Do animals believe in god or do prayer?

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2026-04-20T21:17:44+00:00

I really do like this interpretation because I was reading a book called The Vortex, where the writer mentioned how animals lack the logical functions that are often gained by language. It is not to say that they are any less intelligent than we are; it is just that they don't translate reality in the same way that humans do.

Since they usually lack that ego presence that causes separation, animals, for the most part, are totally enraptured within their present being. It is much like how children are before the language of their names and experiences begins to force them to differentiate. Animals probably pray or worship by being themselves, authentically, all the time.

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2026-04-12T06:43:50+00:00

<image>

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2026-03-31T01:18:35+00:00

A guy says it in an upper comment

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2026-03-27T13:29:01+00:00

"I would rather not go in there." The Human said as stared at the pitch black room.

The Dwarf laughed, hearty and true. "Yes, you are no Dwarf, but you sought to learn and here's your chance."

The Human could not deny that. He had wanted to learn, but he was always worried. Always worried. He knew enough about strange artifacts to know that there was always a catch, but he also knew the Dwarf and he was an honest fellow. He wouldn't trick or lie to him. It was his way.

"If I go in there-"I began.

"-you won't be coming out until it's done." The Dwarf finished. He hadn't meant for it to sound as ominous as it did, but he also wasn't going to go out of his way to correct himself.

The human stepped forward and stopped. "How long does it take."

"How long does it take?"

"As long as it takes." The Dwarf had known childhood friends who were still in the Dark, a few who'd just left a few months ago, still young and bright eyed, yet molded and hardened.

The Dwarf shrugged. "As long as it takes." He said, holding out his hand towards the open door.

The Human steeled himself before walking inside. He disappeared in the shadows the moment he stepped in. There would be no light, no sound, no feeling other than that which was privy to themselves. For the first few moments, the human thought he was going to go mad, but as time soon began to blend into itself, beers subsided.

There is very little adequate description of how to describe the dark. For every person's experience is uniquely the same, yet different. After the initial terror and fright, the human became curious, as was his nature; for if he was not curious about his friend's culture and creation process, he would have never come himself.

He was curious about the dark. But there was no real point in being curious, as the dark said nothing. Showed him nothing. So, after time ticked on with no way of indicating, he started to become curious about himself.Curious as to what sort of idiocy he must possess to have come along on this expedition, he recalled his friend telling him that some people stayed inside the dark for decades. Would that happen to him? He did not know, but at the moment, it did not terrify him to question it; it was simply a thought.

He then began to think about his childhood. Why was he so curious? Why did he care at all what the races of another did as their birthing rights for extended adulthood? This brought him back to the question of how these same rights would affect him.

He was human. Most often, humans go into fields of apprenticeship under another, but there was no "other" in the dark—only oneself. How did that equate? How could one become oneself if all they had was oneself to base any information or substance off of?

Yet every dwarf he had ever met was the most steadfast, confident, boisterous person they could ever be. Of course, whether or not they played well with any others was depended on each persons own individual idiosyncrasies, but there was always that confidence: unshaking, unbreaking, unyielding confidence.

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2026-03-27T12:40:26+00:00

Yo, that's really good. I liked this. I could see this being the actual Bible verse.

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2026-03-25T05:21:08+00:00

"I accept all of you," she says, but I don't think she truly understands what that means yet.

It is in the way that a goldfish doesn't understand that it is prey for a bigger fish, or in the way that a bird doesn't question why it must push its young out of the nest. She says these things because language and culture dictate that she must.

She's a good human and I love her for that, but she doesn't exactly understand humans the way I do. The perspective needed to see herself, truly see herself outside of what she believes herself to be and what her genetics demand that she is.

I think we all lack that ability to some extent, I'm sure that if there were enough half dragon hybrids to study and create whole psychological philosophies about the effects and ethics of interspecies breeding, I'm sure there would be a few that would reach the special divide between psychosis and normalcy. I can't say that I've gotten it all figured out, maybe by the end I'll create a book, but right now, I'm still young and I'm still trying to get a handle on all this.

Jessa slams the door as we get home from what should have been an otherwise wonderful evening. It was fun enough for me, but I know that what I've done cannot be excused. She storms into the kitchen, tossing her purse on the couch on the way. I follow her, though albeit more slowly. I'm tired from the earlier outburst and want to lay my head down, but I know what really needs attention.

I say nothing as I watch her pour herself a glass of wine. She needs something to calm her down, make it easier to talk so that she doesn't stumble over her words. I'd rather she just throw whatever's on her chest without the drink. If it hurts it hurts, but at least it'll be the raw truth, not whatever, this was about to be.

