#how did they become birds

[cauldron-of-oddities]

Family fluff for the owl and the crow. And a little bit of background.

Powder has a nightmare and tries to distract herself back to sleep with the mundane noises at the bar. Only it seems having a fright can make things a bit more hairy, or should I say featherd?

Feather-tales

Powder feels small, unable to do anything, of being too scared and confused to do anything. The air around her is red and orange tinted and chokingly thick. She can hear shots and screams, though there's no one to be seen on a bridge that stretches out endlessly. She reaches out for Vi's hand only to grasp at nothing and then trip over an unseen edge and fall towards the wine red water below. Her heart clenches, and she goes icy cold with fear. She wants to, no, needs to fly! But her wings don't come. She's far, far too young to change. Powder tears her eyes open as the icy water hits her, and the darkness surrounds her. Hiccuping and gasping for breath, she wakes. A nightmare.

It isn't long before the first sniffle and another escapes her. She sits up, draws her knees to her chest, and leans her head on them, hoping to muffle her crying. She's seven, she's too big to be crying over nightmares, or so she tells herself. Powder wraps her arms around her head and tries to do as Vander told her. Focus on what's there, what's real.

She's in her bed, the fabric scratchy and smelling of soap, a single crystal hangs above her head, glinting in the sliver of light coming through the creak in the door. Vi is softly snoring above her in the bunk bed. Focusing on the crystal, she tries to think of all the different colours she wants. Her breathing finally evens out, and she lies back down, closing her eyes only for dreads cold fingers to creep back in.

Giving up, she crawls out of bed and up the ladder to her sister. “Vi?” Her sister rolls towards her with a mumble, and Powder feels hopeful for a moment that she'll get a hug, and maybe then sleep will come again. And then Vi lets out the most horrendous snore and almost smacks her with a flailing arm. Her sister's too far into lala-land, waking her from a sleep this deep is close to impossible. Powder decides to pick up her blanket and huddle back beside Vi, her sister being there would at least make feel safer.

Back in her own bunk, she wraps her blanket around her like a cloak as she hears the noise from the bar quieting down but still present. Biting her lip, she considers another option. If Vander was wrapping up, maybe she could sit with him for a bit, and she could maybe have some sweet milk. Yeah, that'd be ok. Mind made up, she tiptoes up the stairs.

The bar is dimly lit, and half the lights have already been turned off. In one of the booths, three people remain. Hunched over a game of cards.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Vanders voice is hushed, a worry line forming on his forehead.

She climbs up one of the barchairs and fiddles with her hair, the ghost of her dream running its icy fingers up her spine. “Can't sleep.” she mumbles out eventually.

Vander rubs his beard as he takes her in. He must see something because all he does is give a thoughtful hum. “Bad dream?” She nods. “Alright, you can stay for a bit."

She slumps relieved onto the counter. While sleep sounds like the most horrible idea in existence, her body is tired, and staying upright is far too much effort. The mundane noises of card shuffling, a glass clinking and being set down, and Vanders soft off tune humming slowly lulling her back to sleep. Probably as he intended. Maybe it would be ok to close her eyes now.

With a deep breath, Powder relaxes, and it is at that precise moment that moment the door bangs open and she startles. Tumbling, falling from the barstool, the sensation calling back the icy water, reaching up to her. Only there's no cold. She's cradled in warm, large, dark hands, and she sees Vander looking over the bar with a panicked expression.

“Hey there, little one.” It's softly spoken with a warm tone to it. “Now little one, seems you've gone and shifted before you're meant to. No worries, it happens.” The man directs the statement both at her and Vander.

By the open door, a drunken man stands, takes in the sight before him, and with a slured "I really am plastered, can't be right..." stubles back out. Vander lets go of the breath he's been holding and turns towards the patron who broke her fall.

“Thank you, Wyeth.” Vander mumbles, he looks completely stumped, and why is everyone so big? Vander brows practically form a single one with how he’s frowning. It can't be good if he's doing that. Panic starts to take hold of her.

