatushindwi #KanzuEmpire #SisiSioWatuWaMchezomchezo

#shilawadu #makobe #kanzuempire #sisisiowatuwamchezomchezo #hatushindwi

[arumamanis-blog]

5 Bulan Ditahan, Apa Kabar Ahok? Begini Penampakan Terbarunya di Mako Brimob, Lebih Kurusan

Aruma Manis 5 Bulan Ditahan, Apa Kabar Ahok? Begini Penampakan Terbarunya di Mako Brimob, Lebih Kurusan Baru Nih Artikel Tentang 5 Bulan Ditahan, Apa Kabar Ahok? Begini Penampakan Terbarunya di Mako Brimob, Lebih Kurusan Pencarian Artikel Tentang Berita 5 Bulan Ditahan, Apa Kabar Ahok? Begini Penampakan Terbarunya di Mako Brimob, Lebih Kurusan Silahkan Cari Dalam Database Kami, Pada Kolom Pencarian Tersedia. Jika Tidak Menemukan Apa Yang Anda Cari, Kemungkinan Artikel Sudah Tidak Dalam Database Kami. Judul Informasi Artikel : 5 Bulan Ditahan, Apa Kabar Ahok? Begini Penampakan Terbarunya di Mako Brimob, Lebih Kurusan Setelah 5 bulan atau 172 hari lebih menghuni penjara di Rumah Tahanan (Rutan) Markas Komando (Makob) Brimob di Kalapa Dua, Depok, http://www.unikbaca.com

#Aruma Manis 5 Bulan Ditahan #Apa Kabar Ahok? Begini Penampakan Terbarunya di Mako Brimob #Lebih Kuru

[wispstalk]

🍓 Cat!

🍓🍓 and also Little & Big Makob

Please & thank you.

Big Makob does eventually get good at smithing and when he's grown, plans to go to Orsinium so he can mine his own orichalcum and learn from a master.

Little Makob chooses to stay back with Rona-- by then he's gotten pretty good at weaving with his quick little hands.

Cat answered in another!

#asks #the makobs

[ofertasjamones]

Anyone have any requests for food they'd like to see from #SanSebastian today? Jamón? Foie a la plancha? Makobe? Carrillera? Pulpo?

http://ifttt.com/missing_link?1487404395

#jamon #jamones

[wispstalk]

prompt from the @nirnwrote discord server - "the world" from this list

--

There is a storm somewhere on Nirn. The Madgod’s name is called within every gust of wind, with every crack of thunder. One voice rises above all other supplicants. The name is wrong, no offering given, no call for succor, no carefully-induced hysteria. But still, the Madgod has been summoned, and so it must appear.

Sheogorath sets foot on alien soil for the first time since… since something. It can’t remember. But it sets foot because it has feet, not illusory but real flesh and blood, because this summoning called for a mortal body, and the body remembers things.

So that must be how it finds itself in a familiar city by the sea. In front of a familiar door, looking into a familiar face. It can’t remember why the door is important, and the face isn’t quite right. Too many lines and creases, a few wiry strands of silver frizzing out from the mop of blond curls. But the eyes are the same, wide and green as moss.

“Just like you to show up in a typhoon,” mutters the face. “Well, come inside, scuttlehead, you’re getting drenched.”

Typhoon, it thinks. That means something. All the houses in this city by the sea are built of stone, with sturdy storm shutters, because the typhoons come every year. It knows that because it had intended to live here once, but this place— Anvil, it remembers now— made it raw and skinless so it left, and the house now belongs to the one in front of him.

There’s a sound that goes with that face, so Sheogorath rasps it out. “Coradri.”

“I ought to throw you out. I ought to kick your ass.”

“You’re… angry.”

“I’m furious.” She grins. “Did your ears itch?”

It sort of remembers what an itch was. It reaches up to touch the ears— lopsided, the tip sheared off one and ridged with scar tissue. So fragile, these containers of flesh and blood, and they heal about as well as stone. “My ears…?”

“They say your ears itch when someone’s telling stories about you. And I was.” She folds her arms. “Since when can you grow a beard?”

“OUT, you rascals! Bottomless pits!” A shriek from another room, a woman’s voice, and three children come tearing out of the kitchen, laughing and cramming mango tarts in their mouths. The Madgod gives an approving nod— pastry theft is an honorable pursuit.

