write

read

[robintimate]

do you ever think about how Tim could go down the villain path, how in so many future he does? do you ever think about how he has lost so much, lost so many of his loved ones, lost his morals at some point, lost himself because of the hurt and the pain he was under from losing everyone and Robin? do you ever think about him still holding on strong, holding onto being a hero instead of the bad guy, holding onto doing what is right, even in the face of being ruined because he has seen what happens when he becomes the bad guy?

do you ever think about how he always chooses to be good, because the reality is that the moment he chooses the other option, it is quite possibly game over for everyone? do you think about how Tim only becomes a villain when he loses all his loved ones and grief sends him down that path, and he knows this, and so when he loses Kon and Bart and Steph and Bruce and Robin– he madly, desperately holds onto the sliver of hope and gut feeling that Bruce is alive, and pushes himself into a wild chase around the world just to tether himself to something?

do you ever think about how Tim Drake always chooses to be good, because it's the only way they can have a happy ending?

cause i do.

[birlinterrupted]

I am abt to lose my fuckin mind because I happened upon this gender reveal party. and like it’s soo over the top expensive

And like I’m like. Oh great, a horse themed gender reveal party.

complete with like … just truly excessive foods and of course, themed cocktails

and this sign which like… the fragility of like *not* italicizing the word ‘colt’. Like imagine being this weird abt gender

with like, a bucket that eventually ‘revealed’ the gender

But like… the picture that really just completely undid me, for this party which surely was more money than many weddings -

it’s not a horse themed gender reveal party. It’s a gender reveal party FOR A HORSE. I can’t even like imagine the life that would lead to hosting a gender reveal party for a not-yet-born horse. Think abt getting an invitation to this. the cis are at it again.

[happilyeveraftereveryday]

THIS IS THE BEST THING I HAVE READ ALL DAY

[elzebrook]

well this was a wild ride from start to finish

[when-it-rains-it-snows]

I knew before I googled that this was gonna be California and I was Not disappointed. The horse is TA Jullyens Lillyanna, she is an exceptionally fancy purebred Arabian.

https://www.varianarabians.com/recent-sales/ta-jullyens-lillyanna.html

Her price tag was $Car. $20k if I had to guess.

And the real kicker?

The revealed gender was wrong. #youhadonejob

you cannot make this shit up; horse people are, truly, Just Like That.

[cherrispryte]

I AM SCREAMING

[elodieunderglass]

HaHA GET WRECKED! Thanks @sweetlyfez

[transmascmarypoppins]

why is this post completely broken in every way imaginable

[cecilsrandomeverything]

Broken notes… deactivated account… removed image….

Finally, we have them all.

[spacefinch]

In addition: OP’s name is just… gone. No “[insert username]-deactivated[insert a bunch of numbers]” as is the standard for deactivated blogs.

Just the world “deactivated.” Look upon their post, ye mighty, and despair.

[chatblancofficial]

It’ll be almost impossible to find this post unless it wanders across your dash.

[writingforthevoid]

I know I now look like the other

And when I find myself alone with you

I see how you look at me

With wariness in your eyes

That I once saw in my own

And I do feel a kind of sadness

But when I walk into their den

And see what they do

I know I could never blame you for your caution

[nixieteeth]

LEVEL 11 TEACHER PANIC EVENT

KID WROTE "MPREG VORTEX" ON THEIR DOODLE PAD AT LUNCH CLUB

I ASKED THEM TO PUT IT AWAY

ANOTHER KID MUST HAVE SMELLED MY HORROR

ASKED "MS DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE OMEGAVERSE IS"

SAMANTHA YOU ARE THIRTEEN WHY DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE OMEGAVERSE IS

[nixieteeth]

@too-many-muses I went full on startled prey mode 😭 I froze, shook my head way too quickly and then started aggressively cleaning the whiteboard lmaooo

[nixieteeth]

don't you fucking DARE I cannot go down in history as the omegaverse teacher

[nixieteeth]

I know for a fact that they think tumblr is dead as they have told me I look like used to have tumblr before it disappeared lmao

[wolfythewitch]

Thinking about that one time my friend edited a picture I posted to make a joke about how 3rd world countries in movies are always portrayed with like a yellow filter except he's colorblind so it ended up really green instead and we were both confused for a good five minutes

[wolfythewitch]

Just to be clear this was what he was going for

[beggars-opera]

ALRIGHT LADS

WHO'S READY FOR

[jwasontodd]

[mslockheart]

I always have to start the New Years with this picture.