Wyeth chuckles. “It's not unheard of, but it is rare for a kid to shift. She just needs to calm down, and she'll shift back, the magic sometimes hiccups.”

“Hmmm.” Vander doesn't sound convinced. Wyeth carries on. “Inna looked up everything to watch out for when we had our boy. Sometimes, when a kid's dealing with big emotions, the magic sparks, and to keep them safe, they shift.”

Shift? She changed?! Powder starts flailing about her little wings buzzing and tries to shout, but all that comes out are a series of squeaks and peeps. Oh no, oh no! She'd wanted to shift in her dream, and now she has, but she's still too small, utterly useless. Her heart is going the rate of a hummingbird.

“There, there, little one.” The voice of the man holding hervdrops to a hush, and he moves a finger to pet her over the head. It is soothing. The warm hand feels secure. When she's calmed a little, she feels a quick bit of vertigo as she's gently handed over to Vander's hands. She curls up in them, not just secure, but the safety of familiarity as well.

“Cute fluffy little thing you are.” Another chuckle from Wyeth. His gentle demeanour helping her calm down. Breathing steady again, she takes in her situation again. Spirits, everyone's so big. A bird, she's a chick.

She must be cute, though, she concludes, finally calm enough to think again, as the other two have joined at the bar and are practically cooing over her. Vi would have such a giggle at that. Vander turns to her rescuer, with an expression that screams just how out of his depth he feels. “Did your boy ever shift?”

“Nah, the kid’s far too chill. He's about her age, so who knows, though? And he's usually far too busy tinkering.”

Now Vander is looking at her again. “A tinkerer, huh?” Wyeth laughs before speaking.

“You'll probably see him around, Benzo took him in as an apprentice a few weeks ago.” Wyeth looks to Vander and then the others before quickly settling the tab and ushering the others out.

Before he leaves, he tells Vander. “Maybe tell a story? Calms most kids right down.” Powder decides she likes her fall breaker because something to distract her would be nice. She peeps in what she hopes, and it sounds like affirmation. “A story?” Vander still looks as stumped as he was before. “Hmmm, let's get a bit more comfortable first.”

He sets about folding and tucking her blanket into a little nest and places her in it. It's comfy, and she nestles in. Vander quickly locks up and gingerly scoops up the entire nest and heads to his room.

Vanders room is fairly bare, one double bed, plain sheets, two pillows above the bed is a shelf, two books, a bottle of what she knew was better whiskey than what's in the bar. By it was an ornate ashtray and feather attached to a leather band hanging over the edge and gently swaying in the draft of the undercity from the open window.

From her new perch on one of the pillows, Powder tilts her head with an inquisitive squeak. “Ah sorry Pow, I'm no storyteller. Give me a moment to think.” He sits down on the side of the bed and reaches up, stroking the long black oil slick glinting feather. “Sometimes I miss your flair for the dramatics and telling a tale.” He tells it.

“Feathers…” He trails off. “How we got our feathers.” She cheeps happily and loudly for that. It's a good tale of how, despite Piltover's oppression, they have one secret, one freedom those Pilities will never know or have.

“Alright, alright. Message received.” He's looking less worried now as he launches into the tale.

“Once Zaun was called Oshra Va'Zaun the great harbour city, and it prospered. However, with such wealth, there would always be those for whom it would bever be enough. Greed led to tragedy.

For they had the people dig and dig and dig until the ground weakened until the banks of the river could no longer hold until the south city rumbled and sank.”

He looks to Powder to see if she's alright. She ruffles a bit and hopes her message of ‘carry on with it,’ is understood. It luckily is.

“As the waters flooded, many were swept away, the goddess heard the cries. Janna came down in a great gust of wind and pushed the waters back, but many were trapped. The only way out was the sky, and so Janna took the form of a bird in blue light. Abd all who had been trapped in the depths in that moment changed form. Where there were arms, there were wings, where there had been feet there were talons, where there was skin there were feathers. All changed to a bird."

