drowned cities

For an entire month, the Texas sky was nothing but
a broken water-main—and the state that had spent
decades slow-roasting over a pit of Christian gospel
and light-skinned southern values was suddenly
neck-deep in its own baptism.

Turns out that when you have been this starving for rain,
when you have been dry for this long,
the end of the drought only looks like a miracle
on day one.
By day thirty, our cities are drowning.

I know, now, how easily
skin can turn swampland—
that desert soil is the first to oversaturate,
that it only takes two weeks of proper attention
for my body to spill over.

It wasn’t long after I met you that I became
all flash flood and rising water tables.
Understand what torrential rain does
to a heart in a fifteen year drought—
just look what mother nature did to Texas.

I met you and suddenly there were no more dry-spells.
My valleys sloshed with rainwater;
there was nowhere to put all that sky.
It was all the ocean could do to keep up with us.
It was all I could do to keep my head above water.

There’s a reason you don’t give a starving man
a feast—his body has forgotten
how to be full.
He will make himself sick
with this wanting.

When all that Texas drought met you
I flooded my rivers, abandoned my cities,
soaked rot into the walls of my apartment.
For forty days and forty nights
Texas and I became new seas.

I drowned under the weight of what
you thought was a good thing–it’s been too long
since this was freely given and not something
I had to go searching for in the night—too long
since the sky has been anything but clear.

The storm should have been the end to the dry season.
Instead, it was the start of the flood.
You can’t dump heaven on the drought;
all you learn, is that Texas red dirt
can turn quicksand in an instant.

The end of the drought only looks
like a miracle on day one.
By day thirty, I am all tremor and panic attack,
fear flooding the basement. Your smile–
the place where the sky opens up

and pours.

—  I GAVE YOU FLOOD by Ashe Vernon

I love how you can see Orion at any place on the planet. It’s so easy to find, even in cities that drown the stars with their own light, Orion is always there, gentle and kind, watching out for us.

I’ve met people who travel and move around a lot, and some of them say they love looking for Orion when they feel homesick, because it makes them feel a bit closer from home.

So like, I bet some people already mentioned it, and I know the topic is probably beaten at this point, but imagine the paladins instinctively looking out for Orion when they feel lonely and homesick, only to notice that it is nowhere to be far.

Home never felt so distant.

Bite Me

In honor of a few new people following this old tumblr I’ve decided to quickly post a few stories I have from other places on the internet. Enjoy.


“Help save Terra? Help save Terra? Sir, sign a petition to save Terra? You, you there! Human! Sign a petition to save Terra?”

Hank Miller looked up, bleary eyed, from his drink. A young, idealistic looking quextal male shoved a dataslate under his eyes.

“Terran, won’t you sign a petition to save your planet?”

The human grunted noncommittally and shoved the slate away, waving over the hotel bartender to fill his glass again, and attempted to shove the thoughts of the quextal to the back of his head. An impressive feat really, quextals look like a remarkably ambitious blue furred bipedal dog had the brilliant idea of mating with an anteater.

Rather, it was an impressive feat until the data-slate was shoved under his nose again, jarring Hank’s wrist and nearly causing him to spill his cheap xeno-brand knockoff whiskey wannabe. Which, while it wouldn’t have been used to clean toilets in a human bar, was the closest Hank could get to something remotely familiar tasting in this ass-backwards corner of the universe.

“Fuck off.” He grunted, and tried to turn his attention back to his drink for a third time.

“C'mon man just sign the damn petition. We have to protect Terra!” Hank sighed, placed his xeno-whiskey down on the table, turned, and half turned towards the seven foot tall quextal.

“Look pal, I ain’t in favor of your stupid fucking petition, for reasons I think I just made clear, namely, that it is a stupid fucking petition. Now please let me drink my stupid knock-off whiskey in peace.” His short speech given, he turned for what he thought was the last time back to his drink.

“Why don’t you wanna help man? It’s your fucking planet isn’t it?” The quextal demanded in its both low pitched yet somehow irritatingly whiny voice.

Hank took a deep breath, slammed the faux-whiskey down on the table, turned, and stared the xeno in the eyes. Despite being seated and nearly a foot shorter while standing, Hank still managed to give the quextal pause.

“Listen to me you little shit and listen good. That’s not your fucking planet to save. It’s ours. We were born there, not you. When your species was communing with nature and figuring out your precious fucking place in the fucking ecosystem, we were barely scratching out a living. When your arrogant species had developed a per-fucking-fect system of getting into orbit, and were busy singing your way into spacecraft we were busy not dying.

