#TE-VERSE

[silusvesuius]

stuff heavily referenced from clive hicks-jenkins' art cus i've been rly into it lately 🥰

cute idea scribblings for the last drawing..lol

[verdita-toons]

¡MIGUEL!

[group-dynamic]

Elrond, to Cirdan: "What is beauty when it is born in part of evil?"

Cirdan: "No less beautiful." * *After which he immediately turns behind him with a knowing look to Elrond until the camera adjusts focus onto him

. . .

Also Adar to Elrond "You have the beauty of your fore-mother Melian of the Valar"

Me: Shaking crying gnashing teeth; Ohh OKay!!

[wandringaesthetic]

Realized my "an actual artificial intelligence might be impossible because computers can't feel pain/pleasure and can't touch grass" intuition is basically The Chinese Room argument. It's the Chinese Room Argument.

And some of the refutations of that are like "well, then you can never really prove whether another person is experiencing consciousness or not, right?" "Maybe YOU don't really have intentionality. Maybe it is YOU that cannot touch grass. Maybe YOU'RE a shitty computer program." and I mean. Yeah. You're right. You're right. We come into this world alone, we go out of this world alone. My body is a cage that keeps me from dancing with the one I love. All that. We don't actually understand consciousness and can't reliably recognize or even define it. We cannot prove that other people's experiences are similar to our own. This is true.

However.

Dhbrbrjjrjdjbshsh

Touch grass. That one "Fool that you are..." Mickey mouse comic. Etc.

[samadiz]

the Spot just a silly dalmatian guy, right? Right??

[xhonoredone]

starter para: @s-theunknown ☆

— Puedo verte claramente. — Suguru se volvió sobre sus talones, echando un vistazo rápido por encima del hombro. Por un momento lo había ignorado, pero ahora que el silencio reinaba nuevamente en el ambiente, acompañado de un sabor a vómito que se atoraba en su garganta, no iba a dejarlo simplemente pasar.

Sabía que lo habían visto. Pero ya era demasiado tarde para hacerse de la vista gorda y simplemente marcharse.

—¿Qué haces aquí? — Preguntó al desconocido en cuestión. Estaba al pie de un edifico de mala pinta. La maldición que acaba de exorcizar llevaba tiempo contaminándolo con su energía maldita y parecía que iba a caerse en cualquier momento. — No es sitio para hacerse el caza fantasmas.—

[gammija]

Een god moet zich voeden.

Een god moet gevoed worden.

Over dit feit zijn alle domeinen van het Schiereiland het eens. Dus, eigenlijk is het enige verschil tussen de mensen geboren voor het water en de mensen geboren voor het land, de exacte aard van de offers die we brengen moeten.

Beppe Glas twijfelde nooit. Ze had haar hele leven doorgebracht op de vlakke weidse uiterwaarden van de benedenloop van de Witte Meve.

Ze was opgegroeid tussen kreeftenvissers en veermannen - grote mannen met baarden, het boegbeeld van mannelijkheid en warme arrogantie - en ze had gezien hoe de rivier hen één voor één opslokte. Vaders en zonen.

Gedurende de lange jaren had ze haar oren en wangen gepierced met zeventien weerhaken van verschillende vormen en maten als toewijding aan de Trawlerman, en ze droeg ze trots, openlijk, zonder zorgen dat ook maar een van onze buren het zou wagen om haar aan de rechtmatige autoriteiten te verlinken.

Beppe Glas vreesde niets wat in deze wereld rondliep.

Ze wist ook wat het betekende om te vrezen wat je liefhebt.

Dat is waarom ze zong als ze naar de bodem van haar tuin waadde, waar het drasland in het water vloeide.

Op de eerste dag van elk nieuwjaar, zonder uitzondering, werd er een postbode of opzichter of dwalende vagebond vastgebonden en geketend aan de paal die de vloedlijn markeerde.

