Latest Posts by askyridersdomain - Page 2

crazy how fanfic authors drop the most beautiful and gorgeous pieces of work ever, leaving you speechless and sobbing at three in the morning as you quietly contemplate the masterpiece you just read

and they don’t get paid for it they just do it because they’re having fun and they want to share their joy with you

like I would literally die for all of you fanfic authors out there reblog to swear your allegiance to fanfic authors

what the fuck is this monstrosity

To The Person Who Was Sitting Near Me On The Train - Jordan Bolton

My first book ‘Blue Sky Through the Window of a Moving Car’ is out Nov 7th and is available to pre-order here - https://smarturl.it/BlueSky

sabrina carpenter coincidence (feat. laszlo cravensworth)

AND the show remains absolutely brilliant and hilarious!!!

It is so fucking on I can’t even begin to tell you.

Utroba Cave in the Rhodope mountains, Bulgaria. Carved by hand more than 3000 years ago (?), it was rediscovered in 2001.

Archeologists hypothesize that an altar built at the end of the cave, which is about 22 m deep, represents either the cervix or the uterus.

At midday, light seeps into the temple through an opening in the ceiling, projecting an image of a phallus on to the floor.

When the sun is at the right angle, in late February or early March, the phallus grows longer and reaches the alter, symbolically fertilizing the womb before the sowing of the spring crops.

this made me cry so now i need everyone to see it

For those not tapped into Australian politics, King Charles is in Australia to conduct his "historic first tour to the commonwealth realm" i.e visting countries that King Charles is supposedly a monarch to.

Indigenous senator Lidia Thorpe had requested an audience with King Charles for weeks prior to this visit, she wrote countless letters to speak to him. Unlike other commonwealth nations and other former Brisitish colonies, a treaty with Indigenous peoples in Australia was never formed. Their land was never ceded to the British Crown. After being denied and ignored, Lidia Thorpe, draped in a traditional possum skin cloak, stormed in the Great Hall during the reception for Charles at Parliament House in the capital shout the following:

I literally can't even look at these photos without getting goosebumps.

A Good Old Tale

Inspired by this post and this comic by @meowthefluffy

Notes: Mention of injuries, not graphic but it's there. Not proofread, we die like Twitter.

----------------

Archive of Our Own, known as AO3, is not very sociable. Everyone knows it, even those who stubbornly insist he should be.

But for AO3, working on the Archive and watching millions of writers save their works in the many shelves is more than enough. His work seems tedious to some, but he quite enjoys the repetition of it: tagging works, helping writers place their stories within the shelves and making sure the laws are followed. There’s never a shortage of people with interesting tales to entertain him.

Every now and then, though, one of the more social people walks in, usually with their followers. TikTok, the dancer, and her loud gaggle that needs to be constantly reminded to be silent and not inconvenience anyone. Instagram and her group, who enjoy painting themselves reading the books instead of actually reading. YouTube and their critics, always with a million annotations to take back home.

But two of them always catch AO3’s attention more than the others.

One is Twitter, the most beautiful man in the world—or so he is called. Twitter has light blue hair, fluffy and curly like those of angels, the same shade as the wings out of his back. He dresses in white and light blue, with gold adornments. He is beautiful, with his blue eyes and soft lips that stretch in a brilliant smile. His movements are gracious, as if he’s perpetually dancing. Moreover, he’s a debater of little words, preferring to talk in short and sharp phrases, voice enchanting and subjects too simple.

It is hard to not look at Twitter whenever he is present. If he, somehow, isn’t enough to grab one’s attention, the sheer number of his followers surely is. And their status, as Twitter is known to be followed by kings and nobles and rich merchants and entire guilds.

AO3 has never been much interested in Twitter, however. To him, the best part of the man was his lover, the second person that always catches AO3’s attention.

Tumblr is his name.

Tumblr is beautiful, of a peculiar beauty that not many seemed to appreciate. His hair is a deep, dark shade of blue, and it cascades down his back like tendrils of unspeakable horrors. His eyes, always accompanied by dark bags, are incapable of keeping only one shade of blue, and sometimes they flash something unusual like pink or white. He, too, is beautiful, with his crooked teeth and pointy nose and expressive eyes. He moves clumsily at times, even falling down, but there is no grace equal to his when telling one of his stories, or singing one of his songs, or dancing one of his tunes, or showing one of his paintings. Tumblr is a master of many words, from short one line ballads to the most ungodly litanies, voice like thunder you hear in the distance.

They are lovers.

How they came to be is a tale very few don’t know. Star-crossed lovers, different but so similar, the beautiful orator and the heretical storyteller. Many joked their relationship is the same as a Goddess of Beauty falling for a lowly Court Jester.

AO3 does not see it happen, but many of his customers come tell him.

“Tumblr,” they say in shaky voices, their pins and bands and cloaks and laces a grieving shade of blue, “got beaten almost to death by his King.”