[marauders4evr]

I keep seeing posts that are like:

Person #1: *Meme about breaking news* Person #2: I can’t keep learning the news like this. Person #3: If you’re going to a circus, expect to see clowns.

But the thing is, sure, everyone on tumblr expects to see clowns.

What we don’t expect is for the clowns to do this:

And this has been the exact energy of this website for months.

[writingforthevoid]

Hell is empty and all the devils are here.

They walk and talk among us as

Friends

Family

Strangers

For there is only one difference between devils and men,

And that is that devils,

They know the wrath,

The wrath of a good man who has been pushed too far.

So devils, they hide

When a good man goes to war

They run

They flee

and hell becomes full again

[writingforthevoid]

Nothing

If you were to describe emotions, how would you go about it? Would you liken

them to things you can feel and see, like fire and rain? Would you connect them

to colours and images? Or would you perhaps give up, after seeing that your

words were meaningless, just a string of sounds coming out of your mouth.

I have heard many descriptions of many emotions. I have heard that anger is like

a roaring fire, that starts in the pit of your belly and spreads and unfathomable

amount of heat throughout your being. Does it truly make your blood feel like

fire? Does anger build up in the back of your throat, and make you emit noise

akin to that of the growl?

What about sadness? I have heard that it makes you feel as though you're made

of lead, as if your muscles, your bones, your blood has been replaced by a heavy,

unmoving substance. Does it feel like a fire burning out? Does it feel as though a

torrent of rain is cascading down your body, forcing you down with its weight? Is

sadness like an empty house? Cold, desolate. Does it feel like you're standing in

that freezing house, making you feel small with its vastness?

Can you enlighten me on what happiness is like? Do you really feel as though

your body is lighter, as are you have been filled with helium? It has been

described like a soft, warm fire that fills you with a friendly heat. Lick a golden sun

that shines down with gentle rays that warm up your body pleasantly. Does it feel

like you're being hugged by someone all over? Is happiness like the colour

yellow? Bright, warm and lively?

What of fear? Does it really feel like someone is closing down on your heart the

cold, iron fist? Or is it more like that drop in your stomach when you plummet

from the top of a rollercoaster, stomach where your heart should be, and heart in

your throat. Is your blood replaced by liquid nitrogen? Burning, yet freezing you

at the same time. Does fear feel like you have something stuck in your throat, but

you just can't seem to unlodge?

Sorry, but I must ask, how would you describe love? Does your heart pound, and

your blood rush around in excitement? Or is it more like a fire on a cold winters

night? Love has been described as a wonderful thing that makes you feel

compelled to burst into song. So, is it true? Does love feel like a never-ending

high, a warm hug, or a small burning fire? Is that what love feels like?

I have heard these descriptions over and over, and I must say, I never actually get

bored with them. These feelings sound amazing, and wondrous, The way they

have been worded for me make them sound like a delicious treat I cannot wait to

have.

For all the descriptions I've heard over the years, I wish to return the favour. I may

not be able to describe anger, sadness, happiness, fear or love to you, but I cant

describe what I feel. I have not a name for it, so I call it 'nothing'.

Nothing feels empty, as though all of your, well your everything has been taken

from you. It feels like huge, black, void has swallowed you and you are left to drift

the darkness alone. It leaves you hollow and unmotivated. You could lie around

for days, hunger and thirst becoming non-existent to you, as all you can truly feel

is a hollowness inside. Nothing feels like there is a pitch black cave where your

heart is, or a gaping hold in your heart's wake. That is what nothing feels like.

Did I do good? Did I do well? Did I describe 'nothing' to you in such a way that

you could feel your heart recede into an abyss, leaving a hole in its place? Have

my words, these words, describes nothing adequately?