Jute over hun gezicht getrokken. De uitnodigingsgebeden over het hout en hun voorhoofden gekrast. Modder dat over hun heupen en rond hun kelen zwom. Bloed dat naar beneden druppelde over de punten van de kleine zilveren haken.

En dan zong Beppe Glas hardop de liederen van ons geloof, uit vriendelijkheid en sympathie, zodat onze slachtoffers de woorden zouden horen en begrijpen dat hun uitgerekte dood een betekenis had voorbij het alledaagse.

Zodat de Trawlerman zou weten dat er leven aangeboden werd, en een verse vloed zou laten likken aan de ondieptes van onze tuin.

Zodat zijn druipende engelen, in hun krioelende chitine honger, zouden weten dat het tijd was om gevoed te worden.

Vreselijke, wrede, onvergetelijke Beppe Glas.

[smileflowcr]

Ir de distrito en distrito es algo normal para él, tomando diversos trabajos sin importar qué tan arriesgados sean, tal vez porque en el fondo desea encontrar la muerte -sin importarle si es dolorosa o no- y así, detener los latidos de su corazón. Encuentra calma al caminar por las diferentes ciudades bajo las luces que decoran tiendas clandestinas, donde se puede encontrar des locales de comidas hasta prótesis robadas. Cada humano sobrevive a su manera, tomando trabajos que podían acabar con la poca humanidad que les queda, mientras otros esperan pacientemente cerrar los ojos para siempre entre la basura o escombros de edificios abandonados. Bulyeong ha encontrado tantos cuerpos que dejó de contarlos hace tiempo, al principio sentía incomodidad al tocar la fría piel de los cadáveres, teniendo malos recuerdos de quienes fueron su familia hace cientos de años y debió despedir para siempre, guardando en una pequeña cajita bajo su cama el juguete favorito de cada uno, siendo el único objeto que se llevó consigo cuando decidió huir con Haneul y Sooan.

Los colores neón del Distrito 5 parpadeaban, dando un aspecto más terrorífico a las calles y podía jurar escuchar gritos entre los callejones. Quizás eran pandillas enfrentándose por el territorio, o los soldados de la luz de Ciudad Luminosa buscando nuevos sujetos de pruebas, sea quién sea no iba a recibir ayuda, porque Bulyeong mantiene la vista en un cuerpo que yace en un montón de chatarra, con sangre y heridas a su alrededor. Se inclina hacia adelante para tocar la piel y comprobar si sigue respirando, sin embargo una extraña pero familiar sensación recorre por su espalda y está seguro que su rostro palidece. ¿Por qué? ¿Por qué ese chico le recuerda a Sooan? No se parecen en nada físicamente, pero la calidez que transmite es la misma a la de su amado a pesar que hay un agujero en su pecho. No tiene mucho tiempo para dudar pues percibe pasos a la distancia y en su dirección, así que carga al joven en sus brazos y se dirige corriendo al único lugar y persona en quién confía. Conoce cada distrito como la palma de su mano, por lo que trazar una ruta hacia el 1 no es tarea difícil, logrando camuflarse entre las sombras y asustando con la mirada a cualquier intruso que se sienta atraído. “¿Quién eres…?” pregunta en vano, el muchacho estaba al borde de la muerte y lo sabe por la forma que respira. Bulyeong se muerde el labio de la angustia, apresurando la marcha hasta llegar a unos suburbios que no conoce pero que su amigo describió con lujo de detalles en las cartas. Nunca creyó que volvería a él y si lo hacía, es porque fue capaz de enterar el amor para siempre. Se para frente a la puerta, dudando si habla, podía tocar, dejar al chico e irse antes que lo descubriera, no obstante su cuerpo se rehúsa a marcharse, diciéndole a gritos que hay algo especial en el humano que carga, algo que los conecta. “Sooan, soy yo, abre la puerta, es urgente.” Sus manos tiemblan y un dolor nace en su pecho, acompañado del mismo miedo que no ha experimentado desde que escaparon del laboratorio y su única preocupación era proteger a Sooan. “Alguien te necesita— yo te necesito, María, por favor.” La desesperación le obliga alzar la voz,  sujetando con fuerza el cuerpo del humano y sintiendo cómo va perdiendo su calor.