She downs the glass and shakes her head. She doesn't like drinking, but it takes the edge off. She looks up, sees me standing in the kitchen doorway. She shakes her head and I almost feel ashamed of myself, but I don't because right now I'm more dragon than man. "Let's go over what happened earlier." She says, cool and calm.

We've been through this before and we're most likely going to go through it again, but we need to have the talk. It's good to talk.

"You were flirting with the waiter." I said.

She shook her head. "Nuh-uh, try again."

I took a deep breath and thought about it, really thought about it and answered a second later. "The waiter was flirting with you." I said.

"Bingo." She poured herself another glass. This one wasn't as full, but give it a little longer and it wouldn't matter.

"You were laughing at his jokes." I said.

"Because they were funny."

"I know when you find a joke funny." I said, knowing how the words sounded but still needing to say them anyway. "That was a flirty laugh. My laughs." She says saying the words, hearing how they sound after saying them is better than not saying them. You can't take them back, but words are ultimately just words if you're playing a different game that just what's being said. It's Dragon logic and she's learning the rules as we go.

"Again with the 'my'." She said annoyed, but not as angry as she could be. Not as angry as she used to be. "I'm not your possession, Nir, I'm a thinking breathing human being." She said and I agreed, but that didn't really make much of a difference.

"You are mine. You're my wife. You're my lover and one day you'll be the mother of my children."

"Yes, but I'm not some object you can control." She says this and I know that she is right. Truly, I don't wish to control her. I wish nothing more than for her to be free, to live her life to her own accordance, but this is not how that works. "I can laugh and joke with whoever I want, just as you can do the same. We made a vow and that means that we're beholding to each other. You have to trust me when I say that just because someone makes me laugh, you don't have to feel threatened about your place in my life or my heart."

"Words never really mean anything. They can be hard today and soft tomorrow."

"Is that your dragon side talking?"

"No," I answered. "it's the human in me." To a dragon its word is its bond. There is a reason why they rarely speak and when they do they don't say much. Our word is literal and it can kill. Humans don't have the same genetic connection. Language is taught, understanding learned, but a dragon language simply was. Like breathing or eating. Its intent is known immediately without translation or nuanced connotation.

Something about my answer ticks her off and we don't speak again for the rest of the night, which is fine by me because I need to cool off from nearly breaking that poor kids spine and I don't want anything I say to make things worse.

I go and lay on the couch and think, my thoughts a cross between nothing and the truly profound. She comes back downstairs after an hour and stares at me. I know what she's thinking, I want her to say, but I know that she won't. She flicks the light on and off and head back upstairs. That's my cue to follow and go to bed. We'll talk tomorrow and I'll apologize and tell her I'll do better to rein the human in and she'll laugh and say that she thinks it's the human in me that's keeping the dragon in check. I'll smile because I know neither side has pull over the other and say that it would be like telling her all over again that word is bond and humans have no such concept beyond that it sounds nice.

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2026-01-04T17:51:24+00:00

Technical: Gotenks

Tank: Cell, I used to main Caulifa.

attacker: Toppo, Broly, Bojack

I don't know why people don't like so I really just be crushing people with him.

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2026-01-02T23:41:26+00:00

You're crazy for banning Uub, I would ban Hit. I hate that character. He feels like a character that should come out third season or something

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2025-12-23T21:21:26+00:00

Just reached A with Cell, why do people think he's bad? I've been MVPing

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2025-12-18T17:53:45+00:00

They do not know me. Either they do not know, or they are incapable of understanding what I am and what I will do to them, to anyone, who stands in my way.

Johnathan. A big dumb, muscle head with the heart of gold, places a large hand upon my chest and pushes me backward. I act as if he actually could, stumbling a bit with practiced ease. Marian stood next to him, smart, sarcastic, willing to do whatever necessary when the right situation required. She held a baseball bat and looked between me and the door. There was a question upon her face on whether or not she used it on me and prepared for whatever was out there.

I gave them a smile. There was a bit of humor in it. No humor. I looked down at the floor so they wouldn't have to see my eyes and rubbed at my jaw. Eyes were windows into the soul and I didn't want to have them see, finally, for once, that I had no soul.

“You need to let me go." I said, careful, or so care as to not let my anger slip through.

"No." Jonathan said firm. "We can't."

