#and i'm still here

[sluttyhenley]

Tom Cruise as Ethan Hunt MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE - DEAD RECKONING dir. Christopher McQuarrie

[forthehonoroflove]

Once Upon a Time | 1x07: The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

[izzy-prizzy]

In silent glances, truths reside,

Where words falter, emotions confide.

Eyes, the mirrors of a soul's last flight,

In their depths, the truth reside.

Unspoken farewells, a silent plea,

In each gaze, a world set free.

As petals fall from a withered rose,

Love's final whisper, no one knows.

[epersonae]

Let all the trash rain down From way up in the rafters I'm walking out of here in one piece Don’t care what comes after Drive the wedge, torch the bridge I don't wanna die in here

[gdragoon]

today this blog turns 12yo and wow time goes by so fast

[lanayrue]

happy 13th birthday to my blog lmao

[cymk8]

pov: you gothify your roommate for the views

[perplexingly]

Montjuic cemetery in Barcelona

[cremanata]

brazilian miku ♡

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[ao3commentoftheday]

Work in Progress Wednesday Thursday

I don't remember the last time I was quite this excited about a skin that I'm making. I have no idea if all of this will end up in the final version, but I'm just having so much fun with seeing what I can actually do that I wanted to share some work in progress shots.

(honestly? the hardest part has been finding the images. any tips on where to get medieval illuminated artwork would be much appreciated!)

In the first image, the AO3 title and the lady/dragon are separate images so on a desktop monitor the AO3 part is on the left and the dragon piece is on the right.

Editing to add the github link: get the skin here!

[cspcrashing]

fool's hope

[eristhenat]

year's end

[palarien]

sketched this out at jury duty actually

[knifebaby3000]

checked into your heart and trashed it like a hotel room

[inkskinned]

i keep thinking about how rfk said that autistic people "will never write a poem." i keep thinking about that, about if humanity is calculated on the back of old verse. how far we measure personhood is in baseball and stanza breaks.

i keep thinking - i have over 7k poems on here alone. language can be a special interest, after all. did you know the word autism comes almost direct from the greek word autos, meaning "self"? self-ism.

maybe he is right - i haven't really played baseball. i was a ballet dancer instead. and besides - my sister once accidentally hit me in the face with an aluminum bat. i'm not sure if the injury gives me half points. am i only a person in the dugout? hand in a mitt? swinging?

does softball count? does cricket? am i a person if i throw the ball to my dog. am i a person as long as the ball is in the air, or do i stop being a person as it rolls into the bushes. i took my girlfriend to fenway recently; was i a person in the sun, with my hands up, with the game laid out at my feet in a diamond. i felt like a person, but that was back in the summer, and i often feel my most person-like then.

am i more of a person because of the sheer number of things i've written? does quality matter, or is it quantity? i used to write entire books every summer in high school - i wasn't doing well. i felt the least like-a-person back then. but then - does any person feel human in high school?

in the library, ink on my skin, i feel personhood shutter at the edges of myself. actually, writing feels blissfully like not being myself. it feels birdlike; escaping into creation so my body dissolves and i survive only by muscle memory. i am not there, i am writing.

but who can deny the falconlike focus of warsan shire, the tenderness of mary oliver, the sheer skill of amanda gorman. those are poets. they are certainly human. you could line them up with the way their words have influenced us and measure their literary shadows like wings.

perhaps it was very assumptive of me to want to be a poet rather than "a [ label ] poet." i wanted the work to fill itself in, rather than be stained by what i am. i do not write in despite of my neurodivergence, i am just neurodivergent and writing.

does the poem have to be in english or can i send it through my palms into the coat of my dog. does the poem have to make sense. does the poem have to love you back.

if i break a glass, will the poem appear naturally? or is the act of breaking the glass human-enough. the shards of my life glittering out beneath me - do i have to write the poem, or is it self-evident in the pile of glass splinters? i cannot grasp this world the way other people can. regardless, i endeavor to touch - even the mess - very gently.

i broke my toenail against my coffee table recently. i released a bug outdoors. i made coffee. i walked my dog.

i didn't write a poem about any of these things.

something else, then. existing without humanity.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Hey now, Let her cook!