#how do you even tag this one?

[thebittercorvus]

one day i was asked, what i wanted to become.

a young kid such as myself, i said that i wanted to become a hairdresser,

because my parents couldn't handle my hair and it made me suffer.

i wanted to become a hairdresser so that no other kid would have to suffer at the hands of someone that doesn't understand the beauty of their hair,

or how to comb it in a way that doesn't hurt.

i was told not to dream of being a hairdresser, but something more important. anybody can become a hairdresser, they said, even though none of them could handle my hair. anybody can become a hairdresser, but not everybody can become something important.

so, think of something else.

one day i was asked what i wanted to become.

annoyed at the way my clothes hung weirdly and how my peers mocked them, at how none of it was truly mine but hand-me-downs and how it had to be belted and tied so it wouldn't simply slip off,

angry for being forced into skirts and dresses and glitter, dragged at the church so i would become a good girl,

i drew a magnificent suit and said i wanted to become a tailor.

because the only way i would be allowed to dress as i liked would be if i made it myself.

so i was told, that nobody really makes a living out of clothes. it is nothing but a hobby for women into their retirement or reject men, all homosexuals in hiding. i was told to dream of something more important. anybody with thread and needle can sew but not everybody becomes someone worth tailoring a suit for.

then i convinced myself, that i wanted to become a doctor.

my family cheered. such an important career, fitting for a bright kid. they said i would become someone important, someone whose hair would be handled by hairdressers and someone whose dress would be fitted by tailors.

my teachers beamed proudly. such an important career, and they would've been the ones who guided me there. someone important, someone they'd proudly announced to have taught.

everyone cheered,

but myself.

i, who hated talking with people. i, who could not handle loss. i, who became discouraged so easily. i, who still didn't know what i wanted to become.

one day i was asked what i wanted to become and everyone thought i would say i'd become a doctor.

on a last ditch attempt to make my father look at me not as a stranger under his roof but as his first daughter, i said i wanted to get into computer science just like he did.

my family looked at me strangely. we thought you wanted to become a doctor, they said. nobody choose that for you, so how come you changed your mind? surely you can't be thinking it's because it's going to be hard. nothing good comes easily. if it were easy everyone would be a doctor, just how everybody can become a hairdresser and a tailor, even though we're yet to figure out your hair and clothes. anyone can do it, not us though.

my teachers were disappointed, but said such is the way of life. they were getting annoyed too, i kept trying to flee from the church, i kept trying to help my classmates, i kept trying to avoid social events. i kept calling them out for always blaming us and making us argue amongst ourselves. they weren't quite as proud anymore.

when we graduated they named only the first two girls of the honor roll list, even though they said they would name none for the sake of fairness. i was third and i still think that was on purpose.

i went to college and nobody asked what i wanted to become anymore.

my parents asked why was i dreaming big of leaving town to study somewhere worth my time. it made me wonder how come they expected me to become a doctor, when i couldn't even pay for the bus, let alone the guides and classes. then again miracles were always expected of me, but i had to accept others as only humans.

i went to college and nobody asked me what i wanted to become anymore because surely by then i must've had life figured out. i was seventeen and nailing it as it came. i'm on my twenties still figuring it out. i'm starting to think all of it was a lie.

then i dropped out and fled.

the highways didn't ask what i wanted to become, but where was i going with only a backpack and twenty bucks on my pocket, no phone or identification. the police didn't ask either but i was hiding away from them.

the night sky didn't ask what i wanted to become, but how come i ended up so far from heaven. the daughter of god fallen from grace, the daughter of god exiled from heaven, the daughter of god fleeing from fate. a lost daughter is only lost, a strange under somebody's roof, never to be found again as the same person she was when she became lost. regardless of where and when you find me, you might find out that i am no longer a daughter of god.