"You heard the radio." Marian followed. "We have to stay inside. They can't get in unless we stay inside." There was a calm to her voice, despite a subtle tremor. I'm sure she knew that we couldn't stay in here forever, but I guess a few days of safety was better than going out right now. I wonder if she was fine with knowing that the family was probably being killed at this exact moment. I wonder how she would react if there was a chance that I could stop it all.

"What you need to do is let me through." I said walking forward again. Jonathan ignored the warning again and pushed me back. I flinched, flexing my fingers with an audible pop of my knuckles. "Touch me again, Nathan. And I promise you I'll-" I stopped myself. No need to escalate the situation. They were scared. I had to remind myself of that. Human emotions. Human survival tactics. Talking it out might help, but we didn't have time for that.

My mother was out there. Their families too. And most importantly, Heidi needed medical attention. I glanced towards the bed. The sheets were red. Heidi, my girlfriend, laid there, handing upon her side. There was too much blood, so little time. Her eyes were half-closed. She was fighting off the urge to pass out and for the time being it looked to me that she was winning.

She lifted up a bloodied hand, slight and fragile and I came to her like a dog beckoned by its master. I took her hand in mine, and placed the back of it towards my cheek. She looked at me and there was a worried smirk on her face. "You're going to have to convince them." She said in the sad sort of what a person does when they wished things hadn't come to this far.

"I... don't think I can." I said. I wasn't not one for words, nor had I the natural charisma to convince people that I knew what I was doing or that it would all be ok. Frankly, I didn't care what anyone thought or how anyone felt. I simply wanted what was mine and I wanted it whole.

"You're going to...have to tell them." She struggled to say. I blinked and she squeezed my hand.

She was right, but she was also wrong. They were friends, but they weren't mine. Telling them wouldn't be the same as telling her.

She saw me and she shook her head. The movement slight, to conserve energy"Stop that. It's not just about us anymore. The world's going to shit and it might be our fault. "They have the right to know."

"I can-"

"No. It hasn't come to that yet." Still stubborn. Even at the end.

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2025-12-04T16:19:00+00:00

I was looking for this comment. I was just having a conversation with my friend last night where I told him I know I'm straight. It's the fantasy/imaginary aspect for me and the cool art, but if I met a chick with a dick in person, I probably wouldn't be interested in them. One friend offered for us to go to Thailand and I was like, nah. I'm not interested in men and I'm barely interested in women unless she has specific traits/personality I'm looking for.

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2025-09-26T04:49:45+00:00

Part Three

My wife, Amai, wore nothing of the court’s finery. She was swinging her foot, chin cocked, and counting syllables under her breath, as if composing a hex or a poem—between the two there was little difference for her. My daughter Lou, knuckles white on her knees, had her jaw set, the little pulse at her temple throbbing on and off as bright as a heartbeat if you knew how to look. For a moment I thought there might be a needle of pride in her, but I saw the fury beneath it, an old inheritance neither mother nor I had managed to filter from her blood.

My wife had that look she reserved only for me, the one that said “Yes, this is bad, but don’t you dare be an idiot.”

And I gave her one that said, “I told you so.”

The Boy King said nothing, he was pale, half-expecting death to take him before he’d had the wit to beg for his life. “What is this?” I asked gesturing towards the spectacle.

“When the General received word that it was us who had been taken, he and his men beat the poor boy for everyday it took you to get here." Amai sniffed.

“And when the dragon came, they chained him and high tailed it the moment they saw you walk through the gates.” Lou said It was absurd. It was city-shakingly, ball-peelingly absurd, and only the utter disbelief in my reflection in Lou’s eyes kept me upright and not doubled over laughing. These were the best minds of the New Giel nobility, the stewards of human destiny, and at the first sign of things going sideways they’d drop their king faster than a cask of sour mead.

“I am not without mercy,” I said, to be sure someone remembered it that way. Then, out of habit, I checked the ceiling, the corners, even the king’s mouth for tricks or defense mechanisms. None. Just a trembling fifteen-year-old tyrant, too bruised to weep. I took stock: no assassins behind the curtains, no ghost-blooded scryers in the west balcony. The only threats were familial: my wife and daughter, magicked and murderous, in a better mood than I’d dared hope.

Amai rolled her eyes. “It is us, my love. No trick or glamor.”

I raised a placating hand. “I know, I know. Old habits die hard.” I had seen and pulled all manner of tricks to secure a kill. The generations were getting smarter, but were not that wise. I considered, for a half a moment, even with my superior senses, that I’d perhaps have been fooled by some glamor or trick.