"Mother Terra is a stone cold bitch. A lot of scholars like to call it ‘resistant to developed life’ which is code for 'it’ll chew you up and spit you out’. When we were shat out onto the cold, uncaring surface of our bitch mother we were scared hairless primates barely able to understand who we were. We were born without teeth or claws, without armor or fur. You were breast fed your worlds gifts, not a poisonous fruit in sight. We tore open the breast of our mother and took what we needed, because she wasn’t going to give it to us.

"Did we fuck her up? You bet your ass we did. We plundered the bitch for all she was worth and then some. She birthed a race of vicious primates and we turned on her in our fury. We pockmarked her with explosions and tore her with mines, we burned her forests and plundered her oceans. We razed her surface all the while desperately outrunning her wrath. Storms that could wipe this bar and half of this godforsaken planet off the map. Waves that could drown cities, human cities mind you not these pathetic bend-in-the-wind deathtraps you xenos call cities. We fought earthquakes that could swallow coastlines, and you haven’t the faintest fucking clue what an earthquake is do you?”

Here the quextal tried to butt in.

“Of course I know what an earthquake is you arrogant-”

“No you don’t you pup, now shut up and listen. You think you know what an earthquake is because you read about it in a book. I grew up on that bitch earth, in a place known for earthquakes. I know what a real goddamn earthquake feels like, it feels like judgement day has come and the world is ending.

"We fought storms and waves and earthquakes, we fought fires that set half a continent ablaze. We fought and fought and fought and finally we said 'fuck it’ and gave dear old mom one last kick in the teeth, nuked the hell out of eachother, and fucked off that godforsaken rock forever.

"Not five years later your expeditionary fleet comes in, tells us we’ve 'lost our planetary mandate’ and that they’re placing our home, our planet, under quarantine from us. We can’t do a damn thing about it because we’re still reeling from leaving home, still reeling from the knowledge we’re not alone in this universe, still reeling from the deaths of millions in atomic fires and the throes of Terra both. Billions of us, adrift in space. We just barely manage to colonize Mars and Europa in time to save our species, because we 'lost our planetary mandate’.”

Hank leaned over and spat onto the floor.

“That’s what I and every goddamn human thinks of your precious planetary mandate. Fifty years later, half a century of the most hard-core terraforming known to the most esteemed scientific minds in the galaxy, and the Galactic Council is considering letting us back onto our home planet. Considering it, as though they weren’t the most imperialistic bastards we’ve ever known and trust me you fuzzball we’ve known some fucking imperialists.Considering letting a few of us live on our bitch mother again, and an entire goddamn movement arrives to try and say we can’t go back yet, it’s not safe, we’ll destroy our planet again.”

Miller stood up, swiped his wrist-pad against the counter to pay for his drinks, and placed his coat back on.

“How dare you tell us what we can and cannot do to the bitch. We’ll heal her up, but because we want to not because you and a dozen species like you told us to. We’ll take care of the hag in her old age, but don’t you think for a goddamn second its because of your precious 'Galactic Council’. It’s because despite the fact that she’s a hag, and a bitch, and the worst mother in the goddamn galaxy, she’s our mother. And I swear by all that I hold dear, Whiskey, John Moses Browning, Sergei Ivanovitch Mosin, Mikhail Kalashnikov, and the United Terran Republics, if you space-communists keep us from taking care of our mother how we see fit, I will make it my life’s mission to eradicate your government and your way of life.”

Brigadier General Hank Miller, UTR Marines, stood up, and a half dozen of his staff stood and followed him.

“And if one day she dies, when she comes to hell, she can bite me.”

anonymous asked:

Do you think Jon will be made king in the books or is that a show only thing? Love your meta about Jon's name, btw!

First of all, thank you!

To answer your question, Mormont’s raven certainly seems to think so:

“King,” the bird said again.

“I think he means for you to have a crown, my lord.”

“The realm has three kings already, and that’s two too many for my liking.”  Mormont stroked the raven under the beak with a finger, but all the while his eyes never left Jon Snow. - 
ACOK, Jon I  

“Free,” the raven muttered. “Corn. King.”  - ADWD, Jon VIII

He rose and dressed in darkness, as Mormont’s raven muttered across the room. “Corn,” the bird said, and, “King,” and, “Snow, Jon Snow, Jon Snow.” That was queer. The bird had never said his full name before, as best Jon could recall. - ADWD, Jon XII

Gilly seems convinced, too:

“They say the king gives justice and protects the weak.” She started to climb off the rock, awkwardly, but the ice had made it slippery and her foot went out from under her. Jon caught her before she could fall, and helped her safely down. - ACOK, Jon III

When Gilly entered, she went at once to her knees. Jon came around the table and drew her to her feet. - ADWD, Jon II

And considering his subsequent actions, doubtless Alys is in agreement as well:

“Marriages and inheritance are matters for the king, my lady.” - ADWD, Jon IX

All told,  “kings” are mentioned 279 times in Jon’s chapters, and “crown” an additional 29. Naturally, most of these are in the context of discussions about other kings but it’s telling all the same, especially compared to say, Jaime, who has only 162 combined mentions, or Bran who has 74, despite both having as much reason as Jon to be discussing or thinking about kings and kingship (albeit slightly less interaction with kings).  I would argue on a Doylist level, this is a deliberate effort to associate Jon with royalty. The more heavy-handed examples aside, even Jon’s descriptions of his world are filled with crown imagery:

The way up was steep and stony, the summit crowned by a chest-high wall of tumbled rocks. - ACOK, Jon IV

The sky was cloudless, the jagged mountains rising black on black until the very top, where their cold crowns of snow and ice shone palely in the moonlight - ACOK, Jon, VI

The peaked roof was crowned with a huge set of antlers from one of the giant elks that had once roamed freely throughout the Seven Kingdoms…  - ASOS, Jon I

Before them, the ice rose sheer from out of the trees like some immense cliff, crowned by wind-carved battlements that loomed at least eight hundred feet high…  - ASOS, Jon IV

Ahead he glimpsed a pale white trunk that could only be a weirwood, crowned with a head of dark red leaves  - ADWD, Jon VII

Jon is the only POV to consistently use this way of describing his environment, so it’s less likely to be a predilection of the author; this is GRRM, these choices are rarely a coincidence.

A plethora of meta has been written about this already, but imagery aside I think there is a pretty strong argument in the narrative for Jon ruling in some capacity before the series’ close. For one thing Robb’s will is bound to make a reappearance, though the legality of that will admittedly be complicated by many factors (the fact the Bran and Rickon are now known to be alive, the North backing Stannis, who would not recognize Robb’s ability to legitimize bastards, R+L=J, should anyone learn the truth of that…) Moreover we have this:

The girl who drowned the slaver cities in blood rather than leave strangers to their chains can scarcely abandon her own brother’s son in his hour of peril. And when she reaches Westeros, and meets you for the first time, you will meet as equals, man and woman, not queen and supplicant. How can she help but love you then, I ask you?  - ADWD, Tyrion VI

Young Griff is attempting to usurp Jon’s narrative, but we the readers know Jon is Dany’s brother’s son, and it’s Jon and the North in need of rescuing. This seems like an instance where Tyrion is accidentally prophesying; the HOTU visions introduced Dany to her third husband, her blue rose, her one to love. And she will not meet him as queen to supplicant. They will meet as equals - as queen and king

How To Become A God For Beginners

Make a mosiac of those bedraggled bones, swallow cloudfulls of sky and roast stars on

open fires. Kiss like the whole world’s fate depends on the friction of your lips. Shake

hands with the dead-eyed ghost in the mirror, tell her you’re sorry, tell her you’re trying. Tell

her that some days are sparks of nothings, how some are droughts and others torrential. Sever

all ties with boys who bloom like bad dreams and stop biting your nails. Don’t waste your time

on wasps with katanas for teeth. See how long you can hold your breath underwater. Let the

light slurp up your rose-flaked skin. Take the small risk of stepping outside. Remember, there

are no comfort zones, to a God, everywhere is no man’s land, a warren to walk free. Apologize,

no being is perfect, and immortality often comes at the price of one’s soul. Take the night

by its stuttering reigns, zip its mouth shut. The darkness is a mere blot on your shirt, and your

shirt needs a good wash. Rekindle the hopes you’d thought you’d lost, Gods never give up.

Watch the world with fresh eyes, in you flow a million veins, in you stutter a million heartbeats,

so many churches to fill. Don’t pick at your scars, eat them. Now that you’ve ingested them,

they’re harmless. They’re trapped. Color your hair and give your body the gift of sleep. Hold

your own hand, hug a tree. You don’t have to scale the side of a mountain or hold the weight

of Atlantis to make a difference, to leave a mark. Remember that the best stories come from

drowned cities. Remember you’re a kingpin with wings handcrafted by angels. Remember

that the moon withers with you, that a firefly goes out everytime you drop your hurting head.

Remember the tides look to you for their lovesick cues, that the desert found a safe

place to sleep in you. Remember that, when you’re a God, the morning always comes.

Part 2, Chapter 5: Taconic

Sylvia and her mother had their lives changed forever when they stopped for gas at Sunoco at East Fishkill.

We search for signs and prophecies of the great changes that are waiting for us, but most often they come suddenly, in mundane places while we do mundane things. A heart attack while watching Netflix. A phone call about the pregnancy while you’re deciding on which brand of granola to buy at the supermarket. A sudden act of violence when you’ve stopped for gas.