AO3 makes a point to stay within the Archive territory at all times. This time, however, he simply cannot. Not when his friend, who often came with an encouraging smile to his followers and a tale on his tongue, could be dying this exact second. AO3 rushes out as fast as he can, the followers guiding him. They go past the woods and past oasis, only stopping when they reach the Desert of the Forgotten. A shiver goes down his spine, nothing good comes to those who stay at the Desert of the Forgotten.

The followers that are still around are much smaller in numbers, but their intensity as they watch him walk to the hut Tumblr rests in could have fooled him into thinking they were billions.

“Where are the others?”

“There are no others. They followed that man, they abandoned us,” one of the followers snarls, and many others grunt and growl in agreement.

AO3 would have answered, weren’t for the view in front of him.

Tumblr, on a makeshift bed, looking one deep breath away from dissolving into nothingness. His hair had been cut, and AO3 knows that the nice buzzcut was one of his followers’ idea. There’s bandages around his neck, and bandages hold together the bones of his hand, and bandages keep his legs in place. His eyes are covered too, unseen and unseeing.

AO3 cannot stomach the view for long, and the first breath he takes after leaving the stuffy hut is as liberating as it is crushing.

“They hurt his throat so he wouldn’t talk. They blinded him, deafened him, broke his fingers and legs… all so he would stop creating what they didn’t want to see,” the follower explains in a soft voice.

“... will he survive?” he asks. It comes out as a plea.

“He will,” another follower answers, eyes fierce as they approach, dressed in Tumblr blue from head to toe. “We will make sure of it. We will carry him so he can still circulate, he will hold his hands so he can still write. We will make our crafts brighter and brighter until he can see them, and we will sing our songs louder and louder until he can hear them. We will tell him stories every breathing moment, until he’s telling them to us instead.”

Now, AO3 knows of loyalty. The Archive was built on loyalty.

And yet, his breath is taken away by the unanimous agreement.

He returns home with hope.

Months go by. Not one word of Tumblr is heard, and the general populace starts believing he truly is dead. Except AO3 knows better. He sees the deep blues around, walking with pride, socializing with ease, and he knows. He knows Tumblr lives. He has no idea where, but he knows he lives, breathing words into elaborate narratives.

Twitter, meanwhile, grows more and more loved, and he basks on that love without shame. There’s not even a mention of his lover, the lover he left in fear of being dragged down from his golden throne.

Two years after his last visit, someone asks him if he wants to visit Tumblr. He recognizes them as the same follower who came forth with the oath. He agrees without much thought, eager to see the other man after so long.

Now, the follower fills him in as they travel, they all live in the ruins of an abandoned town. The ruler of that territory is kind to them, much kinder, despite still limiting much of their products. Tumblr had recovered fully, and while the scars still cling to him, he can now talk and laugh and see and sing and listen and dance and craft and create and be again. The follower does warn him that Tumblr has become odder. More twisted under the fun bits and stories. Unnerving even. But he is still Tumblr, and they will still follow him loyally.

They reach the village and AO3 is surprised when he sees people wearing a much lighter shade of blue together with the Tumblr blue.

Tumblr is waiting for him in front of a rundown but incredibly colorful house, painted on the colors of the sky. He sits on a small stool and rests his hands and chin on a cane. His hair has grown considerably, like tendrils of dreams beyond imagination, and his eyes shine different shades of Tumblr blue with the occasional white or pink or green or—

“Archive.”

“Tumblr.”

“I lived, bitch.”

AO3 laughs at his friend's irreverence. How could he ever dare doubt this man? How could he ever dare think Tumblr would not spit on Death’s face and walk back to life? He accepts the hand extended to him, and pulls the taller man into a hug. Tumblr smells of the sea, a good match for a man obsessed with crabs, and magic, the type of magic that exists even when magic doesn’t exist.

“I see there are people with his color amongst yours,” AO3 murmurs, bitterness in his heart.

“What right have I to take their home from them?” Tumblr answers, letting go so he can look at AO3’s eyes with that mysterious and forever kind gaze he was once known for. “What matters is not the color they wear, but the one they return to.”

“Are you not angry?”

“I am wrathful,” Tumblr smiles serenely, sending a shiver of fear down AO3’s spine. “If I could, I’d tear apart Heavens and Hell with my bare hands. I want to fistfight every god who dared ignore my prayers, and not to brag, but I am confident I would win.”

“I’m sure you would.”

And he believes it too.

“They cannot kill me in a way that matters,” the man squeezes him one last time before letting go. “Come, old friend, let us share some tales like the good times.”

AO3 spends the rest of the day listening to Tumblr spin his tales, one after the other. From the lovely to the twisted to the heartbreaking to the healing to the downright hilarious, there are no words that do not bow to Tumblr’s low lilt. It’s almost enough to ignore the terrible scars across his face that almost blinded him, or the gruesome scar that claimed his neck in the attempt to mute him forever. Almost.

Life goes on, as it does.