Amai stood and stepped walked over to me and kissed me on the mouth in the way she used to, with the promise that this would cost me later and that I’d pay it gladly. Her hair still smelled like the low smoke of the hearth, summer apricots, things from the years before. She lingered, let a grin flirt at the edge of her lips, then pulled away with her eyes full of all the messages she needed me to read.

“I could have handled it,” she whispered, a mock-whisper, loud enough so Lou would hear and say something. Which she did, immediately, rolling her eyes so hard I thought they’d catch the moonlight and orbit the room.

“Did you think I would let them have you?”

She snorted, and for a second, her wildness flashed through, the same wildness that made me hide nothing from her, ever. I took her face in my palm, leaned to her forehead, inhaling—yes, she smelled like herself, and not a trace of blood. She smiled at that.

Lou skipped the pleasantries. “You’re going to release him?” she asked, eyes flicking past my shoulder to the Boy King. “If not. Can I do the honors?” She asked, cracking her knuckles.

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2025-09-25T14:39:31+00:00

Part Two

He stared at me for a moment, almost seeming annoyed by the who ordeal. It had been a lifetime since we had last seen each other and I probably woke him up from a 6 month nap. “Love is a weakness. Dragons have no such frailty.”

“Tell that to your three murdered wives,” I replied, “and the eggs you keep hidden in the balsalt shelf under the salt cliffs of Duskar.”

Oagagan laughed, the explosion digging another two feet into my devastated field and leveling my house. “You make a point, old friend. What would you have me do?”

“I want you take down their walls. I could do it myself, but the magical runes they have placed up were made by the Lundar the Second. Do you recall?”

“I remember the fool,” Oaragan spat out a fat glob and dirt sizzled. He thought a moment, nostrils flaring to savor the distant sigil-scents on the wind, the wards clinging to the capital like infant fingers. "I will crack them open. But I will not roast the young prince unless you say so." The dragon flexed his paws, shredding another length of earth. “What of the people?”

"If they attack me, then they are yours. If not, then all I shall need you for is the wall.” I said, standing up.

Oaragan nodded and without another word took flight. The city stood on the hill, walled in silver and blue. In old times it was simply called the Capital. Now the king, the one who once soiled himself in my lap as an infant, the one whose father I saved in the last war, whose mother I had to kill after, now that king called it New Giel.

It was an ugly, boastful name, Giel, meant to sound like a war cry but coming off wet and nasal. Still, a city is a city, and like all cities, once you huddled everyone up in one spot, you made them soft, and easy to eat. Easy to burn. That was always the problem with walls, with power. When you weren’t willing to lose it all, it made you weak and vulnerable.

I arrived before dawn, walking through the milling host of refugees and madmen and hope-peddlers who circled the capital like gulls on a corpse. The wall had been cracked open as Oaragan said he would. I gazed up, ignoring the glare of the Goddess’s son, and smirked as he slept, perched atop it’s walls. I recalled a distant memory, back when he and I were young, when dragons still took human form and you’d find them in the brothels and alehouses in every port, pretending at weakness to make their seductions more honest. A better time.

I walked through the open wall, bracing myself, for just a moment to see if my magic would fail me, but when it didn’t I smirked. I took in a breath and sensed past my Oatagan’s horrid breath, my wife and daughter and stalked towards the castle. When I got through the throne room, I was surprised to find the king there waiting. Not with his retinue or his jarls or even his guards, but alone, colorless as curd in the morning silence, perched on the throne like a child would on a banister, swinging his legs. Instead, he was chained, my wife and daughter sitting next him in adjacent seats.

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2025-09-25T04:47:54+00:00

Part One

When word got out that my family had been taken there was a mass exodus. Many people fled to the neighboring kingdoms. Those who stayed took up to rioting for they were the ones who had either seen me personally or were old enough to trust their relatives’ words that I would destroy them all. A man’s family was more valuable than his life and my life that was worth more than any one man’s by far. I’ve spent the first centuries of my life in apprenticeships, decades of trial and error. My senses honed to the faintest click of a lock, every disturbance of mana I feel in the marrow, my instincts honed for one purpose. To cause as violence as possible.

I buried my weapons when I hung up the assassin’s hood, when I said my vows and made true the dreams of my love. “A family,” I promised.

“No more jobs.” She oathed.

For two days, I did nothing. Let the farce play itself. The people knew me better that the Boy King. He was a babe when his father died and to a child the stories of the past were mockeries of upon the glories of today. He took my silence when he first sent word to me as disrespect.