She thinks to herself that her favourite bit is the blue light. There's magic to the colour and she too is blue. She doesn't notice herself changing back, too involved in the story for the moment. She crawles under Vanders arm and onto his lap. “And then? You have to finish the story!” It's said with a petulant pout.

“Yes, well, you're going to have to let me speak then.” He sounds relieved.

“So relieved was Janna that her gift had worked, she left the magic with the people of Zaun. And so angry was she at those who brought such harm they would never know the gift granted to the Zaunites, this boon was ours alone, to fly free to join her on the winds."

As he finishes the tale, Powder lets out a great yawn. She feels sleepy, and it's good sleepy now. She's already half dozing as Vander picks her up with a soft chuckle.

“Off to bed with you."

“Okay…” Another yawn marks the word. And then because she's curious, even through her exhaustion. “What was I?"

“I couldn't tell, but you were very cute. A little powder ball of fluff.” That has her giggling. Vander makes his way quietly to her and Vi's room. The door creaks open softly, and a moment later, she feels her pillow beneath her head, a hand run over her hair and her blanket settle over her.

She nuzzles into her bed, and through sleep-lidded eyes, she sees Vander look thoughtful. “I have some errands tomorrow, I'm dropping by a friend for some supplies. And it seems he has an apprentice now about your age, and he likes to tinker too. Would you like to join me?” That sounds like a nice idea. She nods bearly aware. The last thing she hears before drifting off is Vander whispering “Goodnight, let the good dreams take flight.”

Other The Owl and Crow stories.

[fisheito]

at last....yakumo with CHIKEN

[danieyells]

Acimo unscrambles into Camio, and Camio is depicted as standing on burning coals when answering questions, which I assume is the aspect of it that grants Ritsu his pseudo-invulnerability

And I imagined that when Ritsu made his wish it was something like to be unshakeable and impenetrable. He mostly meant it figuratively but as @ritsu-shinjo puts it, being immune to being punched in the face makes Ritsu very smug.

And I imagined that Camio gave him a trial. Just a little one. Maybe even before he made the wish--Leo said the demons chose them after all, so I can imagine that Camio tested Ritsu before he was ever in a situation where he would be desperate enough to sell his soul for a wish.

Ritsu found himself in some vast void or pit in hell or something. But the only thing of note between him and the bird-demon watching him was a little road of burning coals. And all Camio asked him to do was walk to where he stood across the coals. If it hurt too much or he was too frightened the path was narrow enough that he could go off the side. But if he truly believed himself worthy of the change he desired--if he really wanted to be able to help his father--he need only walk through the coals, for the trials ahead of him in life would be equally difficult, if not moreso. His soul was the only cost. But he would live normally. Should Camio need more of him, such as to use his soul while his body lived on or some such, he would know.

Ritsu, of course, requested this contract in writing. It was provided and signed(Camio 'signed' with one of his little clawed bird feet in red. . .'ink'--unsettling but not all that different from a hanko stamp Ritsu supposed) and Ritsu looked at this coal path and his bare feet(this was definitely a dream because his pajamas had mysteriously disappeared and he felt unbothered by his own nudity) and. He walked. And it burned but he was determined. He was worthy. He wasn't going to back down.

And the coals started to give way and sink a bit. They sank his ankles and they burned the whole of his feet. But he kept walking through them, trying to lift his feet up further to unsink himself. But he sank further, down to his calves. It wasn't too late to turn back and escape--but he refused to show weakness or doubt in himself. He wasn't going to show weakness to some nightmare. He kept walking and sank further--knees thighs hips and finally one step just dropped him wholly into a pit where the coals swallowed him completely.

At first he was terrified--but he realized it. Didn't hurt? It was a little hard to breathe, the fire was swallowing his oxygen, but he wasn't in pain. And if he moved his arms or legs the coals moved out of the way. He felt extremely warm, like burning, but not pain and feom what little he could see of his own hands through the coals he wasn't. Burning at all. His body was fine.