[tidesfate]

Some more thoughts for Moras Main non-tes verse (aka The Outer God of Knowledge until i have a better name)

Much in line with the general backstory I have for it now, it was the original blueprint of creation crafted by the original Gods of the universe. It did get into a testing phase before being decidely 'imperfect'. It was then taken apart, stripped of pieces that would be used in creation, and then left as ideas and concepts undesired to rot in the void. Its sentience was an accident that was unforeseen and could not be killed once it was truly 'born', for it had begun to stick its tendrils within times before, during, and after it.

Its initial nature was neutral, and purely curious there is a chance its original domain was Curiosity itself before gaining that of knowledge, fate, and memory through its original area. Its goals were as simple as gaining more information. The entity was provided no guidance and simply left to its own device; finding through this how much easier it was to gain through manipulation. How much more knowledge could be gained through breaking something and then putting it back together, only to repeat. The entertainment it could gain through trickery. Respect through recognition of the mind, and fear of intellect.

Mora does feel an absence; that built of the pieces that were torn of it, those of which it is unaware of. Consumption of knowledge and memory fills this hunger momentarily before it returns- and it becomes more jaded as it runs out of new things to gain. (unlike TES verse, the universe is a lot more vast however and this widely opens up how much it has or has not gained).

Apocrypha is a realm between reality, and spans through the cracks between nearly all of it. What it is is more than likely the remnants of the original design, much like Mora. The husks of the former universe, which Mora inhabits and rules and has made its own. Its appearance currently has no difference from that in TES, other than maybe the areas where more modern tech is present. It is a plane of alien architecture, curling and spiraling bookshelves, oceans of ink, landscapes of unknown flora and fauna, and a roiling sky of green miasma pocketed with voids of tendrils and eyes.

Still something akin to a hive-mind, like I have it in canon. Where it can be in multiple places at once, think different things, or even disconnect pieces of itself. This is important for later bullet.

Mora cannot leave Apocrypha. It can send pieces of itself like feelers into reality, but much like a fish out of water these will wither if kept out for too long. Too long of course can be anywhere from a day to a thousand years dependent on how thin the walls between reality and its own realm are; some areas the two touch much closer, and those spots you may find more anomalous properties within reality.

Mora can work around this issue to an extent through the means of vessels. It can use living beings from reality, from true creation, and put a chunk of itself within. This acts as a protective barrier to its matter, though the vessel will begin to malform and distort the longer Mora is within it / the more of its power is used within it. Once the final chunks of creations make is eaten away from the vessel, the time begins to tick upon the piece of Mora. Mora also does tend to thin or completely snip its connection to these piece of itself to avoid withering the vessel and therefore that piece of itself too fast, but does put what it has gained at risk of having to regather the knowledge and memories and all that makes it up from that piece back should it completely disappear.

More will be added as I think about it cause I am rotating this verse in my head

[zoewithabba]

Apocalipsis 2:10

“Tu angustia durará poco tiempo. Permanece fiel hasta la muerte, y yo te daré la corona de vida”.

Todo en esta vida vale la pena si Dios está de nuestro lado. La vida terrenal es sólo una pequeña franja de tiempo, mientras que la vida eterna es… eterna.

Pongamos nuestra mirada en lo eterno, no en lo terrenal.

[neptuniadoesstuff]

3 Myamic Gals based on/inspired by 3 Elf Races from TES!

I was bored as hecc so I just made these 3 Gals. 2 of them are gae & married to each other. (Can u guess who?)

