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Was driving with my grandmother and in broken English she says “no eyes… no nose… no face. Don’t trust.” To which I looked around wildly in search of this omen of ill portend.
realizing a headcanon of yours happens to make an element of canon even more heartbreaking when you hadn't even considered it from that angle previously
[ID from alt: emoji rubbing their hands together and grinning evilly. End ID.]
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fuck i can’t believe i wasted my entire life being moved by art and beauty and the indomitable human spirit ugh i should’ve been making money through internet scams
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As summer is approaching, I’d like to remind everyone that you are not entitled to ask someone to cover up their scars, self inflicted or not. I don’t care if they’re big, I don’t care if they’re noticeable, or purple, or all over their body, or what. You can’t police people’s bodies.
This also goes for my friends with feeding tubes, ostomy bags, central lines and urinary catheters. People are allowed exist in bodies that stray from the expected norm.
fuckkkk i should draw and color a picture but all i have is this baseball bat that i hit myself in the head with over and over and over and over and over and over and over
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Over a year ago I posted the first piece of art for a story I have bravely entitled: medieval cat story. I, eh… am not so good at titles. I will yap about it anyway.
This fellow’s name is Jericho Frostrane. Born to the modest Frostrane family of bladesmiths, war has been on the horizon since he was little. The city of Glengate borders the heart of the kingdom Anglehelm. It’s full of farmers and laborers, therefore the Frostranes get by on forging weapons for Anglehelm’s guard.
Knights are put upon a pedestal, admired for their selfless bravery in the face of imminent death.
Jericho and his siblings were raised to respect them, as all little ones are. More than that, he decides before he even reaches double digits that a knight is what he’s going to be. To follow in the footsteps of the men and women idolized all around him; silver-clad martyrs who live and die for the crown. It sounds romantic, to him. The way he’s taught life should be lived is nothing less than short, but important.
Jericho leaves home with encouragement from his family at 13, taken to Anglehelm to begin training for a place on the royal court.
Jericho is incredibly ambitious. He is driven, and lives with perpetual tunnel vision. He has romantic notions about the nature of mortality, and the importance of martyrdom perpetuated by his society for as long as he can remember. His world is abnormally peaceful and controlled, despite actively working toward a painful, violent end. The honor he will bring to his family will make up for his absence in abundance.
Therefore, perhaps most importantly, the life Jericho planned is not for himself. He romanticizes the same notion of supposed “freedom” as everyone else—that somehow, by turning himself into a pawn for the king, he may achieve true, heavenly glory.
It’s a game to those with enough money to never worry about putting food on the table. Persuading the masses to assemble at their command by making them excited to do so. To paint it as a prideful, memorable picture, rather than the reality that so many young soldiers will someday be forgotten in a sea of nameless bodies.
That was a bit sad. Anyway, I think he would dress like this. I’ve never drawn armor in my life I’m working on it ok ;_;
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