He kept walking in the direction he'd been facing. He felt a wall in front of him and when he pressed his hand against it he felt the coals covering him fall away to the ground around him and he was back in his room, pajamas back where they ought to be, no hellish void and his skin cooling down, the only coal left burning in his own hand with the little demon bird stood atop it.

It sang and for a moment he understood. Congratulatory. "Well done, Coalwalker."

The bird flapped its wings and the coal in his hand turned to the contract they had signed, Camio itself becoming a thick smoke he inhaled with a sharp gasp but didn't feel any need to cough from his lungs.

"Should you need the agreed upon strength again, you need only recite the incantation: Acimo."

"Acimo. . . ." He felt stiff, but not tense. Heavy, but not weighed down by his body. Sliding, and tilting, and-- "aah!"

His mattress slid and tilted sideways off of his bed, depositing him onto the floor with a thump much louder than he was sure was truly necessary, his bedside table sliding along the floor some from his head thumping against it. It didn't hurt despite that he felt his elbow collide with the floor--and when he squinted into the dark, hearing his mother running down the hall towards his room in response to the noise, he was certain he saw a divot in the wood where he'd cracked it on impact. None on the rest of the floor at least, but it seemed the desire to be 'unshakeable' had manifested in an increased density.

"Ritsu! Are you alright!?" His mother called into his room. "I'm coming in, okay?"

"Yes, that's fine--I'm alright. . . ." He wasn't in any pain at all. Not from his elbow in the floor or his head hitting the corner of the table. No pain, no blood, no disorientation beyond what was expected from sliding down suddenly--and the sudden lights from the hall and his room light turning on once his mother had opened the door and run over. She reached out to examine him, worried for his wellbeing. Noted his tension--the stiffness that hardened his body when he recited that incantation--and he reassured her that he was simply tense from suddenly waking up falling down. Something guided him to how he could disable the power and he 'relaxed' with a few deep breaths before his mother could worry over him further, although she still insisted on a quick trip to the emergency room to make sure he hadn't had some sort of seizure or fractured anything in his fall.

They replaced his bedframe and had the floor repaired in the coming weeks.

On the way home from the emergency room with his clean bill of health, his mother pointed out to him how rare and odd it was to see a thrush so far into the city. It tweeted at him, and he knew it was for him though he no longer understood its song, and flew away.

It would be a long time before he found use for the physical power he'd been given, but knowing that he was practically immune to physical pain bolstered his mind. Unshakeable. Impenetrable.

He need only become a fully fledged lawyer--the best lawyer in Japan--and he would absolve his father of the mounting accusations against him. This wish was only a piece in his true wish.

Nothing would get in his way, now that he had walked the coals.

[palaceoftears]

Magnificent Century Rewatch: One Picspam per Episode

Episode 17: The Double Joy

-My dear mother used to say "walk barefoot on earth and it shall take away all your troubles and sorrows, earth shall give you happiness and joy"

-Your mother spoke well, one can only find peace in earth. But I'm not sure if it is on earth or in it.

[youareunbearable]

I always see these posts about Maedhros and Elwing, like yes both leap to their deaths clutching a Silmaril and I adore the foil allegories, but what of Maglor??

My tiktok feed has been playing that one fan Odysseus song, the "get in the water, or ill raise the tides so high all of Ithaca will die" song, and I cant help but just picture Maglor, at the ends of his rope, covered in Ambarussa's blood, the youngest son of Feanor again after spending an untold amount of time being the second oldest, just going still and deadly at Elwing

Hes no Luthien, no half Maia that can pluck at the threads of reality like one can a harp, but he is the best Singer of the Noldor, and depending on who you ask, of all of the First Born. One of the only Sons of Feanor with an affinity for water while the rest burn, but that doesn't mean he can't become a rolling boil.

