Spilling From My Mind @ennameg - Tumblr Blog

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pukicho

Puki will you leave tumblr because everyone’s acting like it’s dead now :(

oh yeah its SO dead.

1000 notes this post. Now

pukicho

that took 3 minutes.

pasta-yy

i literally fucking blinked and this shit happened istg y’all are insane—

pukicho

Fuck it. Spread this post to every nook and cranny on tumblr. Prove to everyone that this site is ALIVE and FLOURISHING and that it will last for fucking DECADES

one-time-i-dreamt

Become a supporter of Dreampai today! ❤️ Ko-fi lets you support the creators you love with no fees on donations.

I am embarrassed to even ask for help and you all know that in almost 7 years of having this blog, I've never asked for anything, but my university is changing my major from next year on and this is the last chance I have to graduate and take my last semester.

Before the change announcement, due to my current financial situation I planned to take my last semester next year, but if I don't take it now, I will not be able to take it ever again. My only option would be to start all over from the first year on, and the five semesters that I already successfully took and paid off would be worth nothing and I would not be able to finish the course.

I'm a some 1.5k euros away from being able to pay it all off, and I don't have that money right now, even with my paycheck. Both of my dogs have had health issues in the past month and the vet visits wiped us out.

If you can help, please do. I appreciate every contribution. I totally understand if you can't, so please don't feel bad about it. Every reblog and share is appreciated and is very helpful as well.

I'd like to thank everybody who already contributed. You all are amazing and incredibly kind and have helped me beyond words. I'm really speechless at everybody's grace and kindness towards a virtual stranger on the internet like me.

You've all already changed my life for the better these past 6 and a half years. Sometimes I felt so lonely and sad and all of you were my only support systems and I could never thank you enough for that. I love you all, thank you.

monstermunch

I need you to know I clicked this link and Tumblr crashed

one-time-i-dreamt

So sorry, I have no idea what happened :(

im-fostering-it292

REblog if you are Asexual, support Asexuals, or spend most of your time actually thinking about Superheroes.

#asexual #asexual pride

the-gayest-tree-you-ever-did-see

wait in what fucking world is taking someone's whole ass arm and giving it to a weapons dealer as a christmas present okay?? how is that acceptable to anyone at all???

ennameg

Maybe Nebula asked nicely? I mean, he did always want the arm. At this point it’s the longest running gag in GotG, Rocket wanting a prosthetic limb.

the-gayest-tree-you-ever-did-see

i appreciate you trying to find a good way into this situation, but that isnt the point. asking for someones prosthetic is equally as egregious -- same as you wouldnt ask for someones bio arm. when you donate organs after you die, you have to sign millions of papers to make sure its ethical. in that world, how can you just give someones arm as a present? asking nicely does not cut it. again, im sure youre coming from a nice place, but im not sure you see the wrong in the bare minimum basics of the scenario. its horrible in every light.

ennameg

I... Well I'm not going to continue this with more jokes because I have a feeling I'd lose, but.... It's a movie? Idk

Can someone explain how I managed to fit so much into a 500 sqft apartment? And still have floor?

Pretty sure I'm becoming a hoarder.

#packing #moving #hoarders

writing-prompt-s

You are an ancient Egyptian pharaoh trying to enjoy the afterlife, but all of your stuff keeps disappearing as tomb raiders steal the physical objects. Finally having had enough, you decide it’s time to go back to Earth and get some cursing in.

ennameg

Ninka watched as yet another tablet disappeared from his rooms, and sighed.

“This is getting ridiculous. Where is it all going?”

“The mortals have taken it, pharaoh. In the name of ‘history’, I believe,” said Annoma, entering the room with a small bow. “Seems that the biggest perpetrators are descended from the Norse and the Celts. They have a whole 'museum’ of our things. They even took the boy king. In his entirety. I went to visit a few years ago and his rooms are just… Empty.”

Ninka looked up from the empty spots where his things had lain. “This is wrong. I’m going to fix it. Tell me more about these 'museums’.”

ennameg

After an explanation that lasted just a bit too long, in his opinion, Ninka headed east, toward the Gates. He knew he had to have a good reason to leave, and he spent the entire walk thinking of something.

Except the Guardians were gone. "Another thing to find, apparently."

writing-prompt-s

ennameg

Ninka watched as yet another tablet disappeared from his rooms, and sighed.