Even if I didn't describe nothing enough for you, even if you merely humoured

me by listening, I thank you. For you tried so hard to convey what you felt to me,

and I did the same. And now should come to the final answer, and stop trying to

avoid it.

I have listened to you describe every emotion over a thousand times, and you

heard me describe mine once. They both have the same results. We may

describe our emotions to each other however many times we please, and how

ever many ways please, but the conclusion is still the same. What you have is

something I can never have. What I feel is something you will never truly feel. Let

us stop this dance of words and and end this, once and for all.

You feel everything, and I will in ever feel nothing.

[writing-prompt-s]

For as long as you can remember you’ve been a monster hunter. Even as a child you’ve trained…. or have more so been trained to join this profession, you never countered this idea. After all, you’re a royal! Not the direct royal family sure, but you still needed to do something to prove yourself to the kingdom. Now after 10 years of experience and many trophies on your wall you’ve been assigned one of the hardest tasks, slaying a dragon. You find the beast you’re assigned to kill sleeping in the middle of the forest. You take out your blade and go in for a sneak attack, man this is looking to be easy. After a few steps its eyes shoot open, but no matter you’ve had this happen before with other beasts. Besides this way, you’ll get a challenging battle. You tighten the grip on your weapon…. and are completely unprepared for when the eyes of one of the strongest types of evil starts to cry from your presence.

“My child…. what have they done to you?”

[writingforthevoid]

You gripped your sword tighter as the words resonated through your skull. The voice was familiar, soft and comforting, you knew that voice, but you had never heard it before.

“What do you mean your child? I am here to vanquish the evil from this forest by order of the king!” you proclaimed, lifting your chin up as if you could look down on the beast. The dragon did not bristle or still at your words, she did not crouch in preparation to leap, or even stand to her full height, instead her gaze softened and you could swear that that her eyes were saying ‘I'm sorry’.

The forest held its breath, waiting for the dragon’s response, waiting to see the outcome of this meeting. You tensed, preparing to be attacked, preparing for the beast to lash out as all the others had. The dragon looked into your eyes, soft and sorrowful, before becoming resolute and she lowered her head.

“Do as you wish, my child”

You took a breath and marched forward, sword at the ready, bracing yourself for the kill.

“Be it death or life, the choice is yours alone.”

You froze. Why would you do that? You were mere paces away! You could easily slay the beast and save the land from this evil! However, a single question stopped you from doing so.

“What do you mean it's my choice?”

The dragon raised her head to look you in the eye.

“It is your choice whether or not you kill me.”

“No, what do you mean it's my choice?”

The dragon blinked slowly, evaluating you.

“It is your choice, it always has been. Fate is in your hands.”

“But I have not a choice, I am under orders to-”

“Orders or not, it is you who swings the blade. It is your choice.”

“But I-”

“It is your choice.”

“But-”

“It is your choice.”

“Bu-”

“My child, it is your choice.”

Your blade fell to the dirt.

“I had a choice?”

[writingforthevoid]

Sundrops

On the corner of Brunswick Street and Sutton Lane stands a small shop. Cobbled walls with weathered crevices that had barely noticeable vines growing through them. A dark brown tiled roof overhung on all sides, casting the slightest of shades on the ground around the shop. It square and crisscrossed with wooden support beams to hold up the imperfect glass that filled them. The door that stood guard over the little shop’s entrance was made of grand oak; scratches and dents embedded in the wood told numerous stories of small accidents, of a walking cane that had strayed too close, of fighting street cats, of drunkards whose hands were not strong enough to carry the bottle properly.

The little shop on the corner of Brunswick Street and Sutton Lane was unassuming and quaint, but it had a routine that had never been strayed from since its opening. Every morning, shine or snow, at seven o’clock on the dot, the owner would step outside the great oak door, hands brushing past the latest marks as she set up flowers under the street facing windows. The flowers would change from day to day, one day they could be white orchids with lilies sitting in their midst, pure and childlike. Other times they could be red carnations with tulips of orange and yellow swirling through their petals like a smouldering hearth. There had been bluebells and windflowers, snapdragons and asters, fare-well-to-springs and forget-me-nots.