Originally, there was gonna be 4, but eh, 4 was too much... Plus, I already made a pic with like 5 characters & that was too much of my time. (Btw the dunmer lady was originally a guy, but she's a woman now!)

Anyways imma tell you about the true species of these goobers:

Top Right: Bosmer Mimic aka "Horned-Forest Glenderrah"

Bottom Middle: Maormer Mimic aka "Abyssal Hinkomonsi"

Top Left: Dunmer Mimic aka "Morrowsoot"

You can gave them names, I don't mind. As long it has a first & last name. (Bcs thats how Mimic naming works & they pretty much adopted it when humanity started to grow on Luhzeruh.)

Weird fact: The Mimic species has around 3-4 names, the most common is Mimic (bcs they can & will Mimic humans), their scientific name "Reptarius-Imatis", their true name "Altermorphs". & that other other word but thats a slur used by humans bcs apparently Mimics are lizerd-like. But despite them being humanoid lizerd ppl... They rlly opposed to being called "lizards" that it's just a slur for them now..

Btw some close ups lol:

Characters are all mine. (Except for the species they were based on, those belong to the creators of the TES series)

Art: Mine STOOPID! (Srry not srry but dOnT tAkE iT fRoM mE)

Program: IbisPaint x

Bubs' TOS: Plz don't repost/steal, trace, or recolor my art WITHOUT MY PERMISSION! If you do, I'll take yur femur and pelvis.. SO, DON'T THINK ABOUT IT! (The PNS on my Blog's pinned project clearly means "Please No Steal" plz follow that rule.) If you do post my art on anything like yur blog or somewhere else (With my permission) PEASE CREDIT ME!

[maleliddell]

It's a little late now but I made a drawing for Miguelito's birthday 🤭

[mikrokosmcs]

' Con  esta  mano,  yo  sostendré  tus  anhelos.  Tu  copa  nunca  estará  vacía  porque  yo  seré  tu  vino. Con  esta  vela  alumbrare  tu  camino  en  la  oscuridad. Y  con  este  anillo  te  pido  que  seas  mío…

Yohan  aun  recuerda  la  frialdad  que  se  incrustaba  en  sus  zapatos  recién  lustrados,  aquellos  que  fueron  comprados  especialmente  para  esa  ocasión  especial  y  que  de  alguna  forma  le  sacaron  ampollas  en  los  pies  cuando  huyó  de  la  escena  del  crimen.  Recuerda  perfectamente  la  penetrante  humedad  producto  de  la  nieve  que  había  caído  no  hace  mucho  en  el  oscuro  y  lúgubre  pueblucho  donde  habitaba,  mientras  se  adentraba  en  el  bosque  oscuro  y  abandonado.  ¿Cómo  es  que  terminó  en  esa  situación  precaria?  Bueno,  es  un  médico,  bien  conocido  por  ser  el  único  en  el  pueblo,  de  una  afamada  y  adinerada  familia  de  inventores  y,  por  ende,  el  prospecto  más  jugoso  para  cualquier  señorita  y  joven  que  deseara  casarse  en  aquel  diminuto  poblado.  Su  prometido,  de  una  familia  que  presumía  de  dinero  y  estatus  social,  a  la  cual  Yohan  juzgaba  como  pretenciosos  y  una  multitud  de  mentiroso  pobretones,  resultó  ser  exactamente  como  él  lo  imagino.  Un  hombre  delgado,  con  más  ojeras  que  rostro,  y  de  una  personalidad  sosa  y  aburrida,  justamente  como  las  personas  que  más  repudiaba  en  el  mundo.  Era  un  hombre  con  deseos  de  alcanzar  la  gloria,  de  conocer,  de  recorrer  el  mundo  y  casarse  con  alguien  como  aquel,  amarrarse  por  siempre  al  pueblo  sin  vida  y  sumirse  en  una  rutina  donde  envejecería  sin  saber  cómo  funcionaba  lo  que  estaba  más  allá  de  su  comprensión,  fue  el  principal  motor  para  huir  justamente  luego  de  arruinar  su  ensayo  de  bodas.  Falló  constantemente  en  sus  votos  exasperando  al  pastor,  derramó  el  vino  sobre  los  zapatos  de  su  prometido  y  lo  más  interesante,  encendió  el  vestido  de  su  suegra  con  el  fuego  de  la  vela.  Luego  de  una  acalorada  discusión  con  sus  padres,  es  que  Yohan  azotó  una  puerta  y  decidió  inmiscuirse  al  bosque,  donde  empezaría  su  gran  aventura  sin  imaginársela.

