#bloglogs

[wtrmln-tourma]

i have a ton of one-off writing that i never posted anywhere so expect that in the coming days

[wtrmln-tourma]

@inspectorlyfra 's creative sideblog

tagging system

eqp: echo all our quiet prayers, my daggerheart homebrew setting col: city of liars, my fully original oc-verse worldblocks: worldbuilding notes from either setting tourma ocs: specific characters from either setting misc: things not in a specific setting

tourmart: art multimediamelon / mmm: sewing, fiber arts, any other kind of physical craft writermelon: writing. both prose and poetry idk tourmeta: meta-analysis on fandoms, will also be tagged with the fandom - metas are on the same level as other works fuck yuo tourma fanworks: fanart & fanfic, also tagged with the fandom

inspo board: anything reblogged as inspiration bloglogs: posts that aren’t OC stuff or Dasora stuff

contrary to the usual "reblogs > likes" discourse, i personally appreciate words more than notes. whether you put the words in the tags or a comment, that sticks in my brain more than a number of reblogs or likes!

behind the cut is a masterlist of worldblocks posts

soul donation

misc ideas

the one between

anchoring

gods

[theystolemyhands]

I need to sleep but I’m just too addicted to music

[theystolemyhands]

I don't trust, I just do what I must. To get by is a whole other ordeal. Autumn leaves fall upon a guitar chord. A blade in the ground past benches in the park. A sparkle of notes. A sea of leaves. Shadows settle on the emptiness of time. Orange in the atmosphere, lights in the night. Stars on the ground dot the horizon brighter than the lights in the sky. You're lucky to be in love. I've got a feeling I'm hooked on, and it feels like living vicariously through the hearts of another. Fragments of a vision are seen between four eyes crossed upon one another. A song sprouts of four lips, sung for four ears. Two noses touch, two faces connect, twenty fingers entwine, two torsos twist together. It's an abomination. It's beauty. It's nature. You fucking dorks.

[theystolemyhands]

In the empire state, the empire states, that the towers who fall in two Have tumbled down, and brought us down, with the empire following too.

[theystolemyhands]

Welcome to the show.

There's no guarantee, it matters less, who's the best dressed guest at this establishment. We're standing on Islands of wild grass, floating on waves of auditory synaesthesia. It is the introduction. Our induction. Into this land of make believe. In this land of make believe, they'll land to make you believe, that it's real. And what you hear, is what you feel. And what you feel can not be peeled away from your senses. For without that, what are you left? Right is for naught, and neither is wrong. They will make you believe in their song. It rhymes, they sing, the words rings true. They sing of modern girls and old fashioned men. How they act, they sing, they dance, they fuck. You wanna do it but you don't know what you're doing. You wanna to feel it, but you don't know what you're feeling tonight. Fate is up against your will. Don't blink. Don't think. Don't sink. Just whistle. They've raided the radio, and there's no dial.

Welcome to the show.

[theystolemyhands]

Direction. Where is this boat headed? I can't say which way but a bicycle says it speaks and it speaks virtues. A humble old creature with no particular features save for the rust growing on it's fingertips. Old bicycle, you carried me over cobblestone and alley. Through grassy valley and gravel knolls, I hope you know you'll be missed. Fear not the ember of death, for cremation is the fate of those with an oaken heart, and yours is a heart of steel, born of flame, and tempered from factories far far away. Oh you've sailed over seas, dear bicycle. How far you've travelled upon my shoes alone pails in comparison to the many leagues you sailed to get here. I'm sorry I didn't ride you enough. Please do not deflate upon my account, for the chips in your paint are naught for none. What may seem like hardly a trek for you was but an epic journey for me. What Homeric rhyme can not encompass the wonder you showed me as a child, as we rode up the hill together. Time, the final test has deemed you sweet in mine eye, and yet, time will leave us in the ever-after with no tales to tell. But what is a tale but a memory? And our memories may soon fade like sun washed denim before our bodies have withered from the bone. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. Wanderlust. I must must must. Missed the mist, on a dewy morning after the sun Rose. A flower, petals painting the clouds pink. Where was I? Who are you?

[theystolemyhands]

Welp, it's here now! Porn blog. Yeah. Totally pretend you didn't see this though.