occasionally subtle
No title available
PR's Tumblrdome
ojovivo
$LAYYYTER
Interview Vampire Daily
cherry valley forever
Andulka
No title available
Misplaced Lens Cap
Origami Around
Sade Olutola
TMBGareOK. The Official They Might Be Giants tumblr
EXPECTATIONS
Cosmic Funnies
titsay
h
No title available
Cosimo Galluzzi
hello vonnie
seen from United States
seen from Colombia
seen from Brazil
seen from Malaysia
seen from India
seen from Russia
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Germany
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Israel
seen from Costa Rica
seen from United States
seen from Vietnam
seen from United States
@tazzzithesupreme
I have come to the decision to make a DNE list for myself.
Do Not Engage with:
>Hate Groups
>Hate Speech
>Baiting
I will simply block and move on. I think I will have a much better online experience.
Also, anyone interested in learning more about the story I am writing- I post about it here: @villainreformprogram
Rescue professional here:
If you need rescuing or help, DON’T FUCKING MOVE. You are so much easier to find when you stay put.
Credits: @foxes-in-love
Your most important survival skill is asking for help
Goddamn preach this
"Your most important survival skill is asking for help." THIS, it makes me so damn pissed off when parents try and normalize that asking for help is a taboo thing!
This feels important to reblog
Sometimes I stumble upon something truly enjoyable on facebook.
You really do start to resemble the people you love.
My partner would always point out various mushrooms and tell me little facts about them when we would go for our nature walks. Now I find myself scrolling tumblr all: "Awe, yes, that mushroom has a fantastic cap."
Today's Hype Post!
It's that time of day my darlings! Tell us some wonderful little details for your original writing project or work in progress my dears! (No fanfiction please- it's a wonderful medium but not the focus of this blog post.)
TODAY'S QUESTION:
What story idea do you hope someone else writes because you never will?
Ooo, we enjoy reading murder mysteries with clever detectives. However, I feel like I (myself) am not smart enough to write a character like that accurately. ((I have a hyper-intelligent doctor in my current story thinking that cause I was an EMT that would be enough medical knowledge...nope, been researching every time she opens her mouth.)) I just couldn't do that much research to pull off sounding that smart for a main character.
Does your OC have any piercings?
Josh has a pierced lip & Piper has a pierced tongue.
We made the Unfortunate decision to pack two days before we leave for our trip...
My dog has not stopped crying. He is horrified that he is going to be left behind. He is not listening to us repeatedly telling him that we aren't leaving yet. Nor does he seem calmed at the prospect of spending the week with his grandma.
Why am I so obsessed with long sentences!???
Like just stop using , : ; -
And put that full stop already please
Because I took William Faulkner's 'Absalom, Absalom!' as a personal challenge. His grammatically correct sentence reads as follows [ended up being so long it wouldn't fit in one post] (so, part one):
"Just exactly like Father if Father had known as much about it the night before I went out there as he did the day after I came back thinking Mad impotent old man who realized at last that there must be some limit even to the capabilities of a demon for doing harm, who must have seen his situation as that of the show girl, the pony, who realizes that the principal tune she prances to comes not from horn and fiddle and drum but from a clock and calendar, must have seen himself as the old wornout cannon which realizes that it can deliver just one more fierce shot and crumble to dust in its own furious blast and recoil, who looked about upon the scene which was still within his scope and compass and saw son gone, vanished, more insuperable to him now than if the son were dead since now (if the son still lived) his name would be different and those to call him by it strangers and whatever dragon’s outcropping of Sutpen blood the son might sow on the body of whatever strange woman would therefore carry on the tradition, accomplish the hereditary evil and harm under another name and upon and among people who will never have heard the right one; daughter doomed to spinsterhood who had chosen spinsterhood already before there was anyone named Charles Bon since the aunt who came to succor her in bereavement and sorrow found neither but instead that calm absolutely impenetrable face between a homespun dress and sunbonnet seen before a closed door and again in a cloudy swirl of chickens while Jones was building the coffin and which she wore during the next year while the aunt lived there and the three women wove their own garments and raised their own food and cut the wood they cooked it with..."
