#i'm not satisfied but. would i ever be

[mokutone]

my personal preference on the team minato age thing:

Personally, I like drawing Kakashi being 4 years younger than Obito and Rin, partially because the idea of a 10 year old Obito being absolutely desperate to show up this know it all 6 year old is just like. really, really funny + compelling to me (the embarassment of being much less skilled than a kid whose barely more than half ur age??? LMFAO. BRUTAL TO THE EGO!)

and also it's a neat parallel with Gai, whose genin team was Genma (3-4 years older than Gai) and Ebisu (1-2 years older than Gai). I feel like it emphasizes the kind of brutal war machine that Konoha is at that time—that they'd consider a 5 year old (or in Gai's case, a 7 year old) to be viable soldiers, especially during this war where they're apparently spread incredibly thin and theyve got to cobble the teams together

i also like…hm…idk

i think that there's potential for like a really impactful moment where minato tells obito abt sakumo

and suddenly obito realizes that kakashi, at the insane age of 5, had decided he would never let anyone get close, and instead of seeing kakashi as this arrogant rule obsessed prodigy asshole, obito realizes that kakashi is not only a scared kid just like him, maybe even moreso, but like terrifyingly vulnerable.

Kakashi is like 8 and has nobody watching out for him except maybe Minato, meanwhile Obito who comes from the huge and tightly knit uchiha clan is like. constantly caring for and being taken care of by other people—i'm sure that he tried to imagine himself in Kakashi's place when Minato told him abt this.

i think it could be a really interesting moment where obito stops seeing himself in relation to kakashi as like, subordinate (tho kakashi still has rank on him) or like, a struggling teammate being bullied by a hardass child prodigy— and instead. for just a moment. maybe he sees himself as like an older sibling/cousin/member of the clan who has a duty to take care of kakashi, in a way that kakashi cannot take care of himself i especially think that him having that feeling right before he ''dies'' and as a final gesture gives kakashi his eye…that could be really fucking touching. like. the sharingan is like THE identifying feature of the Uchiha right, and after that the Uchiha that we do see Kakashi interact with, Itachi and Sasuke, both see the sharingan, and have a strong reaction to it, wanting to kinda size kakashi up and see if they accept him, bc they understandably see the sharingan as something belonging to their family.

this said, the choice to give it to Kakashi, could be read as Obito giving him a gift of not just of a very special jutsu, but also like, in a way, a belonging? Maybe extended with the intent to like, tell Kakashi that he's like family?

LIKE. idk how to explain it.

Theres also something abt his imitation of obito afterwards…not only adopting his philosophy but his mannerisms…and the way that this gift from obito is foundational to the person who Kakashi becomes (his special chidori is only rlly functional optimally with the sharingan—his whole nickname "copycat kakashi" is bc of the sharingans ability to remember jutsu)

like. i just think that an older brother type of figure reading of obito could have been really compelling if kishimoto leaned into it

but he didn't! not in any way that mattered anyway. so my reading remains my singular interpretation

[commsroom]

i love to think about the ways eiffel is willing/able to take up physical space for hera when she can’t. i think... with eiffel and hera and minkowski staying together post-canon, one thing that might start to really bother hera is that, like. she doesn’t have any stuff. she doesn’t even have herself to be there in the house, really, not physically. and unlike with the hephaestus, a house that is actually meant to be a home, a place that is designed for human life, is always full of reminders of the people who live there. so i want to think that she expresses this to eiffel and he starts picking up stuff he thinks she’ll like just to put it on the shelves and around the house, so it’s her house too. and she thinks it’s kind of silly at first because it’s not like she can really interact with most of it, but. then she sees all of her stuff mixed together with eiffel’s on the shelves and it’s like this constant reminder that she exists in the world, that she has an impact on it and a place in it. and that does make her feel a little better.

