Atlas @gh0stzblogs - Tumblr Blog

molabuddy

does anyone else think about how the sky can literally rock any colour it wants to

molabuddy

red, orange, yellow? sunset/sunrise

green? the rarest and not one ive seen personally but it can happen

blue? classics of sky

indigo? violet? twilight babyyy

pink? also shows up at sunrise/sets

black? night. get goth with it

white? grey? her clouds

molabuddy

do you love the Fucking colour of the sky. bitch

the-big-mood

“can't wait to go home, i have a lot to do”

me as soon as I get home:

casawio

who up in a kafka-esque rut sleep deprived, casually malnourished, socially awkward, painfully self-conscious, struggling financially, lacking community, altogether anhedonic

aquariiy00m

* We can't go any further than this. Please.

aquariiy00m

* We can't go any further than this. Please.

tarantula-hawk-wasp

Trapped in the talkative cycle

only-cat-memes

cedar-scars

finally finished this one….. procrastination…….

your-pal-nebula

When I was little I was convinced the only thing preventing me from learning to shapeshift was my own ability to believe in myself

“oh boy i can’t wait to write!” opens tumblr opens pinterest opens twitter opens youtube opens

#writing #fanfiction #fanfic writer

lettuce-from-the-salad-bar

writing-is-a-martial-art

You meet god and she's mostly dead fish. You ask her why and she says most of the world is dead fish, and she's made herself to appeal to the most common denominator, the everyman funnyman comedy show that runs for eleven seasons but with the entire universe in mind. You ask her how much of the dead fish is your fault, she says it's far less than you'd think, in the grand scheme of things. You ask her if you matter at all. If you can do anything. She shrugs her rotting shoulders and says mattering is a made-up concept, like life, but sure, you can matter if you want to, on some scale. She has many scales. She doesn't know what you mean by 'anything', but you can do everything you can. You ask her if it's enough. She says there's no base requirement for deserving to exist. She's smoking a joint and the smoke filtering out of her gills gathers and forms gas giants and red dwarfs. You ask her if there's any hidden secrets of the universe you should know and she says it's not a secret if she tells, plus it's fun to let you figure it out yourself. You ask her if any of your questions were right questions and she says you worry about being right so much it might keep you from fucking around, which is as close to meaning of life as she ever bothered to make. You don't ask but she says she loves your hair, also your whole being, also your planet. She says she figured out what love is yesterday and is trying it out, which explains the ten thousand rainbows and sudden influx in rains of fish. She offers you a drag of her joint and you wake up half past midnight behind a chain restaurant clutching a smoked salmon. The new stars are winking like they're in on some joke and you're sure if you try hard enough you'll remember what it is.