Part two:
" (excusing what help they had from Jones who lived with his granddaughter in the abandoned fishing camp with its collapsing roof and rotting porch against which the rusty scythe which Sutpen was to lend him, make him borrow to cut away the weeds from the door-and at last forced him to use though not to cut weeds, at least not vegetable weeds ‑would lean for two years) and wore still after the aunt’s indignation had swept her back to town to live on stolen garden truck and out o f anonymous baskets left on her front steps at night, the three of them, the two daughters negro and white and the aunt twelve miles away watching from her distance as the two daughters watched from theirs the old demon, the ancient varicose and despairing Faustus fling his final main now with the Creditor’s hand already on his shoulder, running his little country store now for his bread and meat, haggling tediously over nickels and dimes with rapacious and poverty-stricken whites and negroes, who at one time could have galloped for ten miles in any direction without crossing his own boundary, using out of his meagre stock the cheap ribbons and beads and the stale violently-colored candy with which even an old man can seduce a fifteen-year-old country girl, to ruin the granddaughter o f his partner, this Jones-this gangling malaria-ridden white man whom he had given permission fourteen years ago to squat in the abandoned fishing camp with the year-old grandchild-Jones, partner porter and clerk who at the demon’s command removed with his own hand..."
Part three (final part):
(and maybe delivered too) from the showcase the candy beads and ribbons, measured the very cloth from which Judith (who had not been bereaved and did not mourn) helped the granddaughter to fashion a dress to walk past the lounging men in, the side-looking and the tongues, until her increasing belly taught her embarrassment-or perhaps fear;-Jones who before ’61 had not even been allowed to approach the front of the house and who during the next four years got no nearer than the kitchen door and that only when he brought the game and fish and vegetables on which the seducer-to-be’s wife and daughter (and Clytie too, the one remaining servant, negro, the one who would forbid him to pass the kitchen door with what he brought) depended on to keep life in them, but who now entered the house itself on the (quite frequent now) afternoons when the demon would suddenly curse the store empty of customers and lock the door and repair to the rear and in the same tone in which he used to address his orderly or even his house servants when he had them (and in which he doubtless ordered Jones to fetch from the showcase the ribbons and beads and candy) direct Jones to fetch the jug, the two of them (and Jones even sitting now who in the old days, the old dead Sunday afternoons of monotonous peace which they spent beneath the scuppernong arbor in the back yard, the demon lying in the hammock while Jones squatted against a post, rising from time to time to pour for the demon from the demijohn and the bucket of spring water which he had fetched from the spring more than a mile away then squatting again, chortling and chuckling and saying ‘Sho, Mister Tawm’ each time the demon paused)-the two of them drinking turn and turn about from the jug and the demon not lying down now nor even sitting but reaching after the third or second drink that old man’s state of impotent and furious undefeat in which he would rise, swaying and plunging and shouting for his horse and pistols to ride single-handed into Washington and shoot Lincoln (a year or so too late here) and Sherman both, shouting, ‘Kill them! Shoot them down like the dogs they are!’ and Jones: ‘Sho, Kernel; sho now’ and catching him as he fell and commandeering the first passing wagon to take him to the house and carry him up the front steps and through the paintless formal door beneath its fanlight imported pane by pane from Europe which Judith held open for him to enter with no change, no alteration in that calm frozen face which she had worn for four years now, and on up the stairs and into the bedroom and put him to bed like a baby and then lie down himself on the floor beside the bed though not to sleep since before dawn the man on the bed would stir and groan and Jones would say, ‘flyer I am, Kernel. Hit’s all right. They aint whupped us yit, air they?’ this Jones who after the demon rode away with the regiment when the granddaughter was only eight years old would tell people that he ‘was lookin after Major’s place and niggers’ even before they had time to ask him why he was not with the troops and perhaps in time came to believe the lie himself, who was among the first to greet the demon when he returned, to meet him at the gate and say, ‘Well, Kernel, they kilt us but they aint whupped us yit, air they?’ who even worked, labored, sweat at the demon’s behest during that first furious period while the demon believed he could restore by sheer indomitable willing the Sutpen’s Hundred which he remembered and had lost, labored with no hope of pay or reward who must have seen long before the demon did (or would admit it) that the task was hopeless-blind Jones who apparently saw still in that furious lecherous wreck the old fine figure of the man who once galloped on the black thoroughbred about that domain two boundaries of which the eye could not see from any point."
Why am I so obsessed with long sentences!???
Like just stop using , : ; -
And put that full stop already please
Because I took William Faulkner's 'Absalom, Absalom!' as a personal challenge. His grammatically correct sentence reads as follows [ended up being so long it wouldn't fit in one post] (so, part one):
"Just exactly like Father if Father had known as much about it the night before I went out there as he did the day after I came back thinking Mad impotent old man who realized at last that there must be some limit even to the capabilities of a demon for doing harm, who must have seen his situation as that of the show girl, the pony, who realizes that the principal tune she prances to comes not from horn and fiddle and drum but from a clock and calendar, must have seen himself as the old wornout cannon which realizes that it can deliver just one more fierce shot and crumble to dust in its own furious blast and recoil, who looked about upon the scene which was still within his scope and compass and saw son gone, vanished, more insuperable to him now than if the son were dead since now (if the son still lived) his name would be different and those to call him by it strangers and whatever dragon’s outcropping of Sutpen blood the son might sow on the body of whatever strange woman would therefore carry on the tradition, accomplish the hereditary evil and harm under another name and upon and among people who will never have heard the right one; daughter doomed to spinsterhood who had chosen spinsterhood already before there was anyone named Charles Bon since the aunt who came to succor her in bereavement and sorrow found neither but instead that calm absolutely impenetrable face between a homespun dress and sunbonnet seen before a closed door and again in a cloudy swirl of chickens while Jones was building the coffin and which she wore during the next year while the aunt lived there and the three women wove their own garments and raised their own food and cut the wood they cooked it with..."