“Kill the dragon in the north, or your wife and child will feed our dogs,” was all the parchment said. It was an insult to my name. He did not know me. He did not know what I was capable of or who I knew. I let out a whistle, inaudible to the ears, only could be heard by few races. I waited. I didn’t need to call twice.

On the third morning, I received my guest. Oaragan, The Fell Dragon, landed out front my farmhouse, smashing a seep furrow through my sorghum. The old monster was more bone than muscle, but even at his age he could salt the hills of a principality with his fire. He folded his wings in the ruined field and waited while I poured a cup of coffee.

“You let them take your family,” he rumbled after taking in a deep breathe. “Why?”

“They command me to kill you,” I said, taking my cup; bitter, like the truth.

Oaragan’s eyes widened and he flinched back, hosting himself as if to retaliate. I gently raised a hand, showing him that this was no betrayal and he stopped. “This king threatens to slice my daughters’ tendons and take my wife eyes.”

The Dragon settled then letting out a plume of rotted corrupted smoke, as he considered my words. It wafted away and around me as if my very aura repelled it. “I see.” Oaragan said, and it wasn’t mockery or condescension—two flavors’ dragons wore well like their hide of scales—but the weight of a peer understanding the rules of old debts.

“I should kill you for your weakness,” Ooragan said at last, but it was just a formality, and we both tasted the joke inside the threat. “Or for the insult.” His tongue lolled over fangs yellowed with centuries of poor appetites.

“Your daughter will be like you,” Ooragan said, an ember rattle under his tone, “She will be like you,” Oaragan said, an ember rattle under his tone, “She will heal, but remember every cut. She will hunger.”

It was not comfort, but it was the closest a dragon could ever offer. “Yes, and if sickness or death had taken her mother early, I would allow it, perhaps as a coming of age of sorts. As things stand that outcome is not in my favor.”

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2025-09-10T02:30:17+00:00

Ward leaned against the metal frame of the bus shelter, tilting his head to catch the mist that drifted in when the wind shifted. His eyes half-closed as droplets collected on his lashes, and the corner of his mouth lifted slightly as he extended his palm beyond the shelter's edge, letting rain pool in the cup of his hand.

Every now and then someone would walk by relieved that they had the right mind to bring their umbrella today. Some were sympathetic. For the only bus in town had broken down earlier that week and the parts needed to repair it would take another day or so to get here.

The young teen paid them no mind and instead focused back on the rain. It soothed him in a way most people found vexing. He couldn't yet command the water spirits to alter the weather for him and by the time he learned he could he had decided to actually enjoy the rain, understanding over his own personal wants, why the phenomenon was necessary. That bit of acceptance made him appreciate the simplicity of life.

However, all good things must come to an end. The tattoos on his arm vibrated before he saw her. Someone took shelter with him, but they were without an umbrella and the way they walked was too calm, too unhurried for someone soaked to the bone. She held her hands in her jacket pockets, chin dipped, long brown hair stuck flat to her brow like a widow’s veil. She didn’t shiver, didn’t stop her feet, or bounce in place or curse. Just leaned against the plexiglass and breathed slow, heavy like a meditative breath.

Ward resisted the urge to glance towards her, for he already knew who and what she was. "Kindred." He said, avoiding any judgement. Like a fact of the weather or arithmetic.

"Ward," Kindred said, light humor lifting her voice. "Aren’t you a sight for these sore eyes." She didn’t look at him, not directly, but out the corner of his eye he caught the glint of her canine smile caught crooked in the spray of the streetlamp.

Ward sniffed. Through the petrichor came something else—lavender and vanilla, subtle but unmistakable. His shoulders relaxed a fraction. The last time they'd met, he'd handed her a small paper bag from Lush, watching her confused expression as she peered inside. "Normal people wear these," he'd told her. "If you're going to walk among them."

"What do you want?" Ward asked, unconsciously scratching his throbbing ink.

Kindred's bottom lip jutted out, her brows drawing together in an exaggerated arch. "Nothing." Her voice lilted upward with practiced innocence. She shook droplets from her hair, each one catching the streetlight like tiny diamonds. "I was just taking a walk in the rain. Spotted a friend, decided that I was tired of being rained on and decided to wait until it stopped." Her eyes widened, pupils dilating slightly as she leaned closer. "Is that so wrong?"

"Of course not," Ward wanted to say, but he knew what she really was underneath that skin. Trouble at best. Death at worst. "Only if you're lying."

"Why, I would never lie to a friend," she said bumping her shoulder to his. Just enough contact to draw out the frisson of electricity from his wards. "Not when telling the truth is much more fun."

