every were
»Hello Charlotte Игровой арт Игры длиннопост Henrietta Warhol (Anri)
「Once upon a time in a far, far away land, lived the Skin Princess. Every day she changed her skin to appear in the best light to every single person she met. Every night she ripped her skin off, crying from the unbearable pain it caused her, whispering, ‘It’s not my fault’ 'It’s not my fault’ 'It’s not my fault’ over and over. Little did she know that all the people in her kingdom were blind to begin with.」
Анри - пожалуй мой любимый персонаж, что может показаться странным, ведь у неё нет сверхтрагичной предыстории или яркого характера, но именно это делает её такой... настоящей. Она лгунья и лицемерка, она врёт всем: своим "друзьям", семье, и в первую очередь самой себе. Прячет своё Я за пустыми образами, ведь это единственный способ выжить в нашем паршивом мирке.
Kenoshi Kid бунт перестрелка приколы для образованных даунов со знанием английского
Held hammers high above their heads, and looking for affray
No one dared to ask their business, no one dared to make a din
Save for one young man among them with an AR on a sling
AR on a sling
In this town there were some outlaws bound to teachings of the Red,
Many soi bois were among them as were trannies overfed,
They were vicious, prone to violence, burning gas stations and more,
And their leader rode a skateboard rolling swiftly on the floor,
Swiftly on the floor.
Now young man started talkin', made it plain to folks around
He was there to stop the mob from burnin' businesses to ground.
Didn't look like much the tough guy 'cept for one important thing,
And that thing of course an AR riding tautly on a sling
Tautly on a sling
Now the night was passing quickly as the mob moved wielding flame
And the youth called out to halt them when they spotted him as game
He was running down the pavement when a lout caused him to trip
And tempted the soi leader with with the skateboard on his hip
Skateboard on his hip
It was over in a moment as the folks had gathered round,
The skater sought the rifle as the youth lay on the ground,
Oh he might have went on livin' but forgot one major thing
And he fell down shot dead by the kid with AR on a sling
AR on a sling
A RRR
A RRR
He fell down shot dead by the kid with AR on a sling
Warhammer 40000 фэндомы eldrad ulthran Farseers Craftworld Eldar Aeldari без перевода
She had fought alongside Eldrad in battles and debated his cause in counselling Chambers across the galaxy, but never before had she been welcomed into his sanctum. The Opener of the Seventh Way hated the feeling that she was privileged in some way, that this act was a recognition of her status and importance. Even so, she could not help but feel she had been allowed to look upon something few others could, so she took the opportunity to examine her surroundings in some detail, memorising every piece of furniture and ornament, every artwork, in the hopes of deciphering meaning from them later.
The farseer’s tastes were eclectic – if one was too polite to say random, gauche and prolific. At least, such was Yvraine’s initial thought as she sat on a long couch, the trail of her immaculately tailored Commorraghan court dress heaped around her. She was reminded of the throne rooms of archons that had tried to woo her – romantically and politically – laden with trophies of conquests and subjugations, declarations of power and prestige.
Except that Eldrad barely glanced at them. And his displays, such as they were, had been confined to a set of three chambers that would barely qualify as an archon’s cloakroom. In fact, it was the lack of space, except for the high-vaulted ceilings customary in aeldari architecture, that reinforced the meandering, unkempt nature of the collection.
‘It is just…’ began Eldrad, sensing Yvraine’s thoughts as her eyes roamed the room. He searched for a suitable aeldari word and found nothing that quite fitted and so settled for one of the few perfect human words instead. ‘Stuff.’
Yvraine realised immediately what he meant. These were not heirlooms or trophies, treasured possessions or valued research materials. They were cultural accretions. The accumulation of a life that had spanned five generations of his people. They had been placed with no consideration at all, simply fitted into whatever space had seemed right at the time, and never given a second thought.
He had not even spared them the mental effort of how to discard them.
She stood and gracefully paced to the adjoining chamber for a better view, her long gown sweeping across the red floor tiles. Alorynis looked up from his position on the back of a couch, one eye open, and then settled again, uninterested in her exploration.
The room beyond the archway was almost full with miscellany from a hundred different cultures across a dozen races. Most of it was piled like the spoil heap of a museum, the effluvia of fashions, trends, fads and philosophies as old as Ulthwé itself.
‘Why?’ She did not turn as she asked the question. ‘What is the point of having so much…stuff?’
‘Badges of allegiance. Patronage of artists. Objects of psychic significance I used to trace the fates. Bequeathed artefacts. Ambassadorial bribes. Grave goods. The gifts of suitors. Items absent-mindedly left by visitors. Borrowed objects, equally forgotten.’ The farseer shrugged, his heavy robes barely moving with the gesture. Yvraine caught a tiny flutter of pain, of ancient aching in the body and soul, attuned to his mood and thoughts through their mutual contact with Ynnead. ‘I have another tower, a dozen rooms filled with such detritus of my long life.’
‘I forget how old you are,’ said Yvraine. She sat down again, flicking open her fan in the manner of a kabalite courtier. She regarded the seer over the serrated edge, her smirk hidden. ‘How very old you are.’
‘Old enough to know better than trade quips with the likes of you,’ replied Eldrad, humour in his voice.
[Excerpt | Rise of the Ynnari:Ghost Warrior]
A. Shipwright artist fantasy art art Traditional art
Дитя измерений / The Dimension Child
Эльф из эпохи металла и света,
Ведьма из эпохи крови и тьмы.
Представители двух разных жанров;
Ребенок, родившийся у них, —
Монстр, рожденный из невозможности.
Ребенок, которому нигде нет места.
Единственное чувство, которое он испытывает — это ненависть,
Желание смерти для этих двоих в каждой из вселенных.
Ведьма и эльф из основного измерения
Были шокированы его появлением извне.
«Только не говорите мне, что мы с ним/ней переспали».
Оригинальный текст:
The elf from the age of metal and light,
The witch from the age of blood and darkness.
The ones from two different genres,
The baby born between those two,
The monster was born from impossibility.
The child that doesn't belong anywhere.
The only emotion he has is hatred,
Desiring death of the two in every universe.
The witch and the elf from the main branch of the story,
They were shocked at his appearance out of the dimension.
"Please don't tell me that I slept with him/her."
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