#WERE UP A THOUSAND OVER HERE!!!!!

[eeepgrove]

Fav writer just followed me I COULD DIE🥹🥹

[mxtxfanatic]

Have you ever read "The Shade of Old Trees" by Kryal on ao3?

I genuinely think you might enjoy it, the characterization is top tier and the author's notes go heavy into details on why they made this or that decision. It was all incredibly good, well thought out, well researched, and with not an ounce of fanon to find.

I’ve read it, and while I initially enjoyed the story and the long author’s notes, I found it very toothless in its critique of anything substantial despite the author bringing up major issues in the modern world, themself. It also felt like their understanding of China and its history came straight from one of those 5-minute info-videos that’s half American state propaganda and pretend like the history of modern China begins in 1949. Finally, they also fall into the trap of softening Jiang Cheng’s character in the final confrontation with the excuse that “jc wouldn’t actually want to kill wwx!” despite that being what he literally did and tried to do again in canon. I appreciate them writing through their logic, but that doesn’t mean I’ll agree with the leaps they take simply because they’ve explained why they’ve made them. Great start, weak finish.

[synchlora]

something to be said abt a foster pleading for anyone to adopt their extremely sweet and playful disabled tabby cat for over a year with absolute Crickets in response vs us making one post at 8pm with a frankly very poorly taken photo of a cute no-personality fluffy white kitten we have (who's not even been here 3 days!) and we have 45 comments within the hour and three of our adoption people with their phones blowing up

[lindamccartneysstrap]

Had another category 5 feeling too much empathy for paul mccartney moment and started crying again I need to be shot like a lame horse and I really mean that

[creationsabyss]

Anemoia (How Long Will You Reach For The Ghosts Of Distant Stars?)

They could see the stars tonight, bright splatters of light across the shadows of the sky. They don't really know why they decided to come out here, so far from the comfort of their little cottage, but they don't want to return, not yet at least. Wrapped in their cloak, they nestle themselves into the trunk of an old, hollowed out tree as they crane their neck upwards. The stars flicker and blink down at them, almost as if they were waving a hello. A ridiculous thought they don't mind entertaining as they raise their own hand to wave back. Maybe they are a bit of a fool, but they never claimed to be wise in the first place.

This reminds them of dreams they could have sworn they had forgotten, the wisps of names and faces that linger on their tongue even as the memories faded from their mind. They could almost feel the leathery skin underneath their fingertips, the sharp edges of scales too big. The blooming feeling of awe as feather and fur alike curl around their shoulders. Even the whistling winds, rustling through leaves and grass, remind them of the songs they used to sing, the lyrics long forgotten. Not quite unexpectedly, it hurts. Aching something fierce and bold in their chest, that forces tears to well in their eyes. Logically, they know it's silly to cry over something they can barely remember, over something that the world doesn't remember existing. At least, not in this life.

But they don't swallow down the sob that leaves their throat nor wipe away the iridescent tears that fall from their eyes. They don't mind the chill that seeps into their chest as their tears soak through the thin fabric of their shirt, far too busy watching the stars drift across the skies. They think, at first, only distantly, that they can see the twisting shapes of long serpentine bodies and billowing wings. They swear they can hear the timber of voices overlapped, the shadows of all too human bodies that they should know but can't quite remember. They wonder if they can miss people that don't exist.

They wonder if these memories are what drives them away from the people, the connections, of this earth. Star child, they remember their grandmother whispering to them in the late hours of the night. You are loved, they remember her murmuring to them every day from then on. They remember clinging to her feeble form as she spun tales of mystical beasts and stories of man made gods. Rivers to a lake, spiraling into the deep caverns underneath, hoarding knowledge underneath their silence. They wonder if there was some truth to her tales after all.

Star child, that name, title they suppose, has haunted them throughout their entire life. They wonder if it is why they can taste lightning on their tongue even when the skies are clear, if it is why they can feel the brittle-snap of thunder between their teeth. They wonder if it is why frost cradles their skin even when hearth-warm fire curls in their chest, the duality often leaving them sick and bedridden. Wildfires spark to life, just shy of burning and charring the vulnerable flesh of their heart. That coil around their ribcage and rumble as though the earth was quaking under a cat's quiet purr. All the while, ice forms at the base of their throat, encircling their arms like sharp shackles. They don't mind the chill, even when it hurts to speak. They welcome the frost and the cold, wrapping themselves in snow to stave off the constant heat.

They suppose it is, just like the winds that push for them to wander the world. A wanderlust unseen in their family, where others root themselves into the soil, they take to the skies. Following where the breeze and the gales blow them, the peaks of snow-capped mountains and the depths of oceans. Their body is not meant for travel, frail from the war that wages inside them. But it's not as if they could stop. They ache for the road, to chase after the stars as if they could someday reach up to pluck them from the skies. Their only real companion over the years, the feel of coiled bodies in the palm of their hand and the sound of an echoing roar in their ears.