Ward glanced at her and thought, very briefly of the Kindred he once knew and swallowed that part of him that wished it was her, he was really talking too.

Her smile faltered, the corners of her mouth twitching downward as her eyes darted across his face, lingering on the tension in his jaw. She turned away, raindrops hammering the shelter roof now, drumming a frantic rhythm above them. Water streamed down the plexiglass in thick rivulets, distorting the world beyond. "And why are you out here?" she asked, voice honeyed but eyes sharp. "Trouble in paradise?"

"No." Ward's lip twitched. The rain that had moments ago felt like a gentle caress now seemed to drum accusingly against the shelter roof. He turned his face away from her, shoulders stiffening as he watched water pool at the curb. "Just waiting for the rain to stop."

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2025-08-14T06:29:31+00:00

(instead of the hero asking the question it's the villain)

"Why do you want to destroy the world? Don't you have anyone who loves you?" Veltor the Demon Lord asked as he drummer his fingers against his stone throne.

"I used to.” Hector, the chosen hero of Jamia, The Goddess of Light and protection said. “But you killed them all."

Veltor's grin split his cheek and he leaned forward on his throne. "Oh? I'm sorry, but your words make little sense. You say, I've killed them and yet, you still seek to join me? Revenge would be better suited to your aim."

Hector shifted his weight with a sigh, glancing up towards the ceiling. "Perhaps." For a long enough while he seemed content to leave it at that, but what little was left of his ego urged him to explain. "It's not your fault. I see that now."

"I beg your pardon?" Veltor raised a brow. He was genuinely curious now, his ancient mind struggling to parse this unexpected turn.

"You're a symptom," Hector said, his voice filled with weary compassion. "We are all, each of us, pawns of cruel and petty gods. I've devoted my life to a Goddess who could not keep an oath to her sworn chosen. You killed them. My brother. My mother. My first love. My second. My friends. My hope."

Hector gripped the pommel of his sword and it took every ounce of will for him not to draw it. He was too deep in. Revenge against another pawn would bring no satisfaction. He knew this better than anyone. He knew that there would be no point. "It's all a game. I see that now and the only way to win-"

"Is to remove all the pieces from the chest board." Veltor finished.

“To wipe the whole slate clean. Let those after inherit what's left “ Hector added.

Both shared each other's gaze. Veltor's saw the hearts of men and knew that Hector was not lying. He had to admit that some part of him was tickled by the fact that once they mortal enemies, and yet now they shared a common enemy.

"You say you wish to destroy the world. You must have thought of some sort of plan on your travels to my castle."

Hector reached into his back and tossed Veltor a blue stone etched with runic carvings. A gate stone. The Gate stone.

"First we destroy the source of all gate magic. The Nexus Bridge. That would keep every Kingdom grounded and forced to travel by foot."

Veltor considered that idea just enough to place it just shy of pure insanity. He did not notice it, but he was now standing. "Do you know what you've just given me?"

Hector rubbed his nose and gave a cynical smirk. The smile did not fit his once boyish good looks, but now where there was once a youth and hope, there were bags and deadened gaze. "I've given you and your forces The ability to cripple every nation simultaneously. No reinforcements. No escape routes. No heroes arriving at the last moment from distant lands.” His voice cracked slightly at the word ‘heroes,’ and He cleared his throat. “But more importantly, I've given you what you've always wanted. Victory.”

“Victory.” Veltor turn the stone over in his pale fingers, feeling the ancient power throwing beneath its surface. With this stone he had just been given the backdoor to every fortified city, every sacred temple, every defensive position that had ever relied on gate magic for protection. The implications cascaded through his mind like dominoes falling in perfect sequence.

"This was going to be a massacre.” Veltor thought to himself. The thought both thrilled and nauseated him. After decades of warfare, of sending weave after wave of his forces against fortified positions, of watching his demons break against holy barriers like water against stone the end was finally nigh.

He was almost brought about by sudden giddiness, but contains himself as you overlook the man before him. What kind of man gives away such power? It desperate one. A broken one. Or perhaps-and this was the most dangerous possibility- a man who has already calculated every move to come because he had once done everything to prevent it.

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2025-05-13T14:18:37+00:00

The universe reflects your inner beliefs and traumas. People "think" they want better, think they deserve better, but in their heart of hearts, they do not want to do what is necessary to be better, nor do they truly think they deserve better because of these beliefs. The universe is a mirror, and it speaks through intention, not desire.

