kainaikuan artist, 26 years old, i love beading and sketching. im going to use this platform to host some images of my work. i hope anyone who stumbles across this has a good day.
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its been a while since i posted some outfit doodles. not like these are new. they are from last year. but i never know where and how to upload these so here we go. at least the third ones pose is a bit funny hahah.
side note sokkas outfit in the third image is inspired by
Victoria Kakuktinniq
2020 New York Fashion Week Ukiaksaq collection
@staff @photomatt yay-bunnies was banned cause of your transmisogynistic and anti-black and transmisogynoiristic whims and now estrogenesis-eeveeangelion was banned for speaking out against your bigotry, reinstate both blogs, what is your fucking damage? what do you seek to gain from continuing this attack on trans women? not only that but I see the blogs of Palestinian people banned daily, when will it fucking end?
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Everyone needs three hobbies: one to give you carpel tunnel, one to leave you sore and bruised, and one for your distant relatives to insist you monetize
random bitter aspiring authors on "writing advice" blogs: Don't make your main characters super special mary sues. don't make them better than other people or more interesting. your main characters should be boring average guys with the personalities of wood pulp
the Epic of Gilgamesh: Gilgamesh was objectively the best man ever. He was the hottest, sexiest, most gorgeous hunk of pure manly awesomeness that ever lived and he used a sword that weighed 120 pounds.
The lesson here is that your main characters can be as special, overpowered, and unrealistically skilled at everything as you want, as long as this has the purpose of driving the plot via all the problems they cause (because they're an egotistical nightmare and a gigantic raging asshole).
The second lesson here is that no matter what randos on writing blogs say, people like stories where the characters are unique and iconic. Or at least they remember them.
(I have a theory that the stories that form long-lasting fandoms, and/or are recognized and referenced frequently in pop culture, are stories that have the same sort of "iconic" elements that are long-lasting in folklore and mythology. I think superheroes are particularly well suited to lasting centuries/millennia into the future because they're just so simple and memorable conceptually.)
Hi my name is Gilgamesh Hammurabi Ziusudra Euphrates Ishtar and I have the same heroic build as my lordly ancestors (that's how I got my name) with bulging muscles and chiselled features moulded by the goddess Aruru, and icy blue eyes like the limpid waters of the Great Flood, and a lot of people tell me I look King Enmebaragesi of Kish (AN: if u don’t know who he is get da Kur out of here!). I’m not related to Ishtar but I wish I was because she’s a major fucking hottie. I'm a demi-god but I'm not immortal. I possess extraordinary strength. I'm also a king and I rule a city called Urduk, where I force my subjects to erect lots of ziggurats (I'm known for my cruelty). I’m a Sumerian (in case you couldn’t tell) and I wear mostly animal skins. I love the forbidden Cedar Forest and I slay and skin all my beasts from there. For example today I was wearing a skin made from the Bull of Heaven with a matching sheep hide skirt, gold armlets, a carnelian headband, and black combat sandals. I was wearing black kohl eyeliner to ward off conjunctivitis. I was walking outside the twin peaks of Mount Mashu at the end of the earth. I came across a tunnel which no man before me had ever entered, which I was very happy about. Two guards that were giant scorpion monsters stared at me. I put up my middle finger at them.
A mark on your forehead identifies the god you must worship to stay alive, usually by joining its local church or temple. Your mark is unknown, meaning an old, forgotten god sponsored you. To survive, you must either find an old temple to worship at, or do the arduous task of building a new one
Nobody in your small coastal village has ever seen the Godmark that you were born with. It’s a dark russet sequence of criss-crossing lines, with a vertical arrowhead on the left and a circle on the right, just over where your brow meets your temple. Some of the traders who come down from the mountain say it looks like one of the scripts used in the hinterlands, but not a language that any of them recognize.
“If she’s got the temperament for it, she should try her luck inland,” they advise. “No point her starting a temple here if she’d find her people elsewhere, with a little searching.”
At first, your parents are reluctant to send you away. Though you’re well-behaved and diligent in your chores, you’re a sickly child with no God to worship. And besides, you’ve always been the dreamy type–inclined to lose track of time watching the path of rain droplets chasing down the window, or the fronds of an anemone as it sways in a rock pool.
Instead, they send you to the temple of the Storm to learn all you’ll need for your own God. You are happy there, for a time: making up beds and serving food to the castaways who pass through, keeping vigil at the lighthouse, burning incense and praying with the loyal widows and orphans of the drowned.
One such widow, an old, old lady, touches the mark on your forehead. “I recognise those letters. We wrote this way in the town where I grew up, way off past the mountains.”
Your heartbeat quickens. “What does it say!?”
She squints, eyes engulfed by wrinkles and hidden behind smudged glass. “A… Ar… Oh, I can’t remember how to speak it. I left before I learnt my letters properly. There was a war, you know. But I remember,” she says, mistily, “the most beautiful pink and white flowers used to grow, on the borders of the wheat fields…”
You try to ask more questions, but remembering the war distresses her, and so you speak of other things. When she’s drifted off to sleep, you get to your feet, go home and tell your parents: you are leaving in search of your God.
I am screaming into my hands, there are tears in my eyes. This is like a fanfiction for Tumblr stories. I immediately recognized the apples and the friendship.
"imagine showing insert blank to a medieval peasant they'd die lol" personally i think if i saw the medieval peasant's night sky i'd start crying and never stop
I can explain to them the concepts of vaccination and germ theory while we sit under their night sky while we snack on the same fruits we both grew up eating
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When I was a very suicidal trans activist in Texas, Benjamin Sisko saying “sure, you would [die for your people]. Dying gets you off the hook. The question is: are you willing to live for your people?” changed and possibly saved my life. It’s up there with “if we are going to be damned, let us be damned for who we really are” from Picard. Star Trek not only shows us a better world, it teaches us how to make it there
Frankly the government's documentation of (north american, idk about Everywhere Else) Indigenous people is fucking nightmare ghoulish literal nazi shit & I don't care for legitimizing it. And then people will call you a fake ndn for not having your pedigree on hand like they didn't design the system specifically to make there be fewer of us, like, erasing our existence through paperwork. Math tricks. Do you get it
I also think it's insane to look at a government documenting people based on their construct of race & giving Identification Cards for it & think this is anything other than nazi shit. Like even if you don't know the history of blood quantum etc it doesn't look great, does it?
A lot of people probably don't know that in Canada the government decides whether or not you count as an Indian, not individual nations.
To my knowledge in the States individual tribes get to decide membership. Canada keeps a registry of Natives, and up until fairly recently in order to register with your nation you needed government status first.
There aren't a lot of ethnicities in the world that are required to register their ethnicity with the government, but canadian First Nations are one of em.
Affirming the importance of traditions like Columbus Day to other Americans, the nation’s 573 federally recognized Indian nations released a joint statement Monday confirming they don’t need a special holiday and would be perfectly fine with just having large swaths of land returned to them immediately. “Look, we get why Christopher Columbus is very important to some people, and we’re more than willing to compromise so long as the U.S. government returns 1.5 billion acres of land to us as soon as they can,” said Chief Harold Longtoe Ouimette, 63, an Abenaki elder who confirmed that although marching in a parade honoring Native peoples might be interesting, the group of indigenous tribes would vastly prefer if U.S. residents could just vacate Manhattan, the Black Hills, and thousands of other sites taken from them through broken treaties, coercion, and violence.
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