HOLY FUCKING SHIT THIS TOOK SO LONG. I Hope It Was Worth It? Man Red Reality Messed Me UP, Like I Felt

HOLY FUCKING SHIT THIS TOOK SO LONG. I hope it was worth it? Man red reality messed me UP, like I felt different after reading it. I just want my boy Robert to see his wife again ;-;

i wanna watch this show and the service go down in flames, all while I look on like that sickos meme and giggle maniacally. If you would like to do that with me, please don't support this show and consider reblogging this post!

Amazon’s casting choices don’t reflect the true racial diversity in Tolkien’s works and are focused on tokenism over real efforts to tackle the flaws in the text and make an inclusive vision of Arda

Amazon’s one major POC actress is playing a role that canonically involves her throne and her power being stolen from her by a genocidal colonizer who wants to exterminate the religious minority she’s part of

Amazon fired their Tolkien consultant and their unsafe set conditions caused the injuries of stuntpeople

Amazon as a company is unethical, directly opposed to progressive causes, and openly emotionally manipulating viewers to get them to watch the show

Amazon has done more real harm to actual people of color and other marginalized groups than their efforts to include nonwhite actors in relatively small or stereotypical roles can address

Amazon’s promotional materials for this show treat fans of color as props to further their agenda

REPOST THIS ANYWHERE YOU LIKE AS OFTEN AS YOU LIKE.

thaaaaats right! I’m finally doing commissions! You can pay me to get art like this:

my prices: 

BUST:

Sketch: $1.00

Linework: $2.00

Flat Color: $2.50

Shaded color: $3.50

FULL BODY: 

Sketch: $1.50

Linework: $2.50

Flat Color: $3.50

Shaded color: $4.00

FULL PIECE (Full Body + Complex Background)

Sketch: $2.50

Linework: $3.50

Flat Color: $4.50

Shaded color: $6.00

prices may vary depending on the complexity of the piece. DM me if you’re interested! I will be accepting payment via Paypal at gkmt50@gmail.com

if nobody else got me @indigo--montoya and @thepossumsaretakingover got me. seriously i love you guys 

Reblog if you want anons.

Let me tell you what it means to truly, unequivocally hate war: My uncle once swam the length of a river with shrapnel tearing into his skin to desert his post. He didn’t make it the first time—I guess shrapnel weighs you down, who would’ve guessed—so he tried. And he tried. And he tried. And he tried until he reached the other side, until he entered Croatia and no longer had to feel the weight of a gun in his palm. That is what it means to hate war; Americans will never truly, unequivocally hate war, because they are the ones starting them. They start and end wars and cry about them an ocean away. None of it means anything.

Let me tell you what it means to truly, unequivocally hate war: My mother doesn’t watch the news when they talk about Syria; too much like the war, she says. The hungry children, the crying mothers, the bombs and destroyed buildings. It could very well be Bosnia. You Americans are so silly, praising soldiers and the forced occupation of land by the military. Your soldiers get discounts for killing people; my father doesn’t tell a single soul he was in the army unless they served with him. Americans never hear about it, because they don’t understand. They start wars over here; they don’t flee them. My father doesn’t speak of his time in the army unless it’s past midnight and he’s down three shots of rakija. I have never once heard him talk about what they did him. My father, a prisoner of war. A honest-to-God, living, breathing, prisoner of war. You Americans know nothing about hating war. You never will. My father held a gun in his hands for the first time at the age of 16 and hated it; your father welcomes the feeling of a gun in his hand and boasts about his time in the military.

Let me tell you what it means to truly, unequivocally hate war: I will never know my grandma. I will never know my aunt. I will never get to see my mother’s chilhood home; all we have left is a line of graves, marked with smooth white headstones, the crescent moon and star carved into every single one of them. That’s where my home used to be, my mother tells me. And that’s where they stacked the dead bodies. Yes, you Americans know nothing about war. You praise the very people who carry out acts of war and turn your backs on refugees, on the displaced and the lost. You will never understand.

I hate war, says the lady next to me. No, I don’t think you do, I say.