Once the final breath of Ambarussa escapes their lungs, oh the Scream Maglor will have let go. Just as a drowning person will grasp at anything to keep them afloat, even to the point where they may drown their rescuer just to keep their head above the waves, Maglor’s scream PULLS

All the water surrounding this costal city would Lurch, would rush and flood and crash upon the city walls. The streets, already run red with blood, would become knee deep blood pools. These red rivers would part before him and his echoing dirge, his siren wailing, the bloody waves would lap at his feet with every step he would take up Elwing's tower.

He would corner her, eyes blazing with the same light that she clutches desperately to her chest, to her heart, and Maglor wouldn't care about the Jewel, he's already lost so much to it that if he held it himself he would just toss it into the waves anyways, let it sink to the black depths where it belongs.

No, Maglor would pin her on the balcony, block her exits so all she can see is the blood stained water seeping around his feet, inching towards her, and the furious roar and crash of the raging ocean behind. He would hum, a disarming little song, and the waves seem to surge upwards, reaching towards the tower balcony on beat. The spray of the waves would splatter across her back, would mist Maglor’s face, the salt of the ocean mixing with the salt of his tear stained face. He would look at her, dripping in water and blood, both of his brothers and his enemies, and he would sing one little line, a command more like.

"Get in the water"

[articskele]

IF I HAD A NICKEL EVERYTIME I WANTED TO BE FRIENDS WITH A DUO OF CHARACTERS FROM A HORROR GAME, ONE BEING HUMANOID AND THE OTHER BEING A MONSTER WITH SHARP TEETH-

[thatswhatsushesaid]

sometimes posts like this grind my gears worse than the bad faith takes by the antis because they make me depressed rather than annoyed.

i mean… ok, i guess?? 🤷‍♀️

like i genuinely believe there’s only a handful of characters in the novel who are actually evil, irredeemable assholes, and jgy would not be among their number imo. and it is weird to me that someone can claim to ‘perfectly understand and sympathize with [jgy’s] feelings and decisions,’ and still decide that he’s fundamentally evil and beyond redemption. i don’t think there’s anything in the text that supports this read either, particularly not when we take into consideration jin ling and lan xichen’s respective reactions to having their grieving questioned or ignored.

all that said, there absolutely is a character who is tragically beyond redemption at the end of the novel, and his name is not jin guangyao. it’s nie huaisang.

[dan-crimes]

Weird Al mention

[air-razor]

I will dig my claws into that oversized ball of corruption...

[kurim-chis]

HES SO HANDSOME

Watch the general kiss a finch. He’s so soft and pretty djcjjebxidjv

【《崩坏：星穹铁道》浮光映影：「拂晓之前」-哔哩哔哩】 https://b23.tv/3iemhpx

[crowcryptid]

Heading to Minnesota in 2 weeks to scout it out cause I might be moving there

[outeremissary]

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Balthazar and Tristian!

I hope all is well in the once-Stolen Lands! The hardest part of moving back to Cheliax away from Mendev is the distance between my old diplomatic allies turned friends. On this day of love and friendship, I extend my most cheerful of celebrations to you two! Please take it easy today, the kingdom can afford one day of a break, Balthazar. I promise it’s not going to all fall apart. You’re lucky Tristian has the patience of a saint. 

Hopefully these gifts will give you an excuse to step off the throne for a little bit! The wine and cheese is local to Cheliax. Of course, I don’t know how it compares to what you guys produce over there, but I hope it at least is palatable enough for a date night! I’ve also sent along some books on ancient arcane rituals that might interest you - Regill would’ve insisted they be thoroughly examined for anything dangerous… which technically you can do. We won’t tell him. It’s wrapped in the fashion magazines last I picked up from Absalom - I hope I didn’t bend their pages doing so! I remember you also being really into that sort of stuff.  

I also sent along some balm I found when I was there for feathers. I can’t believe how soft it’s made mine, I really just had to pass it along to you too! I know what a huge pain it is to care for them, especially with your wings. Hopefully you find it useful! I’d love to come visit sometime - if you have any other world ending cataclysms, I’m just a Sending away!

