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Cosmic Funnies
Doug Jones
pixel skylines
Cookie Run:Kingdom Official!
d e v o n
Today's Document
Phantogram Three
Sweet Seals For You, Always
The Bowery Presents
almost home
ojovivo
KIROKAZE
PR's Tumblrdome
occasionally subtle
Product Placement
shark vs the universe
Fieri Frames
Color Me Curious
Mike Driver
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@just-another-writing-sideblog
Holaaaa
'tis Azzy, y'know the snek?
@stressedsnake, yeah that's my main blog.
In case you don't wish to switch between my two blogs,
Hey! I'm Azar, I use he/they/she pronouns (In order of preference)
I write sometimes and this blog is solely for that.
So have fun! Feedback is appreciated, requests are open.
Quick note, I'm a minor, so I don’t write any sort of smut or suggestive content. I'm not a big fan of real person fiction either, other than that I'll write anything
every time I see some bigshot scientist revealed as a fraud my knee-jerk reaction is "hell yeah elisabeth bik got 'em good" AND IM RIGHT
PubPeer enables scientists to search for their publications or their peers publications and provide feedback and/or start a conversation ano
SHE NEVER QUITS!!!!
ICONIC!!!!
> Elisabeth Bik is on patreon <
She is not directly paid for her work to vet papers, she has been hit with legal action & death threats by scientists who hate that she's exposing them and their financial fraud, and she keeps at it every single day, combing through thousands of papers to make science more fair. Please consider supporting her!
actually beautiful
Elisabeth Bik is a renowned microbiologist and science integrity advocate known for detecting image duplication in scientific publications.
I want to see a work of fiction that reverses the "vampires are snobby upper class, werewolves are brutish lower class" stereotypes
Consider a vampire's reliance on blood as a metaphor for living paycheck-to-paycheck and depending on the kindness of others to get by, and the desparation that can make one slip into taking.
@tiredspacedragon's tags.
[Image description: Tags reading:
#meanwhile werewolves who like #treat the full moon like a monthly vacation#or like aristocrats on a hunting trip #claiming unnecessarily large swaths of land as territory #or just throwing their weight around wherever they please #waking up the next morning either oblivious#or entirely indifferent #to the devastation#environmental and personal #they've left in their wake #maybe even doing it on purpose#most dangerous game-ing people #just to keep the wolf 'stimulated' #something like this?
A gif from Pacific Rim, where Stacker Pentecost says "You, keep talking.]
you know what I can’t stop thinking about?how the world lets some labels matter and others get ignored. holocaust survivors, everyone knows that brand right? iconic emotional powerful makes you stop and go damn but here’s the kicker palestinians? we’re survivors too. nakba survivors. oh you thought the nakba was just some event from 1948? no no no hayati, it’s still happening right now every single day so this is the term people need to start using when talking about palestinians: NAKBA SURVIVORS. not refugees, not some sad footnote in history and can we please stop even calling what happening in Gaza “ethnic cleansing”? like what are we doing here, rebranding atrocities to sound like a spring cleaning checklist? no it’s ethnic extermination. say it with me ex-ter-mi-na-tion. and yet somehow palestinians keep surviving. my family in gaza? 26 are still there, after losing too many. they wake up every day to a world that wants them gone and somehow they’re still trying to survive. but survival isn’t magic. it doesn’t just happen because they’re tough or brave or insert your inspirational buzzword of choice here. it happens because people like you give a damn and yes this is me asking you to really keep giving a damn. have you donated yet? incredible, thank you, love you forever. haven’t donated? this is your sign. thinking “but i already donated”? Please do it again. survival isn’t a one-time event. click the link and be part of the reason they’re still alive tomorrow.
if you can’t donate via GoFundMe or PayPal you can use Ko-fi instead. Please note that 110 sek is approximately 10 usd and 220 sek is around 20 usd.
Donate on GoFundMe: Link
Donate on Paypal: Link
Donate on Ko-fi
Vetted and shared by @90-ghost: Link.