the border patrol didn't ask what i wanted to become, but who was i and what was i doing at their lands doorstep. i said i'm lost. i said i'm trying to find the future somebody else stole from me. i said i'm the world's worst hairdresser. i said i'm a wannabe tailor. i'm an infamous doctor. i'm a dropout engineer. i'm an illiterate writer. a sobered-up poet. a criminal without a record. a con-men that nobody falls for. a liar who can only speak truths. i'm a former daughter of god. i'm unholy, disgraced, chained up, satanic and earthbound. i don't know who i am, but somebody told me if i walked here i would figure it out.

do you know who am i? who am i supposed to become?

they shoot me in the head and left me rotting at the trenches that separate hell from heaven.

and i'm still not sure in which side i landed.

my body walked across the desert, mountains, rivers. somewhere in there, lost, there's someone who looks exactly like me. don't be fooled. it's the ghost of a dead dream.

one day i was asked, what i wanted to become.

truth is that, they never caught me. truth is i'm still walking across the desert and the mountains, at the beach, floating across the river. somewhere there, lost. truth is i never fell, but fled and from the ground i learned to take flight.

and somewhere there,

i became free.

—a fall from grace is an uprising; thebittercorvus

[me-beef]

@strangeravatar made a great point

i was gonna focus on the spike-hotboxing-celestia aspect but i got distracted somewhere along the way and i think i forgot what joke i was trying to make

but dont you think its interesting how many guards of the exact same color/body type she's managed to accrue?? i do

ooohh you want to go look at our stickers so bad

[andsewingishalfthebattle]

Novice sewing pattern: Cut out shapes. Line up the little triangles on the edges. Stitch edges together. We've also included step-by-step assembly instructions with illustrations.

Novice knitting pattern: yOU MUSt uNDerstANd thE SECret cOdE CO67 (73, 87, 93) BO44 (63, 76, 90) 28 (32, 34) slip first pw repeat 7x K to end *kl (pl) 42 * until 13" (13, 13, 15) join new at 30 pl for 17 rows ssk 27 k2tog mattress lengthwise BO and sacrifice a goat to the knitting gods. WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WANT "INSTRUCTIONS," I JUST GAVE THEM TO YOU

[sincerelybubbles]

could you write something where the reader is listening to reid going off on his tangents and when he gets insecure, just straight up saying. "no, go on. i like the sound of your voice." ? ty! 🤍

Don't shut up // no warnings as far as i can tell? lmk if not <3 pure fluff!! ty for the request <333

"They usually called her the Limping Lady but there's really no way to tell how many pseudonyms she used," Spencer is saying, dragging his hand through your hair where you lay on his lap, His other hand is busy grasping at the air while he talks.

"Because of the prosthetic leg?" You ask, urging him to continue talking. You're nearly asleep, eyes heavy and chest loose with the comfort of his proximity.

"Yeah. She actually nicknamed it 'Cuthbert' when she got the wooden prosthetic. It's actually pretty interesting - people have been using prosthetics for a really long time. We don't know exactly when people started using them in modern medicine, but the first evidence we can find of them dates all the way back to ancient Egypt where they found a prosthetic toe."

The documentary Spencer put on over an hour ago about World War II has long since been paused, Netflix's blinking "Are you still watching?" hovering uselessly on his laptop screen. He paused it ages ago to discuss the inaccuracies about Hitler's past, then Italy's involvement in France and the parallels between the almost French famine and the Irish famine, leading him to Virginia Hall.

All in all, you're in heaven. He's been stroking your hair, blunt nails scratching every so often, voice rumbling through his chest and stomach where your ear presses against. He's talking calmly, even, if not slightly rushed, like he can't wait for even a breath to keep telling you about everything he knows.

"I just want you to know all of the things I know, too, you know?" He told you once when you urged him to slow down. He's learned to take his time with you, eventually, realizing that you're not waiting for your opportunity to jump in. You don't spend your time with Spencer figuring out when it'll be your turn to talk next; instead, you lull in the comfortable space of listening while knowing he'll return the favor the moment you have something to say.