Sometimes, they still expect a tail to curl itself around their legs even though the creature that tail is connected to only resides in their dreams. They still turn and expect to see the divine tipped claws of monsters, to have to tip their head back to speak to looming shadows of those they should know and still somewhat do, even if they haven't met them yet. Their disappointment when all that greets them is silence and emptiness is often crushing and immeasurable, inconsolable grief that drapes across their shoulders like a dark veil. Those days, they spend their time inside, away from the sun and the stars, away from the gaze of the people that stare and stare. They spend those days painting and writing, over and over, trying to capture the faces and forms of their companions they so desperately want to remember.

But it never looks quite right. Something is always wrong, always off. Failure is a bitter thing to swallow, it tastes of bile and blood and tainted honor. It is the shattering of pride, the sting of human hubris that leads them to bury their half written journals and messily sketched paintings. It is what forces them to grip the few pieces of their memories close, cradling their dreams like the most precious of treasures. Long fluttering scarves and cloaks, flowing fabrics that hide the invisible pouches of chiming bells and glimmering scales. Though they carry little on their journey, they can't help but feel an anchor's weight on their shoulders, Atlas heavy. A worthwhile price for the imaginary companions that drive away the loneliness, even if they do still want to feel the steady heartbeat underneath their hands.

Star child, they muse to themselves, it grows more fitting by the year. Stardust in their veins and the world at their fingertips, it is only a matter of time before they will be cradled in the careful coils of their once lost companions, one way or another.

@n0tamused

[boygirlctommy]

ive decided that andoras almost always has crazy makeup and wigs on simply bcus its fun for him. and everin doesnt see him without any of it on until after the birthday party debacle and loses it slightly bcus she thought that was his real hair the whole time wdym youre BALD (hes not bald his hair is just short)

[vulpinesaint]

mkay not to be like. a little insane or anything. but god i've been going crazy over religion (catholicism) and blood lately. did anyone else drink blood as worship every week since they were seven. was anyone else inundated with images of open wounds as holy. is anyone else consumed by the thought of holding onto a crucifix tightly enough for the edges of it to draw blood. i turned in a poem about drowning in communion wine in an empty church while bleeding from crucifix-inflicted hand wounds and trying to talk to god and my creative writing professor gave me extremely normal critiques i feel like i'm losing my mind

[d8tl55c]

"Inspiration in 4k (word count)"

25 sec, 4fps

[irawhiti]

man there is really no way out of poverty huh. like for real.

[constantvariations]

Adam was a cringy edgelord ever since the trailers, he simply got worse in different ways later on

How can people even like that character is beyond me

It's called "seeing the potential in a character that the writers fucked over from the start because they couldn't give the racism plot they started and refused to drop any nuance or compassion thanks to their 'violence is uwu bad' white supremacist politics"

Also, cringe edgelord is not inheritely a bad thing. Just look at Shadow the Hedgehog - he's cooler than you or I will ever be. Or my current hyperfixation husband V from Devil May Cry, who is 100% a cringe edgelord and I love him for that specifically

Kill not the cringe but the part of you that cringes and you will know freedom

[ketavinsky]

losing my shit rn over the new nightmare country particularly azazel communicating with the corinthian....... i was really really truly hoping that the new writers would comment on the fact that azazel is stored with the first corinthian and whereas i think it was pretty obvious from like. The Very Fucking Start of the comic that there was going to be some kind of bastardisation arc going on (the return of the all-white fit, the need to be seen, bro’s genuine delight at the premise of being worshipped as a god..........) i am so so so thrilled to finally see him make some concrete steps in the direction of being a complete fuckshit bastard again. like...... yeah... he remembers so clearly being at the cereal convention and being confronted for his ‘failure’ walking the waking world. he remembers the crushing novelty of that feeling, and how his first self was only able to process it as rage. he’s had time to reflect. he’s had time to recognise it as shame, and the significance of that. and yet what snags his attention is a couple. he allows himself to be distracted, and though he announces himself as an emissary who is acting under dream, as he is supposed to, he allows himself to want in front of an entity that is so clearly hostile. azazel doesn’t need to employ trickery to tempt the corinthian- he’s happy to indicate that he’s on the other side and that the second corinthian is undoubtedly defying dream by even hearing him out. but, even so, the memories...

[astrxealis]

finally actually working towards fixing my blogs lol 💪

[unproduciblesmackdown]

i do keep laughing at the particular in-characterness manifestation of their starting every answer with "i am illiterate,"

[bugdogg]

if i ever seem brave for some of the stuff i admit on here, just know its cause idk how to keep shit to myself. i cower at the thought of judgement and then proceed to expose my whole ass to tumblr anyway, because i dont have a working filter

[lord-radish]

Tens of thousands of people have been fired in the tech sector in the last six months alone. With the economy the way it is, and with people who are already unable to get a job, I wonder how an extra 20,000+ jobseekers are going to have any luck finding work.

[zemnarihah]

ooooo just got to tell this HUGE asshole at work that he was wrong i am going to be riding this high for a week