The owner set down a small pot of golden sundrops, wiping her dirt covered hands on the sides of her green dress. The last time the storefront had seen sundrops was not on a day like today. That day had been cold and bitter, with harsh winds that cut through anything that stood in their way.

***

At seven o’clock the owner had come out in a blue dress, arms full of smiling sundrops. From behind rushed a man, dark hat and coat erect. He carried a single poppy in his left hand, a small suitcase in the other. He watched as the owner set down the flowers with utmost care and waited until she turned back to him. When she did so, her shoulders dropped. There was a second when all that moved was the wind. She ran into the man’s arms and hugged him as tight as her small frame would allow, squeezing as if he would dissolve if she let go for even a second. Gently, poppy in hand, he lifted her head from his chest and gave her a small smile as he tucked the flower behind her ear. Words were spoken softly, carried away by a vicious gust. They stood in the doorway of the little shop, framed by the bare vines clinging to the wall. It was a peaceful moment that stretched for an eternity, yet only lasted a second as the man turned and walked down the street, sundrops and life left behind him.

***

The owner gently cupped a sundrop as her skirt billowed about, caressing the velvety petal with utmost care, before letting her hand slide. She turned to retrieve the next flower from the shop. A small bird fluttered, hopped a few times before flying away as the oak door reopened to reveal the woman in green carrying a cracked pot overflowing with morning-glories. As she set down the flowers under the left window, the crack winded marginally and a small chip fell from the rim. It made a clink as it hit the stone pavement, a clink that seemed to echo throughout the owner’s mind. She never kept cracked or chipped pots in her shop, so bundling up the morning-glories, she wandered back inside to fetch a new pot for the flowers. The last time a cracked pot had been in the little store was quite some time ago.

***

The summer sun blazed on the street, covering everything in an inescapable blanket of heat. Under the front windows of The little shop on the corner of Brunswick Street and Sutton Lane, oak door freshly painted and cobbled walls without a crack in sight...sat pots upon pots of sunflowers, snapdragons, bluebells and daisies. The flowers spilled over the cracked edges, bright colours blooming in the afternoon, as though they were drops of the rainbow themselves.

The flowers watched patiently from their station, as passers by bustled along, baskets filled with bread and milk. They watched the children scream and giggle as they played through the streets, and as the street cats hissed at any dog that strayed too far into their territory. The sunflowers beamed up to the sky from their cracked home, snapdragons hung loosely over chipped edges, bluebells sank into the soft soil, and daisies danced in the wind from their imperfect pots as they watched the strangers walk by. A woman came from the little shop, dressed in a faded yellow skirt and white blouse that seemed to be held together only by strings. She brushed the daisies and bluebells with her hand, patted the snapdragons and cupped the yellow petals of the sunflowers, bringing them up to her too-hollow face, closing her eyes to ignore the cracks and chips that infested the pottery below the bright buds. She stood in the summer spell, figure small and thin in all the wrong places, gazing out at the sea of faces, wishing that one would just perhaps step into her shop.

***

Purple flowers placed in their new home, the woman stepped outside to finish any last changes before officially opening her shop for the day. She gazed at the sundrops that glowed in the early morning light, and the daisies that sat beside them, bursting forth with life. She brushed a speck of dirt from a snapdragon and gently patted morning-glories, wishing them well. She entered the great oak door, covered in marks of old stories, with a small swish of green cloth.

***

On the corner of Brunswick Street and Sutton Lane stands a small shop, filled with flowers for every person and the story of just one.

[writingforthevoid]

Significance

.

Compared to ants, we are giants

Compared to stars, we are specs of dust

Compared to the universe, we aren't significant at all

.

The chances of you being here

Of you reading this

Of you breathing now

Are so small, they shouldn't be called chances

.

Yet here you are

Yet here you read

Yet here you breathe

Against all odds, you exist

.

Compared to ants, you are a giant

Compared to stars, you are a spec of dust

Compared to the universe, you aren't significant at all

.

But your significance doesn't matter

You've already beaten all the odds

Just by being here

By reading

By breathing

By existing

.