Verified and shared by @el-shab-hussein: Link
Listed as number 282 in "The Vetted Gaza Evacuation Fundraiser Spreadsheet" compiled by @el-shab-hussein and @nabulsi : Link
Listed on the Butterfly Effect Project, number 957: Link
Additionally, Al Jazeera News has documented apart of my family's case: Link
Falastin's family still needs help!
sometimes you need dialogue tags and don't want to use the same four
okay new poll!! make the perfect YA novel with me
political unrest
lesbians
bow and arrows
supernatural creatures
characters who don’t know how hot they are
characters who are hot and boyyy do they know it
found family
dragons
completely under qualified chosen one(s)
training montages
sympathetic villainy
a side character who is actually the love of your (the readers) life
What remains after here?
What comes after the last step?
Is it the holy land as promised in the scriptures?
Is it simply a grave, that stands there gaping?
Is it an eternity of waves? Is it simply the feeling of getting out after a long swim, or getting home after a long run?
Is it like the last swim of the summer? The feeling of a temporary goodbye?
Knowing that as you push through the water, you're closer to your final time. You know your friends are waiting outside, and your dad calls you out to go, he tells you that you've got places to be, things to do.
You ask him for five more minutes and he laughs a little.
Telling you that your mom's waiting for you to come home, she's probably got breakfast made, and will yell at you both.
You tell him to go ahead, that you're right behind him.
You know that's a lie.
You know that you really don't want to go.
He tells you that it's time, he tells you that you'll be back next summer, you ask him for next spring.
He laughs and says okay.
Or is it like coming home after a long day?
Your mother waits for you as you get off the bus, your childhood dog greets you and you bend down to pet his furry little head.
You wave goodbye to your friends still on their way, maybe you'll see them another day.
You watch the bus disappear around the bend, knowing that you'll see it again.
If not the very next morning, then maybe after two.
You smooth out the wrinkles from your clothes, the sun is warm but not unpleasant. There's a faint wind blowing and you can still feel the laugh bubbling in your throat, as you remember the punchline of your best friend's joke.
You tell it to your mother, and she tells you that she's glad you had fun.
You tell her that your day was tiring, that you would like to do nothing more than sleep, and she laughs and tells you that you still have school tomorrow, but agrees to let you stay home.
She offers to take you out but you tell her you'd rather not.
You turn back to see if the bus is still waiting for someone else to get off, because there's always your neighbor's son, who seemingly always forgets his stop.
But maybe he was on time today, because there's no bus at the corner, just the happy rumbling of an afternoon well spent.
Or is it simply a symphony's last note?
A final key and a final bow, the pianist turns to the waiting crowd, she bows long and deep.
Maybe she curtsies.
She picks up her notes a final time, and as the clock lets out its inevitable chime she fades back into the crowd, waiting for the next pianist to take the stage.
To make his first play.
She claps the loudest at the crescendo, waiting with bated breath at his final note.
Perhaps he's better than her.
She hopes he is.
She hopes that he carries on the tune that she left behind, despite knowing that perhaps it won't be quite the same.
After all, he isn't her, he doesn't share her name.
She knows that that symphony was meant for her alone.
That that note was hers alone.
Or perhaps it isn't a performance at all, perhaps it's like the quiet before bed, when there's a million things that split your head.
A thousand worries that crave your immediate attention, but there's a certain calm in the incredible pandemonium that they create.
You know that it's inevitable, you lie in the dark for a while, listening to them complain and crow. And then sudden relief, your mind goes numb as you finally are granted the sweet relief of sleep.
Whatever it feels like, I hope it's true, or at least it feels so.
Even if it is the feeling of despair, as you wonder if anyone might care.
That you're gone.
That you won't ever play another song.
That there are no more buses to get out of.
No more last swims.
No more bitter wins.
Even if it is just a sea of regrets, I hope you aren't sad.
That you don't hold your breath
I hope you greet whoever or whatever's on the other side with open arms, I hope you aren't afraid.
Even if at the end, it's just darkness again.
A prayer for the beloved
By the beloathed
-x-
A prayer for the beloved by the beloathed.
Your hands have carved the world,
Your every word has been muttered by a million lips,
So terribly transient.
From cruel Marble,
to Gold,
From a gaze once warm,
to one gone cold.
Perhaps a cruel way,
to restore the everyman's faith.