"Sorry, are you trying to sleep? I can shut up and turn the movie back on," Spencer says suddenly, hand stilling in your hair.

You open your eyes slightly to find him looking down at you, lip caught between his teeth, a hesitant look in his eyes.

Spencer doesn't often get insecure like this around you - you've spent plenty of time convincing him that there's no need - but moments like this still happen. You suppose it's a natural product of constant teasing and bullying through childhood.

"I don't mean to ramble," he mutters when he catches your eye.

"No," you say, interrupting him and reaching up to brush your fingers across his cheekbone and up to his eyebrows. "No, Spence, I literally love the sound of your voice. Please, keep going."

You watch him melt, afraid for a moment that his liquid brown eyes will start to water. You make a concerned noise, about to sit up and comfort him further, when his hand moves to press down on your collarbones. He holds you in place as he looks at you for a second, heated gaze causing you to feel warm. Slowly, he bends to press a kiss on each of your eyelids, right below your eyebrows. He rests his lips on the bones there for a few moments before moving to the next.

"I love you," he murmurs, the truth of the statement oozing out too sincerely to ignore.

He doesn't give you a moment to breathe before diving right back into his explanation of how ancient prosthetics were integrated into modern medicine, hand resuming its path in your hair and voice slowly bringing you to a calm half-nap.

[ropes3amthoughts]

This is such a mess but do you guys get my vision

[cozylittleartblog]

i would like to share this VERY handy tutorial on drawing cars by the ever-immaculate EtheringtonBrothers (twitter, instagram)

[killjoy-prince]

House M.D. but it's when Wilson says House's name

[lucabyte]

So does anybody else ever think about how Loop felt the need to demonstrate that the party's deaths wouldn't have any effect on the loops. I know I do but that's besides the point. Anyway I don't think Loop actually needs to bathe, they just like to feel included.

[juha-art]

ELECTROCHEMISTRY- No one will ever want to sleep with you.

Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out, Richard Siken

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

If Jin Ling is bald because WWX cursed Jin Zixuan then why are Jin Guangshan and Jin Guangyao bald🤔🤔

Jin Ling was always going to be bald, Wei Wuxian's curse was just an accidental prophecy that will haunt Jin Zixuan for exactly one month.

[golyadkin]

I cannot express enough that if your reaction, as a hobby artist, to not getting that many notes on your art is to say "maybe I should just stop doing art altogether" you need to stop posting art to tumblr

not necessarily forever, not even for long, but just stop putting your art on here and start doing it for you again, remember why you enjoyed doing art in the first place and stop relying on the attention of faceless people on the internet for your enjoyment of your hard work

believe me, I get it, nothing crushes the artistic soul quite like labouring for hours on a piece only for it to get like 10 notes, so you need to find your own source of joy in the act of creation and a lot of the time that means making art and not showing it to anybody

[theoldkyokodied]

Uploading all my Tomgreg art at once from the past few week before season 4 hits, who knows in what kind of mental state i'm gonna be once it does :')

[narikill]

aughdhshfjjsjcjdjfjsbgsknfjs <- leshy in this art probably

[vyrion]

in this moment, you were loved: on siffrin and looping

espeonkin // ishhbowl, how do you survive the apocalypse? // navysealt4t, "names" // puremode // james hall & richard siken, "the poetry of hostile witness: an interview with richard siken" // in stars and time // lovecrumbs, all mentions of love and death in romeo & juliet // amal el-mohtar, "this is how you lose the time war" // natalie wee, "yes & no" // mavigator, "anglerfish" // in stars and time // evelyn berry, grief slut // ovid, orpheus and eurydice // moodylilac

[feelo-fick]

doodles from varying times :] kicking my feet and giggling. put your hand in my cage youre safe :]

[cowardlykrow]

"That is where you are wrong, my boy!"

@ratb4stard3 and I deliver another Cowardlyghostbro's(™) collab ✨💛