[layzeal]

i am once again begging people to check out the mdzs audio drama, the way they make certain scenes incredibly emotional by the use of music and voice acting alone. oughh

example:

audio drama season 1 ep 9 covers the part where lwj tells wwx about the chang clan massacre, and three (3) tiny little moments happen here that don’t happen in the novel, but i found them incredibly good

the first one when talking about xiao xingchen, lwj mentions that he left the mountain 12 years ago. wei wuxian: “The second year after I died...” at that, LWJ stops abruptly, WWX thinks it’s because LWJ is upset he interrupted him. he asks him to continue, LWJ sighs and moves on

the second one is a bit later when LWJ mentions the yin tiger tally. wwx in surprise comments “When I was about to die--” but then cuts himself off feeling he shouldn’t say it, and only continues with just “I had previously destroyed half of it”

the third one comes as kind of a build-up from the injustice in xxc’s story and how wwx relates to it. there’s moody piano music that grows louder as wwx talks about how xxc was punished for trying to do the right thing and he didn’t even seem to want Chang Ping’’s gratitude. he’s still composed but you can hear in his voice he’s growing increasingly more upset until he says “Just like how originally, I...” and LWJ puts a hand on his arm/shoulder and calls his name, and they’re interrupted by the inkeeper knocking on the door, but you can tell the atmosphere got heavy

none of these are added scenes! they’re just tiny actions added to already existing scenes, but add this sorta... spark? again, this is early in the plot, but we get the notion that WWX’s death is somehow a sensitive topic to LWJ, and there is a sense to injustice in WWX’s past that both of them are aware of and makes things heavy when talking about XXC

and idk. i just love it. got me tearing up a little ngl

[searidings]

....🥺 can you please tell us more about that season 5 alternate ending where andrea ends up using the dagger pretty please, just like who does she end up hurting and the others reaction? if only you want to of course !

hooookay this ask got me to open that wip for the first time in a year and actually it's not that far from being complete! but idk how to finish it and i feel like i've done the s5 conflict resolution thing in multiple fics now like how many is too many? i fear i may have hit that limit. BUT since you asked, here is the beginning of it. please note:

1) this thing is angsty and also it's unfinished, so read at your own peril

2) because i wasn't ever expecting to finish/publish it, i've recycled bits of description from it into other fics. so if you see stuff i've repeated elsewhere no you don't <3

-

The last thing Lena sees is a flash like dark shadow pass over Andrea’s eyes, before a kryptonite dagger slides between her ribs.

The sound she emits is less of a scream and more of a surprised squeak as she sinks to the ground.

If you want to get to Supergirl, you’re gonna have to go through me.

It’s not that she hadn’t believed Andrea would do it. Lena was under no illusion of safety when she placed herself between Supergirl and the glowing green rock in Andrea’s hand. She’d come to terms with the possibility of dying for Kara long ago.

What she hadn’t been able to prepare for was the pain. The abstract of sacrifice was all well and good, but. Reality, this searing epicentre, a point of white hot agony turned molten, seeping through her body. No amount of her mother’s decorum training had prepared her for this.

Something is filling her mouth, thick and dark and oozing. She can’t scream. Kara sits, eyes silver, a world away. Kara. Lena has to move. She can’t. Andrea steps over her, and is that the pounding of receding footsteps or the dogged beat of Lena’s heart? Either way, it’s slowing. Every inhale cracks her body down the centre, each exhale buries shards of glass inside the gaping wound.

Her eyes are beginning to mist at the edges but she strains, listens. The sound that cuts through the haze is not the scream she dreads, Kara’s agony as her veins sear emerald. It’s not a scream, but a shout, and then a blur passes over her like light and shadow.

Concrete cracks, or perhaps it’s Lena’s ribs. Sounds are muffled now, the world dulled down like the inside of a snow globe. Underwater, time passes sluggishly to where she lies, drifting, encased in glass. But someone is fighting the current, resisting the pull. Hands grasp her shoulders, burning where they touch. Through the rolling fog comes Kara’s face, blurring out in red and blue and gold and sickly green. Lena wants to push her away, keep her separate from the venomous substance protruding from her chest, keep her untainted. But Kara’s hands are dancing there-away along her cheeks, her jaw, Lena’s own name sounding from her lips over and over, a siren song, calling her home. It’s raining now, wet spots peppering her brow, or maybe the sun is crying.