-Warm regards, Minovae!"

My dear Minovae,

Though this letter falls into your lap a touch late for me to properly wish you well for the holiday, I can certainly send my hopes that you spent it pleasantly with that husband of yours. Though duty never takes a holiday, I must say you more than earned the rest. I can only hope you enjoyed a long and indulgent vacation for the holiday. Perhaps at the spas you have told me so much about, or maybe enjoying that evergreen Chelaxian theater scene (though I confess I can’t imagine Regill sitting through an opera without making his displeasure quite known). Tristian sends regards as well, and is with me insisting on knowing what I put down. He has doubts about some of the books, Minovae- you will have to reassure him when next you write.

As for us, you needn’t have worried. The toil of the realm is ceaseless, it’s true, but I do still know how to enjoy myself. Spending a day like that bent over petitions and tax documents… if that ever happens, I’ll be the first calling for revolution. No, we didn’t do even a little work on the date, I’m happy to say. Tristian even came back to bed after dawn prayer- the closest to sleeping in I think we manage. It was a fairly quiet affair this year (no travel or shows this time around), but the time in was well spent. I’m sorry to have missed your gifts on the day! I do miss the cuisine of the Inner Sea- the wine and cheese would have been an excellent addition to the evening. You speak far too modestly of your gifts. It will be a long while before anything as fine emerges here.

At any rate, between the fine southern vintage and the news of Absalom, you’ve awoken something of a nostalgia in me. You’re in danger of playing host rather than visitor if this continues. I only half jest- I’ve been playing with the idea of some “diplomatic tour” as excuse for a while now. But I suspect you can tear yourself away from your post somewhat easier than I, and we would be happy to have you again even sans cataclysm. Here- I’ve sent some things along that might tantalize you. That pendant should be a lovely complement to your eyes- though it’s been some time, I should think I remember their color well enough. It was crafted by one of the artisans near Lake Silverstep, who sought to capture the silver-blue of the mountains not only in the frame for the gem but that thread-thin chain as well. What a lovely coincidence that hue is also counted among your scales! The music box is Pitaxian and is from both of us- there have always been renowned instrument crafters in the city, but what a delight to see the songs themselves captured, yes? And speaking of the region… a lovely Sarain white. I’ve no local cheese to send to pair it with, sadly. At times like this I wish that Jubilost were still here. Much as he could be an insufferable ass, if you could sit through his scoffing at your ignorance there really was no one better at finding the right local complement for any vintage (Tristian wishes you to know he strongly objects to my word choice, though he cedes Jubilost could be “somewhat overbearing”). At any rate, the vintage is citrusy, a touch dry, and pairs well with something salty but mild. If you’re near enough to Westcrown, I’ve also heard it works splendidly with oysters.

Yours truly,

Balthazar and Tristian

P.S. The balm really is a marvel. You’ll have to tell me where you got it, as I’m already sure I’ll mourn its absence when it’s gone.

(author's note: I wrote the tags before the letter and now I'm too scared of them to change them whatever's happening down there is happening)

[kirnet]

Took the day off today bc I can’t drive with this migraine and I am immediately flooded with texts of a baby squirrel emergency at work

[neonacidtrip]

I’m developing a new chart system

[gimmick-blog-bracket]

Now for the final round!

@hellsitegenetics

I love them

I didn't know I needed to know that the weed-smoking girlfriends post was genetically a wolf, but I did, and I do. Also puts great stuff on my dash.

it’s so fun to be scrolling unhinged posts and then boom. an organism!

so many moths‼ also, unexpected comedy with some of the matches

perfect blend of silly and informative, and makes for an excellent punchline at the end of a long post. puts creatures on my dash. literally what more could you ask for

It's a really unique blog concept and a lot of times the results are pretty funny. It's great when the sequence matches the post content too!