One of them skids to a halt. A grey-skinned lad with dark floppy hair, distrust coiled in his chest and his lanky arms, cold eyes sizing up this unexpected guest. “Ma, who’s this?”

“Your deadbeat uncle, I guess. Give me that, you’ll spoil your appetite.” She snatches the tart from his hands and shoos him off. The boy shoots one last suspicious glance at Sheogorath before running off to rejoin his friends.

“Ma?” says the Madgod, and stares after the three children— the Dunmer boy, the little girl with deep brown skin and beaded braids, the stocky Orc teenager with glossy black hair streaming down his back.

“They all call me Ma,” says Coradri with a shrug, licking crumbs from her fingers.

Something comes to the Madgod, then. A fluttering in its chest. It points after the Orc child, who is now fleeing upstairs. “One of the Makobs,” it declares confidently.

A strange look comes over Coradri’s face. “Big Makob’s grandson,” she says. “That’s his youngest daughter in the kitchen. He’s in Orsinium now, and Little Makob joined the weavers’ guild. I buried Rona three years ago, in the back garden. We had twelve children come and go through this house before she passed, and half of them have children of their own now.

“Sixty years, Tanis.” She looks it up and down. “Sixty fucking years. I thought I’d buried you too. But somehow I get the feeling no one on Nirn will live long enough to do that.”

The Madgod blinks in surprise. Its eyes are dry. It has to remember to blink.

Tanis, it thinks, turning the sound over in its mind. Smooth and worn as a river stone. Not a summons that it heard after all— just a woman telling stories by the hearth, to entertain children during a storm. The wrong name, an old name, but hearing it has stopped that squirming sensation beneath his skin, as if this body can’t decide whether to hold together or not. As if this world could push him out like a splinter.

“Well, never mind,” Coradri sighs. “Stay for dinner?”

—

Another typhoon whips itself into a frenzy off the coast of Anvil. The strange non-summoning comes again, this time in a sly singsong voice.

The Madgod materializes inside the familiar door this time, so it doesn’t get rained on. After her initial shock passes, and she delivers a good sound smack with her wooden spoon, Coradri ushers Sheogorath to her table.

The children are beastly, eating with the furtive speed of street urchins, leaning all the way across the table to snatch up the butter or the salt cellar. The adults swap stories, talking over each other, laughing loud. It’s a madhouse. Not a worshipful display for Sheogorath’s sake— it’s just the way things are here.

Only Coradri is quiet, surveying her brood like a contented lioness, sitting just to Sheogorath’s left. She cuts a slice of dark sour bread, slathers it with butter and lemon curd, and thrusts it into the Madgod’s hands.

“Rosemary bread. You always liked it.” Coradri watches closely. She’s testing it; she did this last time, too. “Brother Martin taught me how to make it, all those years ago. Do you remember?”

The Madgod doesn’t remember that yet. Or it doesn't want to remember. Or something. It reaches across for another slice, just to be sure.

#tes oblivion #the elder scrolls #sheogorath #ray writes #oc: tanis #oc: coradri

[wispstalk]

Tagged by @dirty-bosmer and @nuwanders for this tag game to share lines from my fics, which are under the cut.

Rules are to post examples of your writing for the orange lines. (you don't have to make them orange I just did for ease of reading)

Tagging back: @ehlnofay @da3drat @druidx @jiubilant @thealterscrolls @profanetools @larkscribbles @everybodyknows-everybodydies @ervona no obligation, some may have already seen/done this, and anyone I forgot to tag who wants to join in please @ me

A line from your fic that makes you laugh

“I doubt Baurus will be laughing,” [Jauffre] says wryly. “But I will,” [Coradri] trills, and sets the helmet aside.

From this one shot. It's mildly funny in context but when I read this out loud to my bf, I did a sing-song voice for Coradris line and cracked myself up so bad I could barely get through the sentence 🫣

A line from your fic that makes you sad

The water is leaking from his face again. He never knows when this is going to start up, and he doesn't know how to make it stop. 

