#I had the audacity to hope.

[kitsoa]

ah go me. trying to ignore last months cliffhanger for noragami and thinking that the events of this month chapter might not actually happen. serious case of hopium overdose.

all i could say was 'ahhh fuck' over and over and over again. cause you see it coming, but you hope it doesn't and its a slow motion car crash and has been for months now.

[alina-is-hollowing]

this got ship of theseus'd so badly but idc this is how i feel on sote lorewise

note: its not like im disregarding the lore fromsoft put in completely. the story is still amazing and I recognize and understand the direction they want the characters to go down. It's just that I can't help but hold onto a scenario where all this didn't happened and they got to live as normally and happily as possible like pre-shattering ya know

[blooming-periwxnkle]

It's kinda crazy when you think about how Ming Yi is basically the less ghastly version of He Xuan. And he was there by Shi Qingxuan's side for centuries, and yet Shi Wudu never found out. He never recognized him.

Imagine being in He Xuan's shoes - like this guy pretty much ruined his life and is indirectly responsible for the deaths of everybody who was dear to him. Shi Wudu rarely descends. But on the eve of Hanlu, he went down to check if he really died or not. He Xuan remembered his face. It probably haunted him during his times at Mt Tonglu, but when he finally meets this person, there is nothing on his face, no shock or horror.

He forgot him, forgot the face of the boy whose life he ruined.

He never bothered to remember. As if he never had a life.

It kind of reminds me of this scene from a manga called Yona of the Dawn. The protagonist is a princess who's on the run. She had lived a sheltered life and was trying her best to adjust to her new life. One day, she had to hunt a fawn for food, and one of her friends asked her if she would be okay with watching it, and she replied that she isn't. It's still hard for her. But she said that in the palace, thousands of animals were slaughtered every day to feed the royal family, and she never paid attention to it. But now, if she averts her eyes, it would be like refusing to acknowledge that the poor creature had a life.

Shi Wudu ruined his life for the sake of his brother, but let alone remorse, he even forgot what he looked like. He was there by his brother's side for centuries, and yet it never struck him, not until the moment his survival was on the line. If he was guilty, would it have changed anything? Would it bring He Xuan's family and the life he lost back? No, but at least it would ensure that his life meant something, anything.

And even after he recognizes him, his first reaction still is not guilt, not remorse. But a question, "You're alive?", perhaps an indirect way of saying, 'did I make a mistake that day?' Or 'did I fail to clear such an important evidence of my crime?'

The person whose life and afterlife is a consequence of his crime, the first thing he says to him is that.

"Noble people really are forgetful'', and He Xuan really meant it. He experienced it himself. For centuries.

[hercarisntyours]

my mom called oplita weird

[riacte]

was spiralling for a bit again so am forcing myself to remember that it gets better and you get better and all the people i watch are over thirty years old and you will get better at your craft over the years and you will be excited to age and find out what the next year brings. you will be excited to grow old and grow plants and make shitty doodles and learn sculpting woodworking and you will be bad at it but you will get better. you will look back and thank yourself for trying so sincerely. the time will pass anyway. in the future it gets better.

[haunted-xander]

And this is why Lightning should never be left in charge of children (...or angry teenagers)

[lesbiansforboromir]

Veilguard spoilers but I can never play Inquisition again cus theee MOMENT that fucking wolfboy says something about the Grey Wardens I will instinctually put my head directly through my monitor in my rabid need to wring his stupid little neck OH THE FUCKIING 'I HAVE THE ONLY POSSIBLE SOLUTION, EVEN IF IT IS IMPERFECT SO YOU SHOULDNT JUDGE ME' GUY IS JUDGING OUR??? COLLECTIVE IMPERFECT SOLUTION TO THE PROBLEM??

HE MADE??????????????