You stand admiring your work of art,
Forgetting that at the start,
There was no god,
There was no lord,
To scorn, to praise, or to name,
There was only the burning marble,
A true marvel,
Until in came your hands of gossamer of gold,
Stealing away our sun,
For once and forevermore,
Your shaky breaths,
Turned into cyclones,
Your every word,
Became gospel,
The marble that once burned so bright, turned dull
And as I draw a final breath,
As the world molds itself into a mirror of your greatness,
As the path that had been forged for me,
Turns into a misty memory,
Oh my beloved,
Let me speak,
Let me live and breathe,
I may not be as great as you,
But truly,
Let me do as you do,
Let me become part of the wonderous symphony,
Let them sing for me,
Let me hear my breath in a melody,
Oh my darling,
Let them sing for me,
Let my voice not join a chorus,
Let me be heard,
Let them hang onto my every word,
Let me matter too,
Even if I can't do things like you,
Let them know I lived,
Let them know that if they mustn't forget but at least forgive,
Let them know I lived,
Let them know I too breathed,
Let them know that I grieved,
The loss of a thousand, on the path to greatness,
For the world of old,
Wasn't made for hands of gossamer and gold,
It was made for losers and mediocrities,
Oh my darling,
Let me sing my own melody,
Let them know if I did not win,
At least I lived,
Let them know that if not for the beloathed,
There would be no beloved,
There would be no god,
No hands that shaped the world,
That there would be only a burning fury,
That there would be no greatness,
No beauty,
Only ugly mediocrity,
Oh my darling,
Tell them how without the has beens,
There would never be any will be's.
hi tagging you because I know you like poetry and would love your opinion, feel free to ignore me, ty ly.
@mister-finally-found-himself
A prayer for the beloved
By the beloathed
-x-
A prayer for the beloved by the beloathed.
Your hands have carved the world,
Your every word has been muttered by a million lips,
So terribly transient.
From cruel Marble,
to Gold,
From a gaze once warm,
to one gone cold.
Perhaps a cruel way,
to restore the everyman's faith.
You stand admiring your work of art,
Forgetting that at the start,
There was no god,
There was no lord,
To scorn, to praise, or to name,
There was only the burning marble,
A true marvel,
Until in came your hands of gossamer of gold,
Stealing away our sun,
For once and forevermore,
Your shaky breaths,
Turned into cyclones,
Your every word,
Became gospel,
The marble that once burned so bright, turned dull
And as I draw a final breath,
As the world molds itself into a mirror of your greatness,
As the path that had been forged for me,
Turns into a misty memory,
Oh my beloved,
Let me speak,
Let me live and breathe,
I may not be as great as you,
But truly,
Let me do as you do,
Let me become part of the wonderous symphony,
Let them sing for me,
Let me hear my breath in a melody,
Oh my darling,
Let them sing for me,
Let my voice not join a chorus,
Let me be heard,
Let them hang onto my every word,
Let me matter too,
Even if I can't do things like you,
Let them know I lived,
Let them know that if they mustn't forget but at least forgive,
Let them know I lived,
Let them know I too breathed,
Let them know that I grieved,
The loss of a thousand, on the path to greatness,
For the world of old,
Wasn't made for hands of gossamer and gold,
It was made for losers and mediocrities,
Oh my darling,
Let me sing my own melody,
Let them know if I did not win,
At least I lived,
Let them know that if not for the beloathed,
There would be no beloved,
There would be no god,
No hands that shaped the world,
That there would be only a burning fury,
That there would be no greatness,
No beauty,
Only ugly mediocrity,
Oh my darling,
Tell them how without the has beens,
There would never be any will be's.
hi tagging you because I know you like poetry and would love your opinion, feel free to ignore me, ty ly.
@mister-finally-found-himself
A prayer for the beloved
By the beloathed
-x-
A prayer for the beloved by the beloathed.
Your hands have carved the world,
Your every word has been muttered by a million lips,
So terribly transient.
From cruel Marble,
to Gold,
From a gaze once warm,
to one gone cold.
Perhaps a cruel way,
to restore the everyman's faith.