Creatures 👍

Finds beautiful creatures out of the mess of the hellsite

Offers finality AND gives us a creechur.

I love them. English speakers talk like moths

If this blog wins, they could run the text of the winning announcement, and determine the post's genus and species!

They're also very good about tagging the type of creature depicted in the results, so as long as you mute tags of creatures you don't want to see, it's a very fun time seeing iconic legacy posts (and new submissions) being reduced down to a string of letters and assigned a random species of fish or moth or something!

uhh it’s cool

BLAST

There are so many weird bugs in the world

Yippee!!

If, as Haldane said, God has an inordinate fondness for beetles, then surely this blog proves that Tumblr has an inordinate fondness for moths.

Top tier blog as a geneticist, I love seeing obscure organisms and MOTH

Admin got rate limited after trying to blast the bee movie

the knowledge of biology to pull this off (i have taken one biology class in my life) and also the work to find all the strings honestly deserves quite a bit of praise

This gimmick blog has it all: science, pictures of animals, interaction with the text of other peoples' posts, interesting information, and a unique and fun premise. As a biologist, I'm rooting for hellsitegenetics to reach the end and take the tournament, because it is truly a standout among gimmick blogs.

If they win, perhaps this blog too shall become a cool organism :3

@hasgavlebockenburneddownyet

What's more happy holiday cheer than cheering on the destruction of a giant straw goat?

The birds may have won 2023, but I believe in humanity's capability for arson for 2024 <3

a vote for me is a vote for arson! This message was approved by hasgavlebockenburneddownyet

gavle is SUCH a public service and holiday feature

what's more tumblr than comical destruction and holidays?

sometimes you just gotta vote with your matchsticks

Bringing a cultural staple to tumblr since 2021

Arson is so much more fun

It would be really funny and ironic if it survives the tournament

you have no idea how much joy watching the chronicling of the gavlebocken brings me every year

hasgavlebockenburneddownyet provides an essential public service

always love seeing a bit of Swedish history on my dash 'Swedish bamboo season'

the goat account is peak gimmick blog

If I don't get to beat the goat then nobody does. -pointless-achievements

Never ask Tumblr to choose between lies and arson! The winner threatens by nature to rip apart the very fabric of our DNA!

goat statues made out of straw are exciting and interesting

I wanna see things burn

the goat is an essential part of tumblr culture and the goat blog is a sacred keeper of the tumblr high holidays

watching to see if the big straw goat has burned down each year is a true delight, something I never knew existed until tumblr and the blog dedicated to it

the incredibly focused nature of @/hasgavlebockenburneddownyet is what makes their gimmick superior.

Please guys bite gavlebocken

Look, I'm Danish. I was put on this earth to annoy the Swedes and vice versa, but even I voted for @/hasgavlebockenburneddownyet

gavlebocken is also such a fun name and this blog informed be about its existence, so for that I am grateful

hasgavlebockenburneddownyet is providing a vital service! Every year, people rely on their updates regarding the fate of our most beloved Yule Goat! How could they NOT deserve the win!?

sacred anti-corporate arson

a vote for gävlebocken is a vote for anarchy!

pls vote for them they're the funniest gimmick keeping track on the funniest phenomena in recent human history, like when i look at their acc i think to myself this is what tumblr was created for

the goat is the GOAT

HASGAVLEBOCKENBURNEDDOWNYET DESERVES TO WIN, I have them on post alert for a REASON

the holiday season wouldn't be the same without them

they do important reporting. Do you look at the news and be like 'the reporters aren't doing work they're just telling you whats happening.' Have some respect for the goat news

let the weird burnt sacrificial ritual of it all appeal to you

nothing makes my December more interesting, arson should win

doesn't barge in on other peoples posts which is always a good thing in my books. not a fan when obnoxious gimmick blogs turn a decent post into a garbled mess

[billygoat26]

Hahahaaaaa I missed people on the simp list- (me realizing this as I fangirl over moon knight peeps)