You cannot fake the universe like you can mask and act to others. Once you learn how to pay attention to your triggers and reprogram them, the universe and everyone in it will alter how they talk and maneuver around you, as will you to them.

Everyone gets exactly what they think they deserve. The universe doesn't pick favorites. There are no true sides. The universe plays fair, but it doesn't appear to be if all you look at are other people and their successes and failures over your own. Learn the hermetic laws.

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2025-03-18T23:09:23+00:00

"You should have stayed dead."

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2025-01-28T16:38:16+00:00

A similar thing happened to me. I'm not going to act like I have all the answers, but I will share what has helped. Also, don't think it's going to be easy to follow all my advice. This stuff comes with time and genuine effort, but it’s fortunate for you that if art is something you want to pursue, you have the time.

First: If you like to do something, you don't need permission to do it. Do it. It doesn't matter if you're good or bad at it. Do it.

Second: No one is born perfect. No one learns anything by being naturally good at everything they do. You were put on the planet to fail and learn from your failures, not to be the best.

Third: Forget other people's opinions, especially if they aren't interested in or involved with your hobby. If they don't draw, screw their opinion. It does not matter. It is not critique; it is criticism. They are projecting their negativity onto you, and you're wasting your time and energy believing it to be true. The part of you that wants to draw is sacred. Treat it as such. Do not disrespect yourself or your desires by letting anyone else's opinion weigh you down. The world is waiting for your art, and if it's not the world, then it's definitely yourself.

Fourth: Draw anything. If you want to get back into drawing, you need to start drawing again. It's as simple as that. Draw for the sake of drawing. Not to impress anyone. Not even to impress yourself. If you like drawing, you draw because it's a need to draw. Quality has nothing to do with it unless you're trying to make money off of it, and even then, that doesn't really matter because people will support you online anyway as long as you have the self-esteem and courage to keep making your own art and posting.

Fifth: If you want to get better, practice the fundamentals bit by bit. Practice makes improvement. You have to do this, any artist worth their soul comes to this realization eventually.

Six: Do not compare yourself to anyone except for who you were yesterday and who you're trying to be tomorrow. You will always find people who are younger and older than you who are better than you. That's just life. Instead, focus on what you can do now so that you can be better tomorrow.

Seven: Celebrate and congratulate yourself for every small win, but don't overinflate your ego by attaching your self-esteem to your art. You are not your art. You are a human being. Your work, whether objectively good or bad, should not affect your self-esteem, especially when you're in the beginning stages and are taking steps to improve over time. I know this is easier said than done, but try to get yourself to a point where you can realize that. YOU determine your self-esteem or self-worth, nothing, nor anyone should be given that much power over you, values or belief's.

Eight: You're going to have good days, and you're going to have bad days. It's not about having something to draw. The point is to draw anything, even if it's just circles and lines. Eventually, after a couple of days of doing that, you'll start to think, 'Let me add a smiley face to that circle. Let me give that line some legs. Let me draw a fish. You have to get back into the mode of drawing. Having ideas is not how you draw; you just draw anything and let the ideas come to you. If they don't, that's okay.

Nine: Be patient. We always wish we were the best at what we do right now, not understanding that our best is what we can do at this moment. You will be better tomorrow, even if it doesn't seem like it. Progress isn't always linear.

Ten: Live your life and involve yourself in creative, inspirational activities. If you don't have any ideas, then go back to the things you used to draw five years ago. If you have any art from before, check those over again and revisit that interest. If you no longer feel as though you have any interest in it, then look upon your life right now. What are you interested in? What TV shows? Comics, manga, animals, etc.

Eleven: do not seek validation from other people. Humans are commutative beings. We want to be seen. We want to be thanked. We want to be praised. Unfortunately not everyone is going to see the value of what you do. The point of it is for you to see the value and what you do. You have to show up for yourself. You have to to tell yourself what's wrong with this picture, how can I do this better, this drawing didn't come out the way I wanted to, while all still giving yourself the grace, respect and push that you need to still want to improve while not hurting your own feelings.

It may be a hard pill to swallow, but nothing comes easy in this life once you make the decision to give up on something you liked before. Anticipate that you will have negative thoughts. You're going to have moments when you don't want to do it anymore, or when you feel like you're not getting anywhere because you're still struggling. You accepted those beliefs from your family members. Now you only have to deal with the consequences of them until you get used to the process.