"This is getting ridiculous. Where is it all going?"

"The mortals have taken it, pharaoh. In the name of 'history', I believe," said Annoma, entering the room with a small bow. "Seems that the biggest perpetrators are descended from the Norse and the Celts. They have a whole 'museum' of our things. They even took the boy king. In his entirety. I went to visit a few years ago and his rooms are just... Empty."

Ninka looked up from the empty spots where his things had lain. "This is wrong. I'm going to fix it. Tell me more about these 'museums'."

#writing prompts #idk what it is

writing-prompt-s

Temples are built for gods. Knowing this a farmer builds a small temple to see what kind of god turns up.

sadoeuphemist

Arepo built a temple in his field, a humble thing, some stones stacked up to make a cairn, and two days later a god moved in.

“Hope you’re a harvest god,” Arepo said, and set up an altar and burnt two stalks of wheat. “It’d be nice, you know.” He looked down at the ash smeared on the stone, the rocks all laid askew, and coughed and scratched his head. “I know it’s not much,” he said, his straw hat in his hands. “But - I’ll do what I can. It’d be nice to think there’s a god looking after me.”

The next day he left a pair of figs, the day after that he spent ten minutes of his morning seated by the temple in prayer. On the third day, the god spoke up.

“You should go to a temple in the city,” the god said. Its voice was like the rustling of the wheat, like the squeaks of fieldmice running through the grass. “A real temple. A good one. Get some real gods to bless you. I’m no one much myself, but I might be able to put in a good word?” It plucked a leaf from a tree and sighed. “I mean, not to be rude. I like this temple. It’s cozy enough. The worship’s been nice. But you can’t honestly believe that any of this is going to bring you anything.”

“This is more than I was expecting when I built it,” Arepo said, laying down his scythe and lowering himself to the ground. “Tell me, what sort of god are you anyway?”

“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth. I’m a god of a dozen different nothings, scraps that lead to rot, momentary glimpses. A change in the air, and then it’s gone.”

The god heaved another sigh. “There’s no point in worship in that, not like War, or the Harvest, or the Storm. Save your prayers for the things beyond your control, good farmer. You’re so tiny in the world. So vulnerable. Best to pray to a greater thing than me.”

Arepo plucked a stalk of wheat and flattened it between his teeth. “I like this sort of worship fine,” he said. “So if you don’t mind, I think I’ll continue.”

“Do what you will,” said the god, and withdrew deeper into the stones. “But don’t say I never warned you otherwise.”

Arepo would say a prayer before the morning’s work, and he and the god contemplated the trees in silence. Days passed like that, and weeks, and then the Storm rolled in, black and bold and blustering. It flooded Arepo’s fields, shook the tiles from his roof, smote his olive tree and set it to cinder. The next day, Arepo and his sons walked among the wheat, salvaging what they could. The little temple had been strewn across the field, and so when the work was done for the day, Arepo gathered the stones and pieced them back together.

“Useless work,” the god whispered, but came creeping back inside the temple regardless. “There wasn’t a thing I could do to spare you this.”

“We’ll be fine,” Arepo said. “The storm’s blown over. We’ll rebuild. Don’t have much of an offering for today,” he said, and laid down some ruined wheat, “but I think I’ll shore up this thing’s foundations tomorrow, how about that?”

The god rattled around in the temple and sighed.

A year passed, and then another. The temple had layered walls of stones, a roof of woven twigs. Arepo’s neighbors chuckled as they passed it. Some of their children left fruit and flowers. And then the Harvest failed, the gods withdrew their bounty. In Arepo’s field the wheat sprouted thin and brittle. People wailed and tore their robes, slaughtered lambs and spilled their blood, looked upon the ground with haunted eyes and went to bed hungry. Arepo came and sat by the temple, the flowers wilted now, the fruit shriveled nubs, Arepo’s ribs showing through his chest, his hands still shaking, and murmured out a prayer.

“There is nothing here for you,” said the god, hudding in the dark. “There is nothing I can do. There is nothing to be done.” It shivered, and spat out its words. “What is this temple but another burden to you?”

“We -” Arepo said, and his voice wavered. “So it’s a lean year,” he said. “We’ve gone through this before, we’ll get through this again. So we’re hungry,” he said. “We’ve still got each other, don’t we? And a lot of people prayed to other gods, but it didn’t protect them from this. No,” he said, and shook his head, and laid down some shriveled weeds on the altar. “No, I think I like our arrangement fine.”