[writingforthevoid]

Alone

We make up worlds

Full of creatures

From different dimensions

Or from outer space

Why?

Because we never

Want to come to the conclusion

That there is no one else

The we are all alone

[writing-prompt-s]

You think you’re the first person ever to exit the Milky Way Galaxy. On your way out, you see a sign written in English floating around in space.

[writingforthevoid]

Your smile hurts your cheeks as you look back at the slowly growing galaxy you called home. You did it. You were the first. You made it beyond the Milky Way. A shout escapes your lips as you feel tears of joys stream down your face. For so long you had dreamed of this.

A soft thunk was heard as something hit the nose of your ship. Frowning you went to check, there shouldn't be anything near you.

As you reach there, the lights turn off, the engines fail and the ventilation stops. Walking faster you reach the nose. All systems are offline. Nothing would restart them. You were dead in the water.

Looking through the glass, you see a sign a few meters back from the tail of the ship. You scrambled for the binoculars you kept in the cockpit as you tried to read the sign.

TURN BACK TURN BACK TURN BACK TURN BACK TURN BACK

The words repeated, covering the sign on messy scrawling writing. Dread pooled in your stomache. Why did you go out in the first place? TURN BACK

[androgynousace]

Do you remember the day that humans finally made it amongst the stars?

They had spent so long tinkering with unstable elements and experimenting with very laws of physics themselves to get where they were now. They would hurl themselves into the depths of space in little more than a hunk of metal as part of a race, as a competition where the prize was nothing more than the right to say that they did it first.

They risked the future of the planet and millions of innocents in the process over petty personal feuds. But, they had also come together, united the world over in feats of intelligence and generosity.

It was understandable why the council were in disagreement.

“So they’re ambitious,” stated one elder. “And what?”

“They’re dangerous,” argued another. “How can we trust a race that cannot even trust each other?”

And so, the council argued. For days, weeks, and months, on whether the humans should be introduced to the interplanetary alliance - to be made aware of those that existed outside of earth. There were restrictions and criteria placed on whether a planet should be invited in, of course, a certain level of intelligence, to be so far along in their evolutionary chain and so forth. All so that other species didn’t intervene in that planet’s natural progression.

Earth had passed all but one.

Peaceful cohabitation.

It wasn’t just that they would kill and demean their own kind over trivial things like belief and race, or even that they would participate in the abhorrent activity of hunting the lesser creatures that shared their planet for fun. It was the destruction to their home that was most worrying, how it was not curiosity or wanderlust that sent humans to the stars, but desperation. Desperation to find new resources, a new home.

Despite all this, the council finally made their decision. They took the risk and made contact with humans and they were ecstatic, their race rejoiced for finally, they were not alone.

Scholars have difficulty pinpointing when the council retracted their decision, effectively banishing humans back to their desecrated planet. But it was too late, the destruction caused and the intelligence gained was too great to be reversed.

Do you remember the day that humans finally made it amongst the stars? Of course, how could you forget, for it was the day the stars wept.

[moonfire1]

If the stars wept, the tears were in gratitude.

The petty disagreements, lack of peaceful cohabitation, senseless wars, weapons brokering? All those trends disappeared with the first successful colonization effort.

The destruction that followed came not at the hands of the humans, but the council. Fear based reactions were not so far removed as the elders would have had their kin believe.

Early efforts to discourage human expansion were ignored, and the council elected for a little more force.

Humanity’s greatest asset is its collective ability to survive. When pushed to literal or metaphorical corners, solutions would be found from a sideways perspective.

The council had reacted in fear, yet the humans survived. More so, the humans thrived. If the stars weep today, it is not of their doing. 

[writingforthevoid]

All was against them. Just when they found out that finally, they weren't alone, all turned their backs.

Despite this they thrived.

Countless tried to cut them down, but they just grew back stronger. Again and again they were pushed, and again and again they lived.

They tried so many times to show that they were not monsters, as everyone had made them out to be. They were just used to living surving just a little bit differently.

Yet still all turned their backs.

They were just children.

They just wanted to explore.

They just wanted to find new things.

Yet they were only ever seen as monsters.

And the stars wept in their place.