From The Nature of Fire

A line from your fic you’re proud of

 An echo of warmth still lives in his hand where they had touched, where they exchanged glimpses of some fundamental inner part of the other. What had the priest sensed? He can hardly guess, but he knows what he saw. That soft-spoken, soft-hearted, soft-handed priest has a will like the ocean in a storm.

From Idle in their Thrones

A line from your fic you think could have been better

A small task. Sewing is easy for him. The rest — trying to dredge up some understanding of the mess he's gotten himself into — will take a little more effort.

From IITT, during the confrontation at the mythic dawn cave. Got the idea across but there's pieces missing... that whole chapter came out a little hamfisted.

A line from your fic that makes you want to punch a character

“The Chalice of Reversal,” [Thadon] wails, and clutches at Tanis’s sleeve. “You must retrieve it, champion, or else..."

From TNOF. Fuck Syl for stealing it but man like YOU gave out these drugs it's on you to keep ye olde magickal naloxone on hand

A line from your fic that makes you go ‘aww’

[Rona] lays a gentling hand on [Little Makob's] arm. “Mind your volume, tadpole. Come, why don’t you fetch me my crutch and we can go sit by the fire and talk?”

A line from your fic that’s full of symbolism

From this one-shot. Something something people who are patient and gentle with upset children

When the Black Hound is off the leash, his people used to say, pick a god and start praying.

In TNOF but first referenced in IITT. The reader only sees Tanis past his "prime" mercenary days, so it's meant to take on a little different timbre when it comes up in the stories. And blah blah blah the themes the themes

A line from your fic that contains an Easter egg

But Irathi put them up at a nice inn, and they spent their evenings drinking with a crazy old alchemist who lived in the basement.

From IITT. Sinderion :)

A line from your fic that’s shocking

The hot smell of offal presses the back of his throat like a blunt, insistent finger.

From TNOF. Discovered recently I like writing stuff that is gross and I grossed myself out with this one.

A line from your fic you want to talk about more

“My little beasts of inspiration,” Tall-Trees-Falling explains drily, as she affixes a spiral shell to one of them, forming a claw. “Perhaps one will strike you.”

Tall-Trees-Falling is a one-note character in the Shivering Isles DLC who mostly stands around lamenting that she sucks at writing. Relatable, but I thought of all the time I spent unable to write or draw....i wasn't just, like, doing nothing. So I made her a sculptor.

But it's a funny thing where if you're not doing The Creative Act that you have tied to your identity, it can sometimes feel like it doesn't count. She's like "oh I build life-size fantastical creatures out of trash and shit I find on the beach but it's whatever." I'm a little like this with my hobbies. I spent years learning different fiber arts and gardening techniques and fucking CARPENTRY but it only recently occurred to me that I was referring to that period as some kind of creative dead zone because I wasn't drawing. Anyway her gag is that she is making immobile sculptures so they can't strike, but she keeps at it anyway.

#my laptop charger died and I did this on mobile please clap #tag games

[wispstalk]

morning

a scene featuring a few survivors of Kvatch, trying their best to go on with their lives. ~1000 words. cw: mention of severe injuries and deaths

---

When Rona wakes she forgets it happened. She expects to be under her favorite old quilt, straw poking through the worn ticking of her mattress, staring up at the crack in her ceiling that looks a bit like a heron in flight. Gianna’s soft breathing, always to the left. Outside, the first stirrings as Kvatch wakes with the dawn: frogs peeping and hens burbling, carts rolling by on their way to the meat market, the scent of coffee wafting over from the stall around the corner.

But overhead is a blank slope of canvas. Nothing but a couple of deer hides between her and the ground, and no warmth beside her. No Kvatch, either, just the miserable hush of the camp. She hadn’t been dreaming of the city, nor her fiancee— no, it was the sunflower dream again.

In the chapel, delirious from blood loss. Golden petals morphing into wild blonde curls. The woman who brought a cloth to bite down on, so the poor beleaguered priest could saw off the mangled ruin below Rona's knee. That woman kept her from thrashing with one strong arm, and gently stroked her hair with the other, until the pain pulled her under. But just before that all-consuming blackness, she saw a sunflower— thought perhaps someone had brought her to die under the last of this summer’s blooms, which was thoughtful of them.