“There will come worse,” said the god, from the hollows of the stone. “And there will be nothing I can do to save you.”

The years passed. Arepo rested a wrinkled hand upon the temple of stone and some days spent an hour there, lost in contemplation with the god.

And one fateful day, from across the wine-dark seas, came War.

Arepo came stumbling to his temple now, his hand pressed against his gut, anointing the holy site with his blood. Behind him, his wheat fields burned, and the bones burned black in them. He came crawling on his knees to a temple of hewed stone, and the god rushed out to meet him.

“I could not save them,” said the god, its voice a low wail. “I am sorry. I am sorry. I am so so sorry.” The leaves fell burning from the trees, a soft slow rain of ash. “I have done nothing! All these years, and I have done nothing for you!”

“Shush,” Arepo said, tasting his own blood, his vision blurring. He propped himself up against the temple, forehead pressed against the stone in prayer. “Tell me,” he mumbled. “Tell me again. What sort of god are you?”

“I -” said the god, and reached out, cradling Arepo’s head, and closed its eyes and spoke.

“I’m of the fallen leaves,” it said, and conjured up the image of them. “The worms that churn beneath the earth. The boundary of forest and of field. The first hint of frost before the first snow falls. The skin of an apple as it yields beneath your teeth.” Arepo’s lips parted in a smile.

“I am the god of a dozen different nothings,” it said. “The petals in bloom that lead to rot, the momentary glimpses. A change in the air -” Its voice broke, and it wept. “Before it’s gone.”

“Beautiful,” Arepo said, his blood staining the stones, seeping into the earth. “All of them. They were all so beautiful.”

And as the fields burned and the smoke blotted out the sun, as men were trodden in the press and bloody War raged on, as the heavens let loose their wrath upon the earth, Arepo the sower lay down in his humble temple, his head sheltered by the stones, and returned home to his god.

sameenbyhat

Sora found the temple with the bones within it, the roof falling in upon them.

“Oh, poor god,” she said, “With no-one to bury your last priest.” Then she paused, because she was from far away. “Or is this how the dead are honored here?” The god roused from its contemplation.

“His name was Arepo,” it said, “He was a sower.”

Sora startled, a little, because she had never before heard the voice of a god. “How can I honor him?” She asked.

“Bury him,” the god said, “Beneath my altar.”

“All right,” Sora said, and went to fetch her shovel.

“Wait,” the god said when she got back and began collecting the bones from among the broken twigs and fallen leaves. She laid them out on a roll of undyed wool, the only cloth she had. “Wait,” the god said, “I cannot do anything for you. I am not a god of anything useful.”

Sora sat back on her heels and looked at the altar to listen to the god.

“When the Storm came and destroyed his wheat, I could not save it,” the god said, “When the Harvest failed and he was hungry, I could not feed him. When War came,” the god’s voice faltered. “When War came, I could not protect him. He came bleeding from the battle to die in my arms.” Sora looked down again at the bones.

“I think you are the god of something very useful,” she said.

“What?” the god asked.

Sora carefully lifted the skull onto the cloth. “You are the god of Arepo.”

stu-pot

Generations passed. The village recovered from its tragedies—homes rebuilt, gardens re-planted, wounds healed. The old man who once lived on the hill and spoke to stone and rubble had long since been forgotten, but the temple stood in his name. Most believed it to empty, as the god who resided there long ago had fallen silent. Yet, any who passed the decaying shrine felt an ache in their hearts, as though mourning for a lost friend. The cold that seeped from the temple entrance laid their spirits low, and warded off any potential visitors, save for the rare and especially oblivious children who would leave tiny clusters of pink and white flowers that they picked from the surrounding meadow.

The god sat in his peaceful home, staring out at the distant road, to pedestrians, workhorses, and carriages, raining leaves that swirled around bustling feet. How long had it been? The world had progressed without him, for he knew there was no help to be given. The world must be a cruel place, that even the useful gods have abandoned, if farms can flood, harvests can run barren, and homes can burn, he thought.

