orfeolookback

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The older you get the more you will realize that your friends are people who have made mistakes and bad decisions and even just fucked up and hurt people.

And obviously your boundaries with your friends are completely up to you but you do need to recognize that if you cut off everyone who has done something wrong, you’re going to end up with no friends (and you yourself will have also fucked up in your life, and not lived up to those impossible standards either).

I’ve found it’s much more constructive to learn how to say “hey dude, that was massively fucked up of you,” because most people are really willing to say “yeah, it was, I need to work on it/not do it again/apologize and make things right” ESPECIALLY if they are hearing it from you as their friend.

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The way angry fandom media analysis gets angriest at, like, redemption arcs or peaceful reconciliation with your enemies and tear them apart

When the work of fiction has humanist themes

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Smile face 😁

It's forced to exist without hope of death. It is constantly suffering from hunger, despite the fact that it eats everything in its path. Even if it can get enough at some point, it won't last long. It grits his teeth on the crown ( on his head) from hunger, which causes its gums to bleed

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interview with angelocaris

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you know what I think the highschoolers the US military rapes and bombs are a lot more "destitute" than yanks who are american, abled, and cis enough to even enlist. dumb cunts. kill yourself

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Feliz día para la única bandera que se puede ver en el cielo

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shark(b). Princeton CA, June 2013 / FH20 /

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Dario Robleto

The Common Denominator Of Existence Is Loss

2008

50,000-year-old extinct cave bear paws, human hand bones, stretched and pulled audiotape of the earliest audio recording of time (experimental clock, 1878), 19th-century mourning ribbon, bocote, shellac, glass

42¾" x 47 ½" x 47 ½"

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"gambling addiction" is kind of like if people regularly opened pits with spikes at the bottom in public areas and made lots of money from people falling into the pit and so they started greasing the edges and putting these pits in every public space and lobbying to be allowed to install them in people's homes and when someone fell into the greased spike pit in their house they said "oh thats so tragic, they had an addiction to deadly spikes, we obviously support everyone having a safe and healthy responsible relationship with the greased spike pits we're building"

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Ngl downplaying your needs and wants into oblivion is an easy way to farm people who only want you to be a mannequin with preprogrammed responses built in

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Ngl downplaying your needs and wants into oblivion is an easy way to farm people who only want you to be a mannequin with preprogrammed responses built in

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you may know that the word bad likely originates from the word baeddel but did you know that travesty comes from a word that in most romance languages these days means crossdresser

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old cotton panties so worn out you can see the bush through them. look of the summer

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Oh Shit It's Wednesday Again

Tagged by: The Reminder That It's Wednesday Again

No-Pressure Tagging: @dirty-bosmer @orfeoarte @ulanxxxs @areggo @thegrunkiest @moriche @pyre-of-pages @yansurnummu @miliabyntite @thana-topsy and anyone else who sees this and would like to join!

I've been busy and stressed and losing track of time tbh. If you've seen me spending late nights on ESO it's because I'm burying that stress within another housing project lol. But all this to say, I have not done much of ANYTHING in the past couple weeks.

What I do have is a collection of sketches and doodles.

1) Dear Brother Ch08 illustration sketch - Zath sharing his backstory with Antoinetta. Only in the blocking and posing stage still.

2) Gerethiril (Zath's father) forever-wip and some doodling on the silhouette/shape of his monstrous vampire form, which is called a Keerikker.

3) Some work on what a Keerikker is based on and which of their ilk turned Gerethiril in the first place. Rattler is Zath's Keerikker. Not Rattler has a heavy lifting arrow because of there being a lot of original lore connecting it to the concept of a Shademist Werebat.

That was a lot of nonsense words but you know what we made it!!!

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WIP Wednesday / Whenever (bc well)

Tagged by @flycasual (and @moriche and @reagan-the-saunders)

Tagging @orfeoarte @anacatdoodles @ccarbon-copy @woundjob @falmerbrook @tiredela @unknownhomosapien @arugullla @priafey and YOU 🫵 (including everyone else I’m too shy to tag after so long face down in the dirt voryn style)

I live! Pulling off the dust and moss for art fight and maybe I’ll even get around to my other tes and eso guild ideas. More gay elves forever.