“Lena, Lena,” Kara is saying. It sounds like her heartbeat and she cannot bear for it to stop.

“Kara,” she manages, a whisper, a prayer.

Her face flashes within Lena’s line of sight for one perfect moment, and is she green-tinged or is it Lena’s failing vision? A shiver passes through the air between them, I’m sorry fluttering like a bloodstained white flag but whether it falls from her own lips or another’s, Lena cannot say. Then a sudden pressure at her ribs, a heavy push and release that feels like salvation and damnation all at once.

Lena hears a scream, two screams, billions. She is left gaping, open and exposed. Invaded by the air and exalted by the sticky-sweet blush of her own blood, her body purging itself. Through the slick of gathering crimson her head rolls to the side, darkness pressing in around her, eyes blazing with the final image of a limp hand on the ground beside her, veins shot through with glowing green.

-

For a long time, there is only darkness. The deepest blackness she has ever known, all-encompassing. Devouring light, thought, feeling. Lena floats, tethered to her own existence only by the pressing weight of the dark, closing in until the end of the world.

Slowly, sensations begin to blur in and out. Cold, a deadening flow, hooking into her very marrow and stripping her from the inside out. She drifts, and then there’s heat, scorching, radiating out from her ribs in scalding waves, and she wishes for numbness.

For a moment, Lena thinks she sees the star-burst of veins behind her eyelids, but then they are gone and all is black again. Sound fragments filter through her peripheral awareness. A great noise, banging and shouting and exploding. She slips back under.

Vibrations reach her, but they must be sounds because Lena no longer has a body with which to feel them. She floats, untethered, sinking beneath the surface of a dark ocean so vast it surely cannot know she’s there. In the deep, voices flicker.

“Haven’t you heard that you’re supposed to leave the knife in? She’s minutes from bleeding out.”

The blackness turns to blood around her, not vibrant red but sticky dark, the kind so loaded with the very force of someone’s life that it moves slowly, crawls under the weight of it, sucking light from all it touches.

“Her veins were green, Alex.”

An eternity passes.

She dreams of her mother, dark hair fanning behind her as she cuts through the still waters of the lake. The scene is calm, but the growing dread means Lena knows what’s coming and suddenly it’s not her mother but Kara before her, and the lake isn’t clear but radioactive, glowing green, and still Lena stands at the shore and watches her slip away, helpless.

Words float through the haze and Lena wishes she could reach out, grasp them, weigh them in her hands to know the truth behind them. Radiation and poisoned and flared and gone, the sounds making physical shapes in the darkness. She thinks of a child, two dark-haired children, of hours spent pouring over a dictionary. A cruel laugh when she got a definition wrong, grudging silence when she got it right. How she wishes now to be wrong, to mishear, a stay of judgment on the world these words conjure into being. But the focus is gone, and she slips away again.

“—whatever you have to do! Or so help me, I’ll—”

Though Lena is nothing now, just an exhale in the wind, she smiles. Warmth blooms, the blackness not crushing but caressing for a moment, and she drifts into memories of happier times.

A million years pass, a billion. Lena is upside down, and right way up, and no way up at all. If she still had a face, she might feel the pressure of a warm forehead against her own. If she still had hair, the imprint of lips pressed gently against it might still ache. If she hadn’t burned every meaningful bridge in her life in the year before her death, she might believe the trick of a whisper wrapping on the breeze, words of comfort, of promise.

But she had, so she doesn’t, and time collapses in on itself as Lena watches, motionless and alone.

-

Though she has always been nowhere, she can feel herself drifting further and further from the last thing that might just resemble a somewhere. The eons slow. If she were a doctor, Lena thinks, then this would be the time to make herself comfortable. To say her goodbyes.

