#processs

[mandino-brel]

Keep going through different phases

This feeling doesn't necessarily mean you have done anything inherently wrong – simply that you feel you have followed through on something that had a low success rate When you are in a poor situation, it sometimes becomes necessary to act unjustly in order to improve your situation. We lie to ourselves all the time without realizing it. In many cases, this is a self-protection mechanism left over from a previous experience, especially if you had a difficult childhood. Although this can be a way to protect ourselves, this strategy becomes obsolete in adulthood. Take a moment to make sure you are being honest with yourself about the situation at hand and if you think someone might be lying to you, this is a sign to trust your intuition. It’s been long ago and I’m still thinking about her Even after our last walk, I’ve experienced so many happy moments, but I’m still thinking about it The unfinished business to climb the top of the hill makes me to walk it again, but without her makes me feel like my victory empty Anyway, if you’ve found somebody who understands you and is willing to go through the toughest times, then you don’t need anything else in your life Anxiety disappears Love is coming back These struggles will become a past memory

[katevd]

I love this. Doesn’t matter if she’s speaking about acting, it applies to EVERY job

She knows.

[nanstar200]

Hi!! I’m back!! Ive been kinda obsessed w the DCA’s so I may or may not have a camera roll full of arts stored for later!

Brain rot thanks to @/shirajellyfish 💕

PLUS @eebie ‘s CREATURE!!

Also I was wondering if I should make a separate blog for specifically dca stuff? Or just post it all here? Not sure, but if you guys care that I post dca stuff here lmk!!

(ALSO HERES THE LINK TO @shirajellyfish ‘s AMAZING DCA FIC!!!! freaking amazing i can’t stop thinking about it UAGH ⬇️⬇️⬇️)

[eclairsizcoolioz]

This will take YEARS to color

But ive finally done the lineart AAAA

[matthewmoorwood]

Rote is deeply cyclical. Constantly the same stories are being told again and again, the same impossible expectations and complex power imbalances.

Fitz is constantly re-inventing himself. In very much the same way as Beloved does. Fitz started as a bastard, then moved to assassin, then moved to ghost, then wolf, then man. Now in Buckkeep he's in the same role as a servant to everything before him, despite his actual status as a Farseer, so bastard again, not to be acknowledged formally but to be utilized secretly by a court. Then he's been made to step into his assassin self again, becoming this time a teacher. Keeping secrets from Dutiful/Thick in order to manipulate them into being a better foundation of skill users than he had been.

Although the story isn't there yet, I have no doubt that FItz will once again move to ghost. Killing what Tom Badgerlock was, shedding it like a old robe, and either taking back his true name, or once again leaving.

Fundamentally, Buck is still the same. A young kid with the Wit and Skill is being forced into a role he detests because of obligations to his genome. A teacher who never asked to be but has no other way to serve the crown due to his heritage, one who swallows secrets. A complex political situation that mixes magic with stubborn people. Kingdoms interacting over great distances, marriage used as an alliance. A father who cannot ever be a dad for his child's safety.

If you look at it that way, it seems like all Fitz, Kettricken, and Chade do is ensure the same average levels of awfulness within a kingdom under attack from every corner.

But. Within that, is a constant reshuffling of the deck. A new hand dealt. An ouroboros swallowing down its past in order to build a future. Yes all the same picture cards are showing up, queens, assassins, teachers, but those cards still remember being bastards.

That, I think is what makes this series so enchanting for me. That despite the misery of his circumstances, Fitz can't help but try to fight for something. He gets into trouble by not having a single focus for that fighting. He was forced to sever his own heart ties in order to properly serve a King that he didn't believe in. Now he spreads his intense love for people over an entire cast of characters, not being able to love them all in the way both he and they deserve, since he on some level understands that it is safer to have a thousand small betrayls than lose someone he loved completely. Which he already has in Nighteyes, and is constantly almost about to do with Beloved.