Part two:
" (excusing what help they had from Jones who lived with his granddaughter in the abandoned fishing camp with its collapsing roof and rotting porch against which the rusty scythe which Sutpen was to lend him, make him borrow to cut away the weeds from the door-and at last forced him to use though not to cut weeds, at least not vegetable weeds ‑would lean for two years) and wore still after the aunt’s indignation had swept her back to town to live on stolen garden truck and out o f anonymous baskets left on her front steps at night, the three of them, the two daughters negro and white and the aunt twelve miles away watching from her distance as the two daughters watched from theirs the old demon, the ancient varicose and despairing Faustus fling his final main now with the Creditor’s hand already on his shoulder, running his little country store now for his bread and meat, haggling tediously over nickels and dimes with rapacious and poverty-stricken whites and negroes, who at one time could have galloped for ten miles in any direction without crossing his own boundary, using out of his meagre stock the cheap ribbons and beads and the stale violently-colored candy with which even an old man can seduce a fifteen-year-old country girl, to ruin the granddaughter o f his partner, this Jones-this gangling malaria-ridden white man whom he had given permission fourteen years ago to squat in the abandoned fishing camp with the year-old grandchild-Jones, partner porter and clerk who at the demon’s command removed with his own hand..."
Why am I so obsessed with long sentences!???
Like just stop using , : ; -
And put that full stop already please
Because I took William Faulkner's 'Absalom, Absalom!' as a personal challenge. His grammatically correct sentence reads as follows [ended up being so long it wouldn't fit in one post] (so, part one):
"Just exactly like Father if Father had known as much about it the night before I went out there as he did the day after I came back thinking Mad impotent old man who realized at last that there must be some limit even to the capabilities of a demon for doing harm, who must have seen his situation as that of the show girl, the pony, who realizes that the principal tune she prances to comes not from horn and fiddle and drum but from a clock and calendar, must have seen himself as the old wornout cannon which realizes that it can deliver just one more fierce shot and crumble to dust in its own furious blast and recoil, who looked about upon the scene which was still within his scope and compass and saw son gone, vanished, more insuperable to him now than if the son were dead since now (if the son still lived) his name would be different and those to call him by it strangers and whatever dragon’s outcropping of Sutpen blood the son might sow on the body of whatever strange woman would therefore carry on the tradition, accomplish the hereditary evil and harm under another name and upon and among people who will never have heard the right one; daughter doomed to spinsterhood who had chosen spinsterhood already before there was anyone named Charles Bon since the aunt who came to succor her in bereavement and sorrow found neither but instead that calm absolutely impenetrable face between a homespun dress and sunbonnet seen before a closed door and again in a cloudy swirl of chickens while Jones was building the coffin and which she wore during the next year while the aunt lived there and the three women wove their own garments and raised their own food and cut the wood they cooked it with..."
Hot Tip:
When scammers pull up in your inbox preparing to try and sell you some art or beta/editing service. Right when they ask how you are doing, hit them with this- "Wonderful! Except for all the scammers and solicitors that hit me up trying to sell me their services... that part sucks." They literally don't know how to respond to that.
ngl, this whole scam thing got me completely frustrated.
You know what, that goes for everyone: If you ever want to gush about your plot or OCs, my DMs are open and I won't try and sell you anything.
Feel free to look through my likes. Just a heads up there are a lot of mushrooms in there.
PSA: Never follow an AO3 comment to a Discord.
It is always a scam.
I know they just left one of the most moving comments you may have ever seen, or maybe they cracked a joke that made you snort- but the minute they ask you to continue talking on Discord your Red Flag Alert should be going off.
This is a common scam sadly.
my toxic writing trait is imagining the scene in my head in long, full cinematic detail and then writing: “they fought. it was intense.”
I accidently add extra limbs into fights.
Both arms pinned, where did this third arm come from?
Hopes no one notices.
I think I do the same thing with smut scenes honestly.
Tangles of limbs are hard to describe.
I woke up with low motivation
Someone tell me something that will move me to working on editing today. Please?