Recuerda  la  nieve,  como  también  el  frío  gracias  a  su  delgado  atuendo  de  ensayo  de  bodas,  el  estar  rodeado  de  aves  que  graznaban  queriéndolo  aterrorizar  en  una  oscuridad  que  conocía  bien  y  recitó  sus  votos  a  la  perfección,  como  si  escupiese  en  la  cara  a  cualquier  divinidad  que  marcó  su  destino  para  casarse  con  un  sujeto  a  quien  no  amaba,  y  nunca  amaría.  El  silencio  debió  ser  su  primera  advertencia  de  que  esa  noche,  algo  estaba  terriblemente  mal.  Lo  siguiente  fue  mucho  más  directo,  la  esquelética  mano  que  se  aferraba  a  su  ropaje  y  que  irremediablemente,  le  hicieron  sentir  el  color  desvanecerse  del  rostro  y  el  estomago  darle  un  giro.  Era  una  criatura…  hermosa,  en  su  propia  decadencia  y  putrefacción,  en  su  evidente  color  azulino  propio  de  una  hipotermia  y  en  la  carne  que  los  animales  se  habían  comido  por  dios-sabe-cuanto  tiempo.  El  frío  de  unos  labios  sobre  los  propios  y  un  “acepto”  fue  lo  ultimo  que  recuerda  antes  de  desvanecerse,  llevándolo  al  ahora.

Yohan  se  queja,  escuchando  música,  voces  de  una  multitud  y  las  personas  hablando  sobre  un  ente  “vivo”  entre  todos  ellos.  Poco  a  poco  sus  pesados  parpados  se  abren,  observando  personas  en  diferentes  estados  de  descomposición,  como  también  esqueletos  completos,  todos  se  comunican,  pero  Yohan  piensa  que  se  ha  dado  un  golpe  demasiado  fuerte  en  la  cabeza  o  simplemente,  había  caído  en  la  locura.  -  —Duele…  —  -se  queja,  tocándose  la  cabeza  para  volver  a  abrir  los  ojos  y  fijarlos  de  nuevo  en  la  enigmática  criatura,  aquella  que  estaba  a  su  lado  y  es  cuando  los  recuerdos  de  la  noche  lo  acribillan.  -  —Tu…  —  -murmura,  pegando  un  saldo  de  donde  estaba  recostado  para  observar  todo  su  alrededor.  No  podía  ser  cierto,  no  era  lógico,  no  podía  ser  real.  -  —Tú…  ¿A  dónde  me  has  traído?  ¿Quién  eres?  ¿Quiénes  son  todos  ustedes?

[dodstallene]

@evergloaming || it's interesting watching you. the way you carry yourself when you use magic.

Bromjunaar needed so many wards, Tore felt like half his day was spent refreshing them. It wasn't that the city lacked for mages - his budding Dragon Cult was teeming with them - it was just he had none he trusted. Not since he was training Hrothmar did he feel like he had a mage on staff that he could trust both the skill and character of. He missed it. He missed Hrothmar.

He sensed her before he saw her, and the sudden sensation of being watched made him react without thinking. He held the half-finished ward in place with one hand and readied his staff with the other, whirling around to see Sigrid stood there, watching with rapt attention.