But she woke again. Here in the camp, with all the other hollow-eyed survivors. Propped up near a fire and wrapped in what must have been a horse blanket. Woozy, chewing black willow bark that did nothing for the dull, throbbing ache in her leg— her stump, she’d bitterly corrected herself— when the sunflower flashed in her vision again and she looked up to see that same woman. It’ll be all right, the woman said. They’ll look out for you, and you’ll look out for them.

There are others who have it worse, Rona knows. Half her leg missing, and Gianna entombed in the ruins of their little rented hovel. But there are some who share this makeshift medic’s tent whose burnt flesh is warped like wet clay, some in the fevered claws of skooma withdrawal, some who will never walk again. She can, at least, take a crutch and hobble out to the cookfire or the privy.

And all of them lost someone. All of them have no home— only this camp, in the shadow of its husk.

She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes. It’s not good to start the morning off like this. The old healer Oleta often urges her to walk as much as she can, to keep her intact leg strong, to get used to the crutch, but damn it all— she isn’t up for it today. The first strains of sunlight seeping through the tent flap feel hateful.

But when she blinks her eyes open again, a scrawny mop-headed Orcish boy is staring down at her.

“Hi,” he blurts. “I’m Makob.”

She places a finger to her lips, and gestures at the sleeping convalescents around her. “Hello, little one. Are you looking for Oleta?”

“No, you. You’re the lady with one leg,” he declares in a stage whisper. “Are you Cori’s friend?”

“Cori?”

“Her real name is…um… Corar…di. She’s a bossimer with yellow hair.”

“Bosmer,” Rona murmurs, blinking. “Um— well, no, I’m afraid I don’t know her. But she saved me. She and Brother Martin.”

“Brother Martin, is that the priest?” The boy crouches on the trampled grass beside her bedroll. “Big Makob said that priest left with the Hero, and Cori did too. But she talked to you first.”

Rona had been unconscious for the duration of these apparent heroics; she gathers the siege was lifted by a whirlwind, an avenging spirit sent by the gods, or some bloodthirsty beast-man, depending on who’s telling the story.

“Well, she’s my friend,” Makob informs her, “and she saved me, too. There was a big crash,” — he flings his arms overhead in a wide arc— “and she grabbed me and Big Makob out of our tent and made us go out with the city watch. But she wouldn’t come with us. And I didn’t get to… how come she said goodbye to you and not to me?”

His voice quavers well above a whisper, and his lip trembles. A tent— he must have lived in the slums by the southern wall. And so, it follows, did the sunflower woman. So that’s one more thing she knows about her savior.

She lays a gentling hand on his arm. “Mind your volume, tadpole. Come, why don’t you fetch me my crutch and we can go sit by the fire and talk?”

He wipes his nose on his sleeve, raven-black curls flopping into his eyes, and darts off to get it.

Few are up at this hour. The scavenging group sits clustered around the fire, cooling their heels, returned from combing the city for supplies. A grim lot. Arkay only knows what horrors they find among the rubble. And Oleta is awake, heating water in a dented copper pot. The healer blinks in surprise as Rona approaches, then her face softens into a warm smile.

One of the scavengers, a grizzled old woman with a shorn head and an eyepatch, wordlessly offers an arm to steady Rona as she lowers herself to the grass. Makob plops down beside her.

Free from the quiet of the medical tent, he launches into a garbled secondhand story about the Hero of Kvatch. Then it's onto wild speculation about why this man might have left with their own — less notorious — hero. Oleta and the scavengers listen to him weave his epic tale, faint smiles playing on their weary faces.

Rona nods along, occasionally prompting him with questions, until a nutty scent catches her attention. The same rich dark aroma that used to drift through her shutters, early in the mornings.

“By the Nine,” she blurts. “Someone found coffee?”

Across the fire, Oleta grins. The grizzled old woman shares a triumphant glance with her colleagues. Rona lets out a delighted laugh, and flings her arms around Makob, squeezing him tight until he squirms free. Among all this mourning, coffee is a tiny joy, but she will hoard every crumb she’s offered— like the innocent bluntness of a child; like the silent offer of help from a stranger; like the memory of a bright sunflower, turning its exuberant face to the light.

#tes oblivion #elder scrolls #ray writes #oc: coradri #oc: rona