She cannot look at blackness any longer, cannot bear the glowing green after-image that seems to stick to every corner and edge. She thinks of blue, of rain-washed skies and Kara’s eyes, conjures it into being with every fibre she has left. Wraps herself up in it, plunges headfirst, drowns.

“Like it matters!” Kara says, no, shouts, from somewhere far above and below her. Lena would flinch, if only she still had a body. The voice rings out through the void. “Like any of it matters now.”

Lena is privately inclined to agree. She tries to breathe, but the full weight of the universe, of every universe, presses in. As everything, even the blackness, dulls, there emerges a crushing, cracking suffocation, and Lena wonders why she can’t even die in peace. A high-pitched scream, maybe hers, maybe Kara’s, maybe her mother’s, maybe the world’s, stretching out before her like a pathway. Though there’s no doubt where it ends, Lena almost wants to follow it, if only to escape this sensation of being crumbled, submerged, denied life as its very essence is wrung from her being.

And then a hundred trillion bolts of lightning shoot through her at once, and Lena is gone.

-

When she wakes, she wakes secure in the knowledge that she must be alive. Sure that the pain that had burst through her, blighted every nerve with an agony so intense she feels its phantom grip even now, could only lead back to life. Sure that no departure could hurt that much.

When she wakes, it is through cracked, dry eyes to the sight of pipes and ceiling vents, the bland, industrial grey that can only denote underfunded government property.

When she wakes, Kara is standing at the foot of her bed, hands behind her back and looking every inch the righteous hero, and Lena’s unsteady heart sinks. She’s been on the receiving end of this authoritative pose more than enough for one lifetime. At least her hands aren’t on her hips.

But Kara’s eyes brighten as they meet Lena’s fluttering gaze. “Lena.” Quiet, reverential. “How are you feeling?”

Lena takes stock. Alive, to begin with. Every limb still intact. Aside from an unnerving constriction in her chest and the fact that her blood feels a little like it’s burning her cells as it courses through her veins, it could certainly be worse.

When she speaks her voice is hoarse, cracking. “What happened?”

The same darkness creeps into the edges of her vision as she listens to Kara list the extent of the damage. She presses her lips together, willing away the blackness, registering only snippets.

Stab wound. Kryptonite poisoning. Collapsed lung. Cardiac arrest. Resuscitation.

Leviathan, gone. Andrea, captured. Lex, escaped.

The words wash over her like a freezing tide, and Lena wonders if maybe the darkness had been easier after all.

It takes far longer than it should for her to realise that the room has fallen silent. Kara is watching her, concern etched into her features like tears carving through stone.

Lena swallows as best she can. “And you?”

A corner of Kara’s mouth quirks up. “I’m fine. Thanks to you.”

But she doesn’t look fine. She looks exhausted, her face drawn, blue eyes lacking their characteristic shine. Even her hero’s stance can’t mask the fatigue weighing heavy on her shoulders.

But Lena doesn’t have the strength to argue the point. She rolls her head to the side, joints popping and releasing, noticing for the first time the tangle of IV lines threading into her skin. She lifts her other hand to touch them, feels the warning tug of more needles even as Kara steps forward, arms raised as if to stop her.

Her hands reach toward Lena, or at least, the spaces where her hands should be. Huge white dressings swaddle Kara from the wrists down, so bulky they do not resemble hands at all. Lena’s breath catches in her lungs as she takes in the unwieldy bandages, third degree burns and possible nerve damage echoing through her mind and she understands now why Kara had hidden them behind her back.

The inhale she aims for seems to stick in her ribs and she can feel again the crushing, the cracking, the dizzying lack of oxygen as her head spins. Kara is by her side in an instant, radiating warmth and just breathe, Lena, it’s okay, a comforting weight settling against her hip. Lena thanks the thick blanket for blurring the press of rough bandages where there should be warm skin, softening it into something just nondescript enough to be calming.