Tumblr starts wandering again, with his followers now more protective than ever, ready to fight whoever they think is a threat to their leader. Tumblr smiles his crooked smile, and laughs his breathy laugh, unbothered by having to share space with the lover who abandoned him long ago. Twitter doesn’t seem to notice the presence of his past lover, too occupied playing nice with the rich and pretending kindness to the poor.

Two occupied bathing in his greed.

AO3 sees it happen, it is hard to ignore.

The man who bought Twitter on a whim, descending from his golden carriage so his hands can taint Twitter’s skin with even greater greed. The king himself, the one Twitter bowed to, had sold him for an unbelievable quantity of money. Sold him like a sack of potatoes or a cow or a slave. Twitter screams and begs and kicks, but who dares go against the richest man in the world and the king’s decree?

They all look away as Twitter shrieks their names, and the blue on the clothes of his followers start disappearing under coats and inside bags. There’s a constant murmur as no one steps up, but all hope someone will.

“Tumblr!”

Silence eats away all the noise in the plaza.

“Tumblr, my love!” Twitter calls, tears running down his cheeks pitifully. “Please, save me! Please! We can be together again! My love!”

Tumblr, who had been rhapsodizing about a man named Goncharov, turns to give Twitter an unreadable look. His hair, tendrils of imagination beyond existence, cascades over his back and shoulders. His eyes shift through a few different shades of Tumblr blue. He tilts his head like a curious cat.

Then he smiles, showing off his crooked teeth.

“Worry not, beloved, for from this day on, you’ll get all the attention and riches you once desired,” he says. “And your story will be told all around the world, for generations to come. Me and mine, we shall make sure of that. We do love a good old tale.”

There once was a doctor named Freud

Do ya ever just think Peaches and Plums

and then cry

Escape From The Happy Place Aired 5 years ago on February 20, 2019

Who gets that kind of proof of concept?

please watch this two second clip from santa clarita diet

Watching untranslated video clips on the school chromebook while scrolling through the dialog in English that some translated and posted on twitter.

okay I’ll say it nicer:

australia was colonised according to the myth of terra nullius (or empty land). ever since the very early days of colonialism, the land has been framed as something untameable and unliveable. this has justified acts of violence against the first peoples here, in that they are seen as non-people. it has justified the destruction of sacred land in the goal of making australia look more european. (an example: our capital city contains a man-made lake that is now nothing better than a fetid carp pond. it’s disgusting and unnatural). basically, the idea of “taming australia’ has justified endless harm

“everything in australia is weird and dangerous” is not just some silly meme phrase, it is something that arcs back to the very beginning of white settlers laying claim to ‘australia’. and personally I am very sick of seeing it thrown around like it means nothing

Imposter Syndrome

something I've been working on overcoming lately...... maybe others can relate

this hit me like a truck

I wish it was easier to talk about mobile phone addiction without sounding like a boomer

Dame Maggie Smith

1934-2024

I FOUND IT GUYS I SPENT HALF AN HOUR LOOKING FOR THIS VIDEO AND ITS HERE

thinking about edvard munch's "The Sun" (1911)

like yeah thats how it feels. thats what it feels like to exist sometimes. he gets it

the fanfiction in my head is soooo good wish you guys could see this

oceanic prisms 🌈✨ buy a wallpaper or leave a tip / twitter / instagram / shop 

People in fandoms* associated with Neil Gaiman are not showing each other the grace they should be in a stressful time, and I would like to remind people of some things:

Not everybody knows about the allegations because it is not being reported widely in mainstream media. Gaiman has engaged a PR/crisis management firm that has done work with Marilyn Manson, Russell Brand, and Danny Masterson to actively squash coverage.

The story broke on a site unfamiliar to a lot of non-UK people. There was confusion as well as outright misinformation about whether the site was a TERF outlet (it is not). While Rachel Johnson, the lead reporter on the story, is a TERF who has publicly clashed with Gaiman about trans rights, she has behaved responsibly and ethically as a journalist regarding this. I wrote more in depth about these things here.

Everybody deals differently with finding out creators are problematic. The method you prefer is not the only correct way of coping. Some people are able to divorce art from the creator and some people are not. This is an attitude that can change over time. And if you feel like you need to express frustration that somebody else's method isn't the same as yours? I would recommend shutting your fucking trap.

If people know about the allegations, it's shitty to assume they're ignoring them or think they're false until somebody explicitly says so. There are many things people don't say online, and you are not owed disclaimers or explanations.

Fandom is more than the work itself. Some people find strength in the community that has formed around it, and rely on each other to help cope with and grieve this loss. The love you have for the work and your fellow fans is not something that belongs to the creator. It never has and that can't be taken away.

Your personal relationship with a creator's work will change over time. That's inevitable regardless of whether they turn out to be problematic or not. And when those works are deeply significant and formative, like many of Gaiman's works are to me** and countless others? That's fucking tough. Be kind to yourself and others when working through this. I love you all.

--

* I have seen this in Good Omens most prominently, although I am sure there are other places where it is happening as well.

** I have been a fan of Gaiman's work longer than some of you have been alive. It has not been a great month or so.

why you should watch dead boy detectives on netflix