"I didn't see you there," he said, concentrating on keeping the magic flowing as he switched back to infusing magic into the wards, his heart beating a little faster in his chest. "I should know better than to expect to hear you coming."

He couldn't see her face, but he heard her voice well enough. "It's interesting watching you. The way you carry yourself when you use magic," she said, voice betraying her own distraction as she watched him draw runes into the rocks. He smiled to her and intentionally showed off, his magic crackling green and gold along his forearms.

"I confess, I haven't thought about it," he replied, pressing the rune into the rock. The stone hissed like he was dropping hot metal into water. When he released the spell it glowed for a moment, then dimmed, until all that betrayed it was the dark outline left behind. It thrummed with magicka when he touched it - and satisfied, he began to lead Sigrid to the next rune. "How do I look?"

[wolfbrawn]

VERSES .

✶ verse — it begins with boyhood

canon . Farkas grows up in the shadow of Jorrvaskr.  There are no mother’s skirts to cling to, only the tassets of warriors who call themselves Companions.  His brother is at his side, and Farkas reaches for his hand when he needs to.  Together, they are raised on a diet of watered-down mead and tales of Ysgramor.

✶ verse — we fight so that other people don’t have to

canon . Farkas proves his mettle and becomes a Companion.  He and Vilkas are the youngest in the faction’s history to be granted this honour. Meanwhile, under the tutelage of Eorlund Gray-Mane, he becomes an increasingly proficient blacksmith.

✶ verse — his heart beats with fury and courage

canon . Farkas is invited into the Circle and accepts the gift of lycanthropy. He sees it as an extension of his own physicality, a weapon to be wielded with honour and purpose. Standing among the most trusted and capable of Companions, his work continues much as it ever has, taking him to distant, frozen corners of Skyrim.

✶ verse — just tell me who needs bludgeoning

canon . They live in the shadow of dragons, in a time of tremendous unrest. Farkas wishes only to exist as he always has. Simply, with an open heart and closed fists. He does not concern himself with politics or the machinations of the powerful.

✶ verse — empty hands hold so much promise

modern . Raised in the care system and vomited unceremoniously out into the world, Farkas learned to work with his hands. Qualifying as a welder, he spends much of his free time at the gym, and is the first to offer newcomers help and encouragement. This verse can be mundane or supernatural.

✶ verse — there’s a bad moon on the rise

modern . It is hardly surprising Farkas falls into a more transient existence. Raised in care, doomed to flunk school. Looking for highs in low places, he finds himself on the fringes of the music industry, putting his muscle to use as a roadie. This verse can be mundane or supernatural.

✶ verse — the beast’s embrace

bloodborne . A hunter and weaponsmith, first of the Workshop and then the Powder Kegs. Farkas seizes on the forbidden Caryll Rune and swears his oath, granting him the gift of beasthood. Now he is branded a heretic and is left factionless. He hunts as and when he sees fit, sympathising both with his former associates and the beasts he once culled without remorse.

✶ verse — how fast can you run? a wolf’s question

general fantasy . You can find him on the road or in the wilds, sometimes in the taverns with their stoop-back rooftops. He takes work where he can find it, usually in the forges or by fulfilling bounties. Farkas never stays in one place too long, for fear the locals will smell the wet-fur stench that clings to his skin, or notice how his eyes gleam unnaturally in the dark.

✶ verse — hear me howling / calling on my darling

exclusive to @shellcrack . Following the premise of the general fantasy verse, only here Farkas crosses paths with Miriam.  She is in the spring of her life, born with lycanthropy in her blood – and the beast frequently bursts out of her with devastating consequences.  They are mates, their lives together marked by the conflict between their humanity and the call of the wild.

[melymigo]

Secret identities never work!

I'm posting an old 'poster' I did of Lyla for homework in my first year of college. I was so obsessed with Spider-Man 2099 at that time. I think I did one of Miguel too. But I cannot find it. Anyway, I watched Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse, and my love and obsession for Miguel O'Hara came back.