When her pounding pulse has slowed, the heart monitor downgrading to a less frenetic beat, she sucks in a breath despite her lungs’ protestation, waits for her vision to clear. Kara is still there, and dread opens up in Lena’s chest.

“You— you touched it. The kryptonite. You pulled it out.”

Kara doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Just nods, her gaze locked on Lena’s own. Lena lies catatonic, paralysed with the knowledge, unable to move even as Alex enters the room. Dimly aware of low words exchanged between the two sisters and then Alex at her bedside, gentler than Lena’s been worthy of seeing her in years. Just rest, Lena, the press of a button on the IV monitor, and she sinks back into oblivion.

[alistonjdrake]

My other toxic trait is that I am the only person on the “I don’t think love triangles is an inherently bad trope” hill and firmly on the “they shouldn’t all be solved by polyamory” team. I think there’s plenty of cases where it would be better for either both love interests to end up single or one is stuck in a well-plotted unrequited yearning pit of despair. Or they all just move on in a rare instance of “will they? won’t they?” just straight up ending in “they won’t”.

I saw this knowing that off the top of my head I cannot think of any love triangles in media I liked that I think were successful but I guess as a concept I don’t think it needs to be killed and I believe it can work and not be annoying or whatever the reason is people don’t like them (I mean I know I usually do not because it’s always clear what the author’s end goal is. One love interest always gets more screen time, more development, and more moments with the mc.) or maybe it’s the element of disappointment in which if only one character “wins” fans of the loser are upset but I’m kind of okay with that. There’s a part in my brain that loves reading about romantic relationships and attempts that fail horribly or just aren’t successful. And there’s also a part of me that really just one day wants “competing” love interests to give up on an mc not even because they find other people but maybe they both get tired of the indecisiveness  and just move on. 

So, I guess I’m saying yes, I likely agree that as a vessel for romance only no I probably would not defend all love triangles/the existence of the trope but I cannot chuck it in the graveyard either and I do find some elements of the concept interesting. 

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

do you guys think if villanelle had specifically died trying to protect eve (which was what she was definitely doing in her final conscious moments anyway, but i mean in a scenario that was more overt about it, where she specifically sacrificed herself), it would feel more earned?

i’m trying to parse out what would have made this ending work better and i just can’t figure it out

which is just how you want to feel at the end of one of your favorite tv series 

like you’ve just been assigned a great deal of homework in a graduate level class

[miraculouscontent]

Season 4 should just start with Marinette flipping off the camera, tossing the script away, and riding off into the sunset with Luka and his bike.

That’s a beautiful mental image, anon, but we know it won’t happen so I hope this will do!

[autisticandroids]

so like i know as a general rule nothing about comics. like i find them unreadable as a format (i vastly prefer manga) and also i've just never really gotten into them. but i DID once listen to about a hundred episodes of a podcast explaining x-men comics before i just couldn't take the deeply intolerable hosts anymore and one of the things i gleaned from it was like. when jean grey becomes dark phoenix, right? she gets all this power from an unknown source but it's also like turning her evil. and like. in the end she flies into a fit of uncontrollable rage and loses herself. and one of the things that happens when she flies into this rage is like. she blows up a planet. and then after she dies from this, the guy who writes the comic is like. okay. she blew up a planet. you can't really come back from that. no one is allowed to resurrect jean grey unless you can find a way to make her not have done that. anyway. this post is once again about godstiel

[starry-bite]

i still do not know what to think about tallinn (besides loving her) but there is a worm in my brain that says translating her name from rihan as they did earlier in the season with laris' "a new day" could shed some light on the subject

[this-place-called-nowhere]

I was feeling great, fully motivated, and now I'm back to my negative thoughts, failure, and insecurities. Apparently, feeling like trash is my perpetual state of mind.