You stand admiring your work of art,
Forgetting that at the start,
There was no god,
There was no lord,
To scorn, to praise, or to name,
There was only the burning marble,
A true marvel,
Until in came your hands of gossamer of gold,
Stealing away our sun,
For once and forevermore,
Your shaky breaths,
Turned into cyclones,
Your every word,
Became gospel,
The marble that once burned so bright, turned dull
And as I draw a final breath,
As the world molds itself into a mirror of your greatness,
As the path that had been forged for me,
Turns into a misty memory,
Oh my beloved,
Let me speak,
Let me live and breathe,
I may not be as great as you,
But truly,
Let me do as you do,
Let me become part of the wonderous symphony,
Let them sing for me,
Let me hear my breath in a melody,
Oh my darling,
Let them sing for me,
Let my voice not join a chorus,
Let me be heard,
Let them hang onto my every word,
Let me matter too,
Even if I can't do things like you,
Let them know I lived,
Let them know that if they mustn't forget but at least forgive,
Let them know I lived,
Let them know I too breathed,
Let them know that I grieved,
The loss of a thousand, on the path to greatness,
For the world of old,
Wasn't made for hands of gossamer and gold,
It was made for losers and mediocrities,
Oh my darling,
Let me sing my own melody,
Let them know if I did not win,
At least I lived,
Let them know that if not for the beloathed,
There would be no beloved,
There would be no god,
No hands that shaped the world,
That there would be only a burning fury,
That there would be no greatness,
No beauty,
Only ugly mediocrity,
Oh my darling,
Tell them how without the has beens,
There would never be any will be's.
Moths
Maybe the world isn't meant for greatness.
Maybe it's meant for mediocrity and losers.
It's meant to celebrate every fault, and every misstep.
It's meant for the poets and the artists, it's meant for the has beens and the will be's
Maybe it's meant for no one at all.
Maybe it's not a marble to be carved but rather a wonderful sculpture which doesn't turn and twists to fit your perception. It's you who does.
You have a different view from the bottom than from the top.
You get to run your hands over its base or over its crown.
The white marble may sting your hands sometimes, maybe it'll scar but it's undeniable greatness draws you in, and so like a moth to a lamp you bleed the light dry.
At least that's what you think you do.
No, instead you burn in it's spotlight, your wings of brass turn fragile, more brittle than glass, and with the last ray of the sun, you burn to a crisp, return to what you once were, the dust at the base.
And you hope to see the foreign hand that made this sculpture, for if this statue exists, so must it's maker.
For there is no end without a beginning.
There is no villain without a past.
And there is no world without a god.
At least that's what you think.
But what does the world care for the thoughts of an insignificant moth, it keep it's relentless stillness, it stares you down until you gain your wings again, as you flutter back into its sight, unflinching and daring again.
For if there is no beginning nor end.
You must begin again.
If there is no god to turn to, you must become them yourself.
You attract your fellow gossamer souls , you carve hands of gold, so they may carve a world.
You watch the world change under your fragile fingertips. They shake and they remain unsteady, but when you look around, you are no longer alone.
There stand a thousand moths in the light, with wings of gossamer and gold.
Moths no more.
No one killed the King.
It’s been three days, seven hours, nine minutes and exactly sixty nine seconds since Vea Amaris broke into our ballroom, collapsed on the floor and cried. In the past three days, seven hours, nine minutes, and exactly sixty nine, well seventy seconds since then, a lot has happened. My mother has decided to acknowledge herself as the queen until I breach eighteen. After that, I will be the ruler, and she an advisor.
Vea Amaris is now well enough to sit up straight, well partially. Their ministers have already received a letter, explaining where their acting ruler is, as their father’s whereabouts are unknown. Eren left early yesterday morning, determined to find King Amom.
There’s so much to do. Father’s funeral has already been held. We had no body to bury so we buried his falchion, even though he never used it. He stuck to his daggers until the very end, but they were lost at sea along with his beloved bow and arrow, if only we had them.
Grief weighs down every move in the castle, Zuri can no longer be seen sketching the horizon or taking one of her long walks on the beach, she’s shut herself in her wing and has allowed no one to see her. She’s even stopped taking her meals with mother and I!
I wish I could fault her, blame her, but it would be hypocritical of me. If I could, I would hide away in my room as well, but I have duties. I am expected to rule while my mother recovers from the shock, she is still queen but I am still the heir. I still have to lead my people, I still have to look after Vea, soothe our agitated allies before they turn on us, defend my kingdom and most importantly, find my father’s killer.