Today I offer you gay elf husbands based on a 1954 piece by Thornton Utz. Tomorrow who knows

Crumb belongs to my beautiful bf @sssfrs

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What My Betrothed Told Me

An interview between Nerevar and Almalexia, in a universe prior to the latter's apotheosis. Based on an out of game text of a similar name, What My Beloved Told Me, by Michael Kirkbride.

Originally posted on reddit.

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Who are you?

Your queen. Your bride. Your wife-consort, if the ceremony is to go well. I jest. Concern yourself not, lord-husband. Our allies shall attend, and already they send gifts.

Who are we?

“We”? You mean “you”, lord-husband. You are a wanderer from a nameless brood, a caravan guard, no a soldier, no a king. Come now. Embrace me, if you still feel unease at my touch. We are to stand at the altar together, and it would do you no good to wear sleep-weights beneath your eyes.

Who are our people?

My people are the blessed, river-born and I am their girl-child in mourning. If I am to be Queen-Mother, let your house become my orphans, too. Concern yourself not with them any longer. You’ve a land to rule, and already there are some who question our union. The hour is late, won’t you come to bed with me?

What do we rule?

Truly, you ask this? You ought to know better than I. You’ve walked the grasslands and ridden the cattle-bugs, and spoken with the slaves that serve their feed. You’ve sung your words to the ash and the pilgrims know your name now. You’ve crossed spears with the northern men. You’ve walked the halls and spoken with the machine-aliens that call themselves our allies but are not. Do not look at me this way. The spear-lines break along the western front, but no knife strikes so swiftly as one already in your other hand. Such is the lesson of all mothers that must be clawed before they’re dead.

How must we live?

That is for us to decide. You wear the stars’ sanction on your right finger, and tomorrow you will wear mine upon your left. I grow weary. Come: under the covers. You may not have my lips until the wedding, but the rest is yours to take.

What is important in my life?

You asked for my hand, yet you pull away when I give it freely. Don’t worry, I hold no grudge. You were dust, of no station, come to my palace upon whisper-winds to talk of upheaval and sky reddening, and that I would be its midwife were I to agree. Now six banners stand behind you to speak the same, yet you are silent. Won’t you talk to me, just this once?

What makes our people great?

Making sure the child outlives the parent.

What is the difference between us and them?

Look in my eyes and tell me, lord-husband. Feel my breath, beneath the breast-cloth? Therein lies your answer.

What is evil?

Selfishness.

What is our calling?

To marry mercy with ambition and five other parts, and make of our marriage a binary clone that will remember both. I will bear no children, but mothering I shall be, if only you take my hands into yours. Are you in doubt? Make no frown at this, for I have been born a queen and eldest princess in the womb. In my words speaks my mother and the mother of my mother as well. This is my city, your city, our city. Father it to greatness and I shall guard its virtue with my soul as mortar, and you will know my axiom to need no proof save for itself.

Who are our enemies?

Those that would teach our people wrong, in poison, or false-logic, or lies so beautiful they think them to be true. This, too: those who bring false gold to our wedding if they do not swear us fealty. And already our legions wear your bright and terrible visage upon them. Embrace their artistry and treasure it. This is their promise to us, lord-husband, and I shall see that it is fulfilled.

What are our gods?

Adopted customs, now outgrown the house that bore them. They do not visit us anymore. Our love will be different, lord-husband, and never shall our children grow without feeling it. Trust me.

The ending of the words is HORTATOR.

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Gothiel fails to participate at the @tes-gala.

She grew up in the city of Vivec in the late third era, right during the post-Tribunal transition, and as such she developed some... interesting... theological positions. If pressed further on her rationale, she might say that Vivec is Mephala and will totally come back one day and that her attempt at a costume somehow does not constitute sacrilege.

Even if she finishes to paint herself in time, she will certainly be stopped at the gate (along with @babyblueetbaemonster's Sunny).