He had come to understand that humans are senseless creatures, who would pray to a god that cannot grant wishes or bless upon them good fortune. Who would maintain a temple and bring offerings with nothing in return. Who would share their company and meditate with such a fruitless deity. Who would bury a stranger without the hope for profit. What bizarre, futile kindness they had wasted on him. What wonderful, foolish, virtuous, hopeless creatures, humans were.

So he painted the sunset with yellow leaves, enticed the worms to dance in their soil, flourished the boundary between forest and field with blossoms and berries, christened the air with a biting cold before winter came, ripened the apples with crisp, red freckles to break under sinking teeth, and a dozen other nothings, in memory of the man who once praised the god’s work on his dying breath.

“Hello, God of Every Humble Beauty in the World,” called a familiar voice.

The squinting corners of the god’s eyes wept down onto curled lips. “Arepo,” he whispered, for his voice was hoarse from its hundred-year mutism.

“I am the god of devotion, of small kindnesses, of unbreakable bonds. I am the god of selfless, unconditional love, of everlasting friendships, and trust,” Arepo avowed, soothing the other with every word.

“That’s wonderful, Arepo,” he responded between tears, “I’m so happy for you—such a powerful figure will certainly need a grand temple. Will you leave to the city to gather more worshippers? You’ll be adored by all.”

“No,” Arepo smiled.

“Farther than that, to the capitol, then? Thank you for visiting here before your departure.”

“No, I will not go there, either,” Arepo shook his head and chuckled.

“Farther still? What ambitious goals, you must have. There is no doubt in my mind that you will succeed, though,” the elder god continued.

“Actually,” interrupted Arepo, “I’d like to stay here, if you’ll have me.”

The other god was struck speechless. “…. Why would you want to live here?”

“I am the god of unbreakable bonds and everlasting friendships. And you are the god of Arepo.”

corancoranthemagicalman

I reblogged this once with the first story. Now the story has grown and I’m crying. This is gorgeous, guys. This is what dreams are made of.

threefeline

writing-prompt-s

This is amazing!

#so beautiful #why am i not like that

probablybadrpgideas

Each time the characters level up, they go one rank up the Kinsey Scale.

sparkdragon42

OK, but what is the Kinsey Scale ?

probablybadrpgideas

The Kinsey Scale is a scale to measure how closely one matches the traditional roles of a male monarch I believe

#paper strikes me as a three. pencil is a five

So hopefully I'll be able to write as the year turns. Hopefully 🤞

#fanfic #the hobbit #hobbies #avengers #marvel #lotr movies

depsidase

daydream-daze

It's Christmas in five days, and I urgently need help or I'm fu*ked!!!

**URGENT: PLEASE READ/SIGNAL BOOST**

Tuesday, December 20th: Hello everyone, I’m Gemma, a bi, mentally ill, and disabled woman, who is in desperate need of help, as I'm struggling to get groceries and keep my utilities on throughout the festive season!!

As most of you are already aware from my previous posts, my sweet 14-year-old dog Luna, passed away on November 23rd, and I've been struggling to pay her vet bill and the fees for the cremation services to get her ashes. Thankfully with the generous help of others, I managed to cover the expenses and bring her home. However, this has left me with significant pressure to make other ends meet while on welfare and awaiting ADP.

At the present moment, I'm struggling to buy groceries, and keep my utilities on as I don't receive my U.C welfare until December 30th, and the £317 I get will all go towards paying my rent but I won't have enough left to pay my bills, which are due on the 22nd. And with it being Christmas this Sunday, I desperately need help with my gas + electricity, get enough groceries to last a few weeks, as well as some winter clothing/footwear!! I also have a wishlist if anyone wants to help!! [I need - £265 bills + £100 groceries + £135 for my meters and some winter clothing]

If anyone could spare any amount to help me, even if it’s just £1/$1/€1, it would save my life, and sharing definitely helps just as much. Thank you!! ❤

£25.69/£500!!

Go to paypal.me/GemzyM and type in the amount. Since it’s PayPal, it's easy and secure. Don’t have a PayPal account? No worries.

@thebibliosphere @shencomix @mayakern @pmseymourva @prisonhannibal @deadgodjess @susiephone @soloveitchik @bihet-dragonize @closet-keys @gem-femme @ihateflying @thechronicchillpill @faiataka @justsomeantifas @iamoutofideas @menpegger @venus-macabre @yugiohz @paracosim @stars-bean @crtter @rslashrats @excalibelle @beserkerjewel