[septembersghost]

i’ll say this once publicly and never again

andr*w d*bb is not some secret crusading hero, he has had intense disdain for and disrespect towards dean from the very beginning of his tenure with this show in S4, he has done everything in his power to destroy his characterization, relegate him to a secondary role, treat him like a useless fool, villainize him for his rational reactions, and strip him of his character traits. look at the entire storyline with jack for the most abundant evidence of this. tell me it didn’t exist to shame dean for his feelings. to shame dean for not reacting in the “correct” way. to shame dean for being a “bad” parent (do not get me started on the implications with that and how it’s much worse because of dean’s frequent caregiver role in the narrative and his parentification, so not being the “good” role model/parent for jack and some of the events that follow gets us really into the weeds with medea-like undercurrents and was setting fans up to hate him). I saw people wish death on dean all season. pull up comments throughout S15 and you’ll see so many “he’s so mean to (insert jack or cas or sam here), i can’t stand him, i hope he dies” comments. the internet was especially overflowing with death wishes after 15x17. please look at “the hero’s journey” when he stripped the winchesters’ inherent skills away and attributed all of their smarts and strengths and capability to divine intervention, thus rendering their status as skilled warriors inert. and now we know that wasn’t accidental. they were setting it up. make him seem damaged, broken, wrong. tell him his remarkable resiliency and abilities were never actually his. reiterate that he’s too poisonous, too angry. then tell him...he’s actually done everything for love. force him to pay penance (to watch cas die, to get beaten to a pulp by god himself, take your pick.) and once he is thoroughly trampled under the wheel of that guilt, instead of giving him resolution and love in return, put him back where he started, entirely defined by his caretaker role, entirely defined by the person he gave everything for, and tell him he’s right, that’s all he ever was or had, he deserved to die bloody and scared. (i beg of you, do not twist his death into dying for love, for sam or for cas, because that’s even worse. he deserved to live for love, he died for nothing.) there’s so much to unpack here with ideas about sin and ideas about sacrifice and ideas about the use of feminine-coding leading to, essentially, a fridging, that if i tried to enumerate them, this would become a dissertation, and it’s already too damn long.

the finale was the last chance to crush dean and make everything about sam, who is, in d*bb’s mind, the real protagonist. this is not news to us, he has slighted dean many times. (d*bb could also never keep the lore straight. dude introduced a multiverse - a. multiverse. - into supernatural). and you may say, why did you watch his era, then? and i’d say, i still watched it for dean, because i could never leave him behind. i watched because i believed in and cared about the story. i watched because i could always find some meaning there. so i guess this was the reward for that decision.

this was always the intended ending. the details of getting there may have slightly changed, but the destination didn’t. jensen has told us this. there’s a reason it didn’t sit well with him from the very beginning, and it had nothing to do with cas (as is quite obvious given jensen’s enthusiasm for the confession scene), it had to do with the fact that they were gutting a character who he spent 15 years pouring his heart and soul into, going above and beyond to define him and nurture him and bring him wholly to life, who he considers part of himself, who he’s referred to as his “first love” and his “best (imaginary) friend,” and they told him, “here’s the ending, take it or leave it,” and they told him, when he expressed serious unsettled concerns, “you’re too close to this/too emotional,” until he had no choice but to accept that this was happening, that dean’s entire arc was going to mean nothing and that he just had to deal with it. 

he could reciprocate to cas ten different ways and he’d still be dead. reciprocation actually makes his death even worse and even more malicious and disgusting and even more hollow but let’s not go there.

any version of this story that ended with its traumatized, battle-scarred, compassionate heart never being allowed the time to heal or recover, never being allowed to live, being impaled in a frankly, ridiculous, gratuitous way (that thing was only there to kill him, it served no other function, and suddenly dean forgets what a great tactician he is? i guess because his skills weren’t “real.” and suddenly dean, who we know, without question, wants to live now. wants to keep moving forward. has reasons to choose life. wants those sacrifices to mean something. dean winchester. gives up?) is unconscionable. any version of that which tries to tell us he could only find peace in stepford heaven is abominable. it doesn’t matter who's there to greet you when you’re dead at 41 with your whole life having been ripped away from you. they’d be there to greet you if you lived another fifty years, too, and that would be much more satisfying. and there are other implications - dean is taken forever. that light is snuffed out and leaves a chasm of loss in his wake. to the point where we know people are going to die because he’s dead. because sam lives a half-life until the day he too is dead and they can be together. 