[viiridiangreen]

[wanderingmausoleum]

guys i can’t hold it in any longer. furiosa was such a mid ass movie. i cant stand it. i wanted so bad for it to be good. im so fucking mad

[entermyrealm]

feedback?

i'm admitting now that i honestly hadn't had one thought about the netflix sandman show AT ALL since they first released it, back when i first watched it. that was until Dream showed up in a very strange dream of mine. now, i can't seem to let go of it, the show, or anything else sandman-related (thanks a lot, morpheus), so i've decided to write my dream down in hopes of...something.

i miss writing my dreams as if they were stories, so if you want to read on, you can click below. if you do end up reading it, i welcome any feedback about how it's written. keep in mind that i'm writing it literally from my dreaming self's perspective (it's not meant to make a ton of sense, that's just how it happened). but i'd love to continue writing fanfic (and just in general), so feel free to let me know your thoughts. ✨

Dreaming (of an Endless)

On this night, not unlike other nights, you see yourself cross the threshold of a Jacobean manor. A gentle swish is all that announces your presence as the hem of your cloak brushes each concrete step leading up to the entrance. Moonlight illuminates the path behind you. You watch from afar as your darkened form passes through the heavy wooden doors that have curiously been left unlocked and ajar. The manor is welcoming both you and your watching self.

This version of you, this walking form, is shifting along with the environment. Your attire has changed once inside. Music can be heard in a distant room. Everything is quite black, but it is not unwelcoming. You notice that even though your cloak is gone, you feel safely enveloped in this darkness. Golden glowing candles intermittently dot each wall. You can feel the faint vibration of voices growing stronger with each careful step.

Am I here to greet them? Is this my purpose?

Before you can wonder whether or not you remember being invited, smartly dressed figures materialize around you. Much like yourself, they appear to undulate intangibly, as if their forms are undecidedly incorporeal. Your eyes see yourself watching them as you pass each group; softly smiling faces deep in conversation with their tablemates, some with tentative fingers gently touching. Your mind catches a peripheral glimpse down the darkened hall to your left. Small, antique tables hosting quiet guests are lined up against the windowed wall and extend all the way back into nothingness. An imposing staircase reveals itself next to this hallway, but an uneasiness prevents you from looking up to the second floor.

A shift, and then: lights! One light, rather, fixed above a small stage, shines so brightly that you blink to avert both sets of eyes. In that blink, you’ve become a confident body moving boldly through a large crowd that has formed in the center of this room. Your watching self notices red curtains hanging across the stage, in front of which sits a single wooden stool.

Your attention snaps forward to the mansion’s front entrance, at which you are now greeting an invited guest. Someone in the business of entertaining, but you have difficulty placing exactly who they are. It doesn’t matter anyway. You usher them inside with an arm at their back, passing over a bright red carpet that suddenly lines the foyer. You stop them briefly to warn them about the crowd just on the other side of the wall, but they simply wave you away. Your walking self shrugs and turns. You can see yourself smirk as the crowd erupts into shouts and applause.

As you leave this raucous behind, the inviting dark surrounds you once more. You feel a deep breath fill your lungs. The mansion’s muted greens, golds and burgundy are being traded in for cooler tones.

Is something coming?

You thought you were feeling exhausted, but the dark boots that were once on your feet feel lighter, along with the rest of your clothing. This new form is curious to explore the mansion and its grounds. Your watching self seems to join with the walking; both sets of eyes are viewing the same path that is just barely visible outside in the night garden.

The moon is a silver lamp in the sky. Stars can be seen faintly winking. Is that an old oak tree? Astonishingly massive leaf-covered limbs stretch up and out as if to reach the moon. You briefly marvel at the tree and everything else outside.

Hmf.

You are not sure of the next sequence of events. An impossibly pale hand reaches to hold yours. You reach behind you without turning to grab hold of an impossibly pale hand. Restrained strength lingers there. A breath. A low voice. He breathes and you feel him keeping pace with you, if ever so deliberately behind. Your fingers touch and your black cloak returns to match his. He towers above you. No, he is…slouching? Both of you go unnoticed by all houseguests on silent cat feet. 

As a pair, you have walked every inch of the mansion’s first floor before finally stepping out into the night garden together. Through the glass double doors, descending a few stone stairs, bare feet disturbing pearls of dew on the grass, yet making no sound on the gravel path. You pass through low bushes and attempt to continue on to a dark clearing between the trees.