There aren’t any leads to follow, I haven’t been allowed near Vea, therefore I cannot question them about his death. There’s no ship to inspect, no bodies, no witnesses, nothing. Nothing. NOTHING.
Nothing’s such a horrible word, there’s no point to it. It’s the only lie we accept. Every question in the world could be answered with those seven letters, but it’s never nothing, is it? There’s always something, or someone.
This is basically a long winded way of saying, I’m sneaking into Vea’s hospital room to ask them questions about my father’s brutal murder. Yay! This will definitely not backfire, Amaris is… reasonable, for the lack of a better word.
My shoes are off, and all that could give away my identity is hidden away in my room, where I’ve arranged a few cushions to pretend that I’m asleep in my room. The borrowed (read: stolen) servant’s gown is slightly uncomfortable but nondescript enough that no one will pay attention to me.
Now. I have a royal to harass.
-X-
I quietly make my way around the clinic, careful to stay on my guard, while Ababyomi may be out for now, she’s sure to return soon, and she knows every single nurse that works for her. The second she’s back, I’m screwed. The other nurses mill about restlessly, currently the only patient in the castle is Vea. That makes my work a lot harder. I manage to disappear behind the curtain that separates my mark from me and my questions. Vea looks less pitiful today, the swelling around their eyes has gone down, making them look less racoonish. The blood that clung to their armour and skin that night, has been painstakingly cleaned, the only trace of their injuries are the stitches that line most of their body.
They cock their head to the side, and sit up. Their smile is tired and their hands barely obey them when they lift it in a silent gesture. “You’re welcome here.” It’s small and silent, a mutual understanding. We’ve both lost our fathers and for tonight, there is to be no mention of the war, only a grim compromise.
I’ll tell you what you want to know, and you’ll tell me what I want to know. No ifs, no buts.
“Good evening, Vea.” I drag a chair next to their bed, allowing my body to finally rest. For the past three days, I’ve done nothing but run around, and deal with agitated allies. A few moments of rest and relaxation was much needed. “Daraja. I am truly sorry about your father, I wish I could have done more , helped him, somehow.”
“You still can, help me find who killed him, Vea. Please.” I want to scream and cry but diplomacy helped us before, perhaps it can again.
“I’ll help however I can…. For a price.”
“A price?” “Nothing is ever free Princess.” They smile at me softly, their gaze carries no heat, a simple aura of cool intellect hidden by a weak exterior.
“I’m aware, name your price.” “A walk around the palace?” Well. That was…surprising.
“Uh. Sure.” What could possibly go wrong?
-X-
After a nerve wracking escape from the clinic, we wander around in the gardens, there is not a single soul in sight. Only Vea and I.
For a few moments neither of us speak, the only sound passing between us is that of their cane sounding against the cobblestones.
“So.” A brave attempt at breaking the tension, a failed one but brave nonetheless.
“Right.” “I don’t know how to start.” A beat.
“I’ll tell you exactly what happened and then you can decide what you want to do with me.” Vea offers, their gaze turned away from me. They don’t wait for an answer.
“We set sail almost immediately after the treaty was signed. He didn’t want to wait until dinner, he didn’t want to wait a second longer. All he could talk about were his girls, he talked about Zuri and The queen but mostly, he talked about you and how proud he was of you. He really loved you Daraja.” The weather is exceptionally warm, even my eyes are perspiring.
“ I wish both of us could have made it home Daraja, I really do, but when those monsters took me…”
“Monsters? Took you? Wha-” WHAT MONSTERS? LITERAL? FIGURATIVE? ELABORATE.
“They didn’t tell you, did they?” Of couuuurse they did, I’m just pretending not to know. Read the garden Amaris.
“I’m sorry, um I forgot that Aiga wasn’t aware of the skelons.” Skelons? What?
“Skelons?”
“It’s a long story…” “I’ve got time.”
A/N: Has this been beta read? Absolutely not no. Has this been posted after a billion years? Absolutely yes.
I apologise for the incredibly long hiatus, I really didn't mean to do that. I’m really hoping y’all haven’t lost interest yet.