RAAAAAH

I'm so normal about this series I promise :)

[thatsmimi]

do u think simon's dislike towards the winter king is part feeling inferior but also. self loathing in the form of hating a selfish alternative version of you who dared to be happy at the sacrifice of others.

obviously not saying the winter king deserved what came to him. but this episode cemented how simon feels about his role in the story. he feels vindicated that he must be the one who's cursed to save fionna's universe!

simon KNOWS how painful to live with the curse and sympathized with candy queen and wished to help she get a chance to be the person underneath the curse. there was much less sympathy towards himself who abandoned everything he held dear, because its HIM.

to simon there's no other version of the story where he didn't choose self sacrifice. it's the right way and the only way to him

[rad-roche]

timed study i decided to jazz up a little. found a brushpack that makes doing those leyendecker-y cutouts way easier and went ham

detail shot of that crunchy, crunchy head

[daiku-hokage]

Hey um Hi *clears throat* Hello, are there any *checks notes* League of Legend players in the chat whom can explain *throws notebook* WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED TO FUCKING BRING US ALL HERE

[theglamour-theterror]

old billboard of some haymitch guy. he won the 50th game.

[minijenn]

Aight but look kids. I know you’re all excited about the potential UF reboot but I NEED you all to understand something very important. The way I wrote and engaged with UF… it can’t be like it was before. When I used to write UF, I strived way too hard to please everyone else to the point that I often found myself dissatisfied with what I was writing. It got to the point that I got burnt out with the fic because I wasn’t writing it for, well, myself, and because of that it became something of a chore.

With new UF, I plan on fixing that. I’m writing this fic solely for me this time around, making what I want it to be, which may not be what you want it to be. I’m going to take lengthy breaks when I feel like it, I’m not beholding myself to a stressful tight posting schedule, I’m going to be self indulgent and focus on the characters I want to focus on. I’m going to have fun this time around.

And if I end up writing something you don’t necessarily like, well, sorry about that, I can’t please everyone. I can only please myself. And hopefully this time, I will.

[persy-r-bozo]

Broken Princess ✦

[bagea]

@crazysodomite

[iii-of-ender]

tubbo: *asks a yes or no question*

dream: well. so-

[becauseplot]

First time I’m messing with the Inktordem prompt list! Swapping days 3 and 5 because I started writing what I have planned for the “Orfanato” prompt and realized I simply don’t have time for it today. Have this instead!

Spoilers for general OSNF lore!

DAY 3 (5) — PINTURAS

It has to be perfect. She dips her brush into the pot of paint and brings it to the canvas once more, dragging it in long, branching arcs. Black runs on black, beads trickling down until they are swallowed by the darkness.

It has to be perfect. The paint soaks the canvas, and yet the black never seems to penetrate deep enough. She knows what it’s meant to look like. She sees it so clearly in her mind, the mouth of the Cave, the Cave, the Cave. Nothing ever like it, and yet she is compelled, more than compelled, to capture its likeness on the canvas, to help it grow.

It wants to evolve. It has to be perfect. She dips her brush into the pot of paint and brings it to the canvas once more, dragging it in long, branching arcs. Black runs on black, layered on thicker and thicker, darkness reaching deeper and deeper.

It has to be perfect. Wider arcs open it up, close to its Bigness in her mind, swirls along the edges, then painting over those as well.

She can make it perfect. She wants to understand. She can make it perfect. She needs to reach deeper. She dips her fingers into the pot of paint and brings them to the canvas once more, dragging them in long, branching arcs. Black runs on black, the whorls of her fingerprints swallowed more and more with each lap around the canvas. The Cave, the Cave, the Cave opens itself up to her, waiting, knowing.

It has to be perfect. She dips her hands into the pot of paint and brings them to the canvas once more, dragging them in long, branching arcs. Black runs on black, creases of her skin leaving streaks in their wake. Dynamic to the darkness. New. Closer. She’s closer. Get closer.

Get closer.

It has to be perfect. She dips into the pot of paint and brings herself to the canvas once more, dragging in long, branching arcs. Black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on black runs on

.

.

.

With the chatter of Liz and the others behind him, Thiago observes the last painting in the gallery, arms crossed. The opening of the cave has spilled over. The paint is visibly dripping down the canvas and pooling, dried, on the floor. If he squints, he can just barely see the outline of her shoes where she stood—“Lurdete,” according to the signature on the previous paintings. There is no such signature on this one. If there ever was, it’s been swallowed by the cave.

Thiago gets closer. He squints at the paint. He thought it was just splatter, someone taking a bucket of paint to the canvas with manic abandon, but he can see now that there are individual brush strokes. The black runs on black in thick layers, reinforcing the arcs over and over. They’re meticulous, perfectly curved. Even where the paint drips seems to be by design.

Or maybe he’s reading too much into it

[reznorty3]

be a fucking idiot and get your heart broken, then come back and wake me up

[cathackz]

source

@butchdykekondraki