But they cradled me, yes?

18+ blog, Viktor, 28, he/they,

[viktor-ravencrest]

Hello, my name is Viktor. I'm an author, artist, and gamer, among other things.

Oblivion Assets for Character Journals

[fairydropart]

The Duet

Week 3 of Funguary, theme: immortal

[thombalan]

[wintercorrybriea2]

juvenile springtail

[depsidase]

[mreullogy]

[whisperingsoup]

it exists to divide the working class. All labour is skilled labour. Yes including that one. Yes, including that one too.

Do you know what's unskilled labour? Owning capital. There's no labour involved, thus requires no skill. And you can tell because people can be born into owning capital.

[heatherwitch]

Art is by BreadPanes: instagram

[1five1two]

'Prancing Horses'. Pierre Dunand. Panel. Lacquered and gilt wood. 1914-1996.

[catcrumb]

[processintegrated]

[cryptonature]

Little Plastic Jesuses in the Woods

Somebody left little plastic Jesus figures all over one of the woodland trails I like to walk. They have big, cartoonish grins, white robes, and brightly colored sashes in a variety of colors. I’ve been picking them out of knotholes and tree-forks for days, dropping them in the recycling bin by the parking lot.

At first, the whole thing just made me very angry. It wasn’t just litter; it was litter that felt like an invasion of my own sacred space with a cheap, mass-produced icon that felt like the sacredness-equivalent of empty calories.

Honestly, it made me furious, my rage directed at a kind of deeply American-feeling religiosity that is sold in packs of 72 for $29.99 (I checked). Religion as cheap, brightly-colored, disposable eyesores littered somewhere quiet and gentle and authentic. Religion that is colorful and easy and leaves a mess behind for somebody who actually gives a damn to clean up.

Perhaps worst of all, I suspected that somebody thought of scattering the little figures everywhere as a moral act.

I’m still not happy about it, but my anger has cooled through many walks and the imaginative empathy that always arises from my long contemplations. I reasoned that it was probably a child (encouraged by adults). I reasoned that I wasn’t always respectful of wild places when I was a kid. I reasoned that there is huge, institutional religious machinery at work that seems designed to shrink participants’ worldviews down to a pinhole.

So, my anger slowly resolved into sadness.

And I’m left hoping that whoever tucked trash all over one of my favorite woodlands meets with some moments of clarity and self-reflection. I hope they consider the real value of plastic sacredness sold in bulk. I hope they consider the usefulness of virtue expressed as litter. I hope they question who they expect to comfort or convert with mass-produced trash that smells of a chemical tang, trash abandoned to block sunlight from a tiny patch of moss or wedged in tree-bark like a pebble in a shoe.

I hope they awaken to the symbolism of dropping something inert and obstructive in a place that otherwise grows and breathes and provides.

Substack / Patreon

[forkingbrusselsprout]

[cryptid-stimming]

Source

[Image ID: two gifs of inside a dark tunnel sculpture slowly being lit-up from the far end. As it is lit-up, layers of plants and animals are slowly revealed, silhouetted against the yellow light.]

[razehider]

there was a point in time where i found tiny depressed looking weevils under just about every oak leaf i flipped, but this Coeliodes was probably my favorite. no longer in the classic scrunched up seed pose that i tended to find them in but also not really alarmed by my presence, just gazing at nothing in particular. contemplative, even

(May 22nd, 2025)

[viktor-ravencrest]

A question for anyone who plays Degree of Lewdity:

Is there any point to going to school in year 2 if you got A+ in all of your classes in year 1?

[expressions-of-nature]

by Chironius

[maru046]

Yes, more bloodymary… this time it’s a scene from where nothing bleeds by interstellarisms

[dozydawn]

modern sign painting, 1949.

[simone-lotus]

My sweet baby looking so eager to start on her adventures only to crash and burn later. Still wearing her gardening gloves - she thinks she ready.

[microsff]

Every morning, the queen asked her magic mirror to show her the most beautiful person in the world.

The mirror replied "To whom?"

"The miller who made the flour for my bread," the queen would say, or "Whoever spun the thread my shawl was made of".

The mirror would show her, and she'd be amazed.

[nullen-void]

The first time, she says "To me," and the mirror dutifully shows her her reflection. And she is pleased.

The second time, she says "To the King," and she is pleased to see herself once more.

The third time, she says "To the Royal Advisor," and is once more satisfied to see herself.

The fourth time, she says "To the scribe who takes the King's letters." She is shown the man's wife. And she seethes, but quiets herself, for it is only right that a man loves his wife.

The fifth time, she says "To the Court Wizard," and is shown the man's departed mother as he remembers her from his youth, radiant and smiling and warm and larger than life.

The tenth time, she says "To the Stable Master," and is shown the fastest horse in the stable, majestic and free as the wind even in captivity

"To the baker," she is shown the man's daughter, young and adorable and full of joy and laughter.

"To the artist who did my portrait," she is shown a painting of a woman done by the man's teacher, who he still looks up to now that he is well established himself.

"To the Royal Knight," she is surprised but not displeased to see the castle's entire guard force in the middle of doing drills.

The one hundredth time she asks the mirror, and it asks her "to whom?" she once again says, "To me." And she does the same the one hundred and second, and again and again and again.

It is a different person each time, and they are all beautiful.