Mod Tag: @tiredguyswag@ne0npurplefantasies
Taglist (send an ask to be added or removed): @ghostdragoncookie @jewishdainix @ialmostdonothingnew @just-call-me-a-god @death-and-the-lady13 @fierreth-who @mister-finally-found-himself @coffeelovinggayidiot @pinkyy-promises @sassychaostrash @lesbiansayaishii @a-cloud-for-dreams @brkh96 @i-likestuff86 @redvelvetpdf @xx0yeet-everything0xx
calm before the storm - some pre argument scenarios
prompt list by @novelbear
ranting to a close friend/parent about what they're upset about before they make confrontation just to make sure they aren't overreacting
blowing up their phone and receiving no answers (this either being the reason behind the argument or just adding fuel to the fire)
desperately wanting to be angry, but they can't push past the hurt they're feeling with the trust being broken
on the other hand, they're fuming because this isn't the first time
immediately driving over to where they are (even if this means embarrassing them in front of friends)
"why are you looking at me like that..."
taking a few minutes to calm down so that they don't explode the moment they start talking
"why do you seem upset?" "why the hell do you think..."
"when you realize what the problem is, then you can talk to me."
"hold on, that's not fair-"
"all you ever think about is yourself!"
sending the scary "we need to talk." text
trying to pretend that some jokes/comments don't bother them until one just finally goes too far
really trying not to say anything at first, but the other can tell they're upset by their mannerisms and try to find out what it is that's wrong
mutual friends alerting the other about something they definitely deserve to know
anxiously waiting for them to come home so that they could give them a piece of their mind
noticing that their concerns are blatantly being brushed to the side so they interrupt to try to stand up for themselves
"sit down for a sec, i need you to hear this."
Protective prompts:
“Get behind me.”
“Hold my hand, okay? It’s gonna be over soon.”
“Close your eyes for me love.”
“When I say run, I need you to do as I say without looking back and don’t wait for me.”
“It’s all going to okay, they would never hurt you again.”
“I swear to you, that as long as I’m alive I won’t let a single soul ever harm you.”
“Listen to me. . . take deep breaths, yes follow my breathing just like that. There’s no need to panic, I’m right here now, aren’t I? You’re safe.”
“When you love something, you protect it with your entire life at stake, and right now, my guts tell me to do the same.”
“I’ll be back very soon, but don’t come out. Stay there hidden until I come back and try not to make a noise, hmm?” *forehead kisses being a must here*
“I’m so so sorry! I wish I would’ve never left you alone! If I knew this would happen, I would never leave you alone.”
bickering like a married couple - some silly arguments for your otp to get into
prompt list by @novelbear | requested: @generalfee
"move, you're on my side of the couch."
sneakily placing another dish next to their partner as they're finishing up with the dishes. then laughing through an apology as it naturally sets them off
arguing in the grocery store aisle because one wants normal oreos while the other wants to try one of the new, random flavors that just got released
"no, i'm not going to give you a bite because i know you're not gonna like it. then you're going to ask me how the hell i like it, and i don't want to listen to that right now."
"get up, you're snoring and i can't hear the movie." "then turn it up..." "so you can yell at me for waking you up? no!" "you woke me up anyway!"
"oh my god if you buy one more plush to occupy my spot on the bed i'm kicking you out to sleep on the couch."
if they have a pet, they might fight over whether or not they should let them climb on the furniture
getting annoyed when one sets an alarm which inevitably wakes the other up much earlier than they intended.
"uh-uh, no more reading before bed. you keep waking me up with your dramatic gasps every time you turn the page." "well, i'm sorry that i engage and connect deeply with literature!"
bickering over the right amount of toothpaste that should be put on the brush
^ or over one taking wayyy too long in the shower
"what's the point of the blanket being on the couch if it can't be used?" "it's for show!" "oh for the love of god-"
"take an extra jacket, it's cold out." "okay, mom."
Your old friend, Mary Sue, appears perfect, but actually has the ability to manipulate time and constantly rewinds it in order to give the appearance of perfection, with zero consequences. You, however, can secretly remember every single previous iteration.
recently-coronated noble!caretaker being gifted creature!whumpee as a 'pet' and losing their SHIT on the gifter