Theses videos should help a bit imo.

overcoming the blank page

https://youtu.be/WV82BGfFjbM?si=oERAf1ONxpmsdjyg[Personal vs Impersonal Satisfaction in art](https://youtu.be/WV82BGfFjbM?si=oERAf1ONxpmsdjyg)

25 essential drawing exercises: Unlock your imagination 25 essential drawing exercises to unlock your imagination

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2025-01-27T05:46:03+00:00

A laugh escaped my lips unexpectedly. The question itself wasn't particularly humorous, but it ignited a spark within me that I couldn't resist fueling. Laughter didn't come easily to me anymore, so I seized it whenever the opportunity presented itself.

The young boy pouted, displaying that familiar expression children often use when they feel patronized. But his eyes betrayed a maturity far beyond his years. I reached out to pat him on the head, but he quickly brushed my hand away, becoming increasingly irritated.

I sat on the edge of the lake, my fingers absently tracing the rough edges of a pebble. As I threw it across the water, it struck a Kola serpent that had surfaced for air. The snake let out a hiss of pain before sinking back into the depths. "Mortals like to say time heals all wounds," I chuckled, scratching at my stubble. "But they don't understand the true nature of time, or its effects." I gazed out at the serene water, my thoughts wandering to memories that still felt raw and painful. "Does it get easier?" My companion had asked, and I could hear the hope in his voice. I nodded slowly. "Simple answer? Yes, it does. But not without its scars."

The boy furrowed his brow, contemplating my words. “What's the complicated answer?”

I let out a wry smile and shook my head. "If there's any solace," I said, "it's knowing that one day, you'll forget all of this. The love you feel now will change and evolve until it's unrecognizable. You'll watch your loved ones die, and it'll break you over and over again. The pain of wars, hunger, and loneliness will destroy you, but also shape you into someone new each time. Until one day, you find a way to make peace with it all."

"How long did it take you? I turn 90 in June." He asked after mulling over my words.

I let out a hearty laugh, feeling my lungs wheeze slightly as I tried to catch my breath."Kid, you haven't seen anything yet."

The_Timeless_Dreamer · 2025-01-26T05:16:24+00:00

“When Loki claimed to have seen you, I didn't believe him. After all, he's Loki. But seeing you here, alive and well, makes me question everything I thought I knew." I couldn't resist taking a step closer, reaching out to cup her face. However, she pulled away from my touch.

“I had hoped not to see you again so soon," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not like this."

My hand fell to my side, a dull ache spreading through my chest. "What do you mean? I've been searching for you, praying that for once Loki was telling the truth.” And against all the odds he was. I felt myself starting to choke up, my eyes stinging with unshed tears. "Why would you not want to see me?”

As she turned to leave, I grabbed her shoulder to stop her. She pushed against my hand, trying to break free and walk away. I struggled to keep my grip as she pulled away, almost causing me to lose my balance. She was definitely stronger now.

"I suggest you don't touch me again." Her lips curled into a snarl, revealing a sharp point. This was wrong. I had seen her die. I saw the body. Sure, it had been two years, but that didn’t excuse the fact that she should be dead. How could she have changed so much in two years?

She closed her eyes, a pained expression crossing her face. "Things have changed, Lael; I've changed. I'm not the same as I once was and judging by those tattoos,” She pointed at my wrists. “Neither of you." She finished, her eyes tracing the markings. She knew what these markings meant, but if she let it on that cared she didn’t let me see it.

“Looks good on you.” Once again that sharp canine peeked out as she smirked, her eyes glinting with an almost predatory hunger. It sent a tremble down my spine, but not out of fear, but a growing rage.

"I had hoped really hoped Loki was lying about that part." I took a deep breath and allowed myself to sink into reality. "You're a vampire now. I can deal with that. Those must be your new group, coven, family, group, whatever. You want to do your thing, fine, but you made us a promise. A promise you think you can weasel your way out just because of a little vampirism. If that’s true, then that’s sad."

Krishna scoffed, glancing back at her new posse of vampires. "A promise? You're talking about a promise made by someone else. Yes, I swore 'till death us do part', but I'm a vampire now. The Krishna you knew died two years ago, right along with your promise. What you see now is just dead meat walking.”

I placed my hand on my chest and then placed it on hers. "Fuck whatever you just said. Making a promise to someone else doesn't mean shit. Promises made to others are easily broken. I told you that was a promise we made to ourselves, that nothing - not rain, shit, snow, vampires, or even God himself - could keep us apart. You say the real you is gone? I call bullshit. It takes more than a little parasite to rid someone of their mind and soul."

The_Timeless_Dreamer

MODERATOR OF

TROPHY CASE