think about the real world implications - we don’t have literal monsters to fight here, but this story was never about that. it was always about overcoming all the hurt and the fear and the shadows of our inner demons, really. they said - don’t bother. it doesn’t matter anyway. all that fighting and bleeding and trying so hard and loving so, so much. it doesn’t matter. but we know that’s not true. we know dean’s life was precious. we know dean’s life mattered irrevocably. we know he should have been allowed to live. to imply, in any way, that those of us who identify with him are just too broken to find peace and enjoy freedom and give love and be accepted is, again, unconscionable. we only have this one life. that’s all we know for sure. no one is too broken to love or to live.

this is on d*bb and s*nger and everyone else who signed off on this idea before j2 even walked into that writers’ room in july 2019. there’s weird, questionable stuff going on with the 11 missing shots and different dubs and knowing takes were changed or cut, whatever else, but we were always going to end up here. with a man who has probably been planning to do this to dean for years. who likely thinks it’s edgy and subversive. one of the other writers literally tweeted that, “it always had to end for him like this” and defended it as the “right” ending. this is how they viewed him. this is all they believe he was capable of or deserved. there’s nothing wrong with holding them accountable for it

[aflawedfashion]

wait Sawyer and Juliet - are you talking about LOST? thats a real throwback

Yes!

I just really love them, and I always end up listing them as my favorite ship largely because the show has been over for so long and I still love them a lot. It's perspective. Some ships fade away with time and you forget about them or you rewatch an old show and you've grown and changed too much to love the ship the same way you did before, but Sawyer/Juliet hold up for me. I've continued to love them for so many years after the show ended.

[myheartisarollingthunder]

I commisioned a thing. A Levihan thing. I waited 3 months for it and it's finally in my hands.

[mc-pumpkin]

I think it's Such a shame everyone gave up on L'manberg and what it was meant to be and stand for and provide and that no one ever returned there to try again and that no one ever bothered to avenge it because their perpetrators were too strong and that no one ever suffered any consequences for destroying it and I miss that sense of Home and Community and now everyone lives fractured apart in ghost towns and I wonder how anyone can ever look at the effects of losing L'manberg and think "this was a good thing"

[billiejean485]

I know people complain a lot about not getting Reblogs, but.... I'm kinda out of that loop.

I mean, getting a Like means TONS for me too; and since I've mostly been posting personal thoughts and the like when I do create a content... I don't feel all that threatened.

Plus - is it just me that gets this or doesn't everyone get suggested stuff because of their Likes on their dash? Like, similar stuff? I mean, I think you have to turn it on, and it really works well for me.

And, on the other hand, I do get Reblogs. I mean, when someone doesn't Reblog what I post I think it's because they either disagree with what I posted (to a certain degree) or they just simply don't want that on their blog. And what is so wrong about that?

We're not commercial adds here people; everyone's blog is their own unique place, like a fun news page - and why should they put there something they don't like?

Yes, it's harsh, but this is how Tumblr essentially works, or was meant to work. I'm not gonna log in just so I could go through every bit of art and reblog everything; I mean - there are probably peeps out there who do that, but that's what their blog is about. They're obviously there for that sole purpose, and it's awesome - but people are mostly here to share their uniqueness through liking something specific and wanting exactly that on their blog. It's not fair to ask of them to put there something they're not really about. I don't come into your home and ask you to put in other artists' stuff you don't like just so other people would see it.

ON THE OTHER HAND - there are times where people just don't wanna Reblog or are lazy to do it Idk - and that is wrong. Like everyone's been saying: don't take things for granted. If something sparked joy or some other emotion or made you think - and you DO like blogging - it's definitely the right thing to share that with others.

Now THAT'S Tumblr.

[chocosvt]

DID YOU BOSS UP TODAY?