We could explore the rest of this garden, too! The moon is so bright, and there’s a path up ahead - 

Stop… 

Pleading, slow, not demanding. You think you heard it in your ear, but maybe it came from inside your head. He used too much strength (he doesn’t know it), and you’re chest to chest facing his seemingly solid form. You’re looking up at his face. He keeps shifting, undulating. Is he nervous? You decide to look down, away from those dark starry eyes, and you notice that his hands are grasping yours between the two of you. You frown. Your watching self frowns.

You cannot stay with me.

His voice is too melodious and almost apologetic. You can barely focus. You just want to do as he says… You start.

Why does it matter? Why can’t it be my decision? Let’s go wherever we can.

His stoic glance is betrayed by the slightest smirk. There is so much hesitation.

No.

This is annoying. You are annoyed.

The walker and the watcher. This is not the first time we have met.

Isn’t it, though? You actually can’t recall. You frown again. You feel his hands drop from yours. He watches them fall to your sides. Wait - he’s…avoiding your questions. Wasting time.

I’m certainly not meant to stay here.

No. To stay with me means pain and death. You would have to die.

Dramatic.

I’m no stranger to either. I have no fear of either.

All of the air is gone. For a moment, it’s as if the reassuring curtain of night drops to reveal that you have both been standing in the desolate, uncaring cosmos. You blink. His eyes are pitch. The night garden is surrounding you once more, but something has changed. There is a pressure keeping you immobile. Your watching self sees that his arms have wrapped around your center with his hands at the small of your back. He carefully extends two long fingers on each hand and pushes into either side of your spine.

Your watching and walking bodies go rigid, gasping, and your head recoils at the sudden pressure and pain. The pain grows, but you feel yourself protesting. You make a pained noise but still persist in your wanting to stay with him.

You manage to lower your head down and forward to see his large slender form looming over you, wrapped around you, dark eyes glistening, almost teary but determined. Scared? Uneasy. He knows you have magic, too. He knows you can be stubborn. He is pushing you away, out of the dreaming. You swear you catch a glimpse of regret.

You wake up.

[kindahoping4forever]

Needed for the blog, you understand

[that-foul-legacy-lover]

today just will not let me rest huh. reasons are in the tags but i get very emotional just be warned

[keepthetension]

OH FUCKING ALSO auggy putting his headband onto day's head, messing up the hair that mhok styled so carefully, made me screech into my security blanket like an angry peacock. dishonor on that bitch, dishonor on his cow, dishonor on his stupid gross stinky headband

[hexitca]

Fuck you scalpers

bc the actual fucking Teru Vash is only 10-15 bucks (shipping from japan pushes that up obv)

[jyndor]

I CANNOT

THIS WHITE MAN HAS SOME NERVE

HE DID NOT JUST WHITESPLAIN MLK'S OPINIONS ON ISRAEL TO BERNICE KING I-

🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡

[thebunnylord]

Ever since Percy’s fit about wanting a scarf, the islanders take it upon themselves to make a bunch of scarves and send them to the shed for Percy on Christmas, and every year, Percy is met with hundreds of packages (including his fans from around the world because come on, how are these engines not famous.) on Christmas morning containing both scarves and fan letters. He has received so many scarves that he can’t use that the fat controller had to tell everyone to stop sending them, but don’t worry! The scarves are always donated to hospitals and homeless shelters so they’re not a total waste, and they did keep a few of the interesting ones in the break room.

It’s also not uncommon for the engines to receive fan mail, they are famous after all. The fan mail usually gets pinned to a special bulletin board in the break room and has been on display at Tidmouth for anniversaries for the public to view.

After Edward decided to leave Tidmouth shed and stay at Wellsworth to be closer to his branchline after a combination of finding that he’s been running slower and his eyesight becoming poor due to old age, the fans were not happy that Edward left and thought it meant he was leaving for good. They flooded sir topham’s mailbox with angry letters with one person just writing the word “sob” for six pages straight, front to back.

The fan mail can be pretty interesting