Keep reading

I super love the idea of Jake becoming the new leader of the Felt and Crowbar being his new mentor though. And I love the idea of the Felt teaching him about their “quadrants” and how they sort their very complicated relationships in easy-to-understand terms. 

I want it to help Jake understand his feelings for others in ways he wasn’t able to express before. Like “By Jove! I get it now! My feelings for Dirk were always more Stars and Balloons! Not so much Horseshoes and definitely not Clovers. But Roxy seems like a Clovers kind of gal…” And you get the gist. 

And I really want Jake to accidentally call Crowbar “dad” every now and then. And Jake is super embarrassed every time and Crowbar feels kind of weird about it but it’s a good kind of weird. And maybe he ends up becoming extra protective of Jake because of it. And it’s just great to think about Jake going from no family and complete isolation to having Jade and HUMONGOUS GREEN MOB FAMILY and everything is chaos but it’s a whole new adventure for him and he loves it. 

In (slightly drunk) defense of the LG Paladin

First, let me point out that I really don’t like the idea that Paladins “Have to be” LG in DnD / Pathfinder. I think Paladins should be closer to Warpriests in Pathfinder, in that they are warrior clerics who’s alignment must match their god. Further, i’m using the phrase not just to describe D20 specific paladins but the whole trope in general. That little comment is largely unimportant to the rest of this, but it might head off some more tangential comments so… yeah.

Anyway, I’ve done a lot of thinking about the traditional “Lawful stupid” paladin / priest / what have you. And Honestly? They get a pretty bad rap.

It’s true that a LG character can cause some pretty hefty issues with the normal “Hail mary” approach that many parties tend towards. Paladins in particular, as in many systems they lose a large portion of their powers if they act against their creed. But I think that this is the wrong way of looking at it. Inherently, this view comes from a place that sets “roll-playing” above “roleplaying”, where the only consideration that is addressed is the actual mechanical influence of a rule.

That’s kinda… the exact opposite point of an RPG. if you want a tactics game, play Necromunda or WH40k or chess or something. Don’t play Savage Worlds or an actual RPG (DnD and PF bridge the gap between the two, imho, so… there’s that.)

The thing is, that the Lawful Good Paladin is not neccessarily Lawful Good because they want to be. It’s not something that they must feel in their heart of hearts- but rather something that they know they MUST obey and do so without fail. The Lawful Good Paladin isn’t the naive cop fresh out of the academy, who believes that everyone has some core of good in them.

The Lawful Good paladin is the veteran on the force who KNOWS that some people are just evil, who KNOWS that some people are stains on the face of the world, but has such utter and undying loyalty to their cause that they still will arrest them and give them a fair trial rather than execute them.

A LG Paladin shouldn’t be roleplayed in a way that makes them cling to the vestiges of holiness like a bright eyed child. They’re WARRIORS. sure, they’re warriors of god and the light or whatever, but they still are warriors. They kill, they shed blood, and at the end of a battle they still need to clean the bits of skull and brain from the end of their warhammer. You don’t remain bright eyed and bushy tailed for long doing that shit.

A LG paladin should see his holiness as shackles, as ties that bind. But ones that he views as necessary for the ultimate good of society. A LG paladin should be played out not to be afraid of falling from grace, but TEMPTED by it. On the battlefield, savagery and sadism are dominant. It is not the hopeful that survive, but the pragmatic and the brutal. An LG paladin would understand this. They would know that their ‘rules’ are holding them back, from allowing them to indulge in the chaos and the carnage that your average man-at-arms does.

The fearful thing shouldn’t be the idea of “falling from grace”. The Fearful thing should allowing themselves to truly let loose, and what that would say about them as a person.

For when a Paladin falls from grace, it is not them who truly suffers, but all those around them. Those who have wronged them in the slightest, those who have attacked them, or those that hold their ire. When these warriors, who command powers that are (quite literally) beyond the comprehension and control of mere mortals, stop abiding by their ‘code?’ The terrifying thing is they might love it. They might love walking across the battlefield, FINALLY able to maim and sever their foes in a way they never were able to. They might love taking the necromancer who has so oppressed the people and gutting them like a rotten pig. They might love being a juggernaut of magic and martial prowess, the only match of which are extra-dimensional beings (and even then, they will be on equal footing). They might love what they can do with their fist and their sword, when they no longer care about the judgement of their gods.

Loss of Power isn’t something that is purely mechanical. It isn’t something that the rogue should be kind of bummed out by when he can’t steal the noble’s nice necklace. It is a serious thing, because the threat of being cut off from power (and the leash that this puts around the Paladin) is the only thing that is keeping the holy warrior from really realizing his true potential.

And when a Paladin does fall, and takes on another patron who allows them to fully realize their potential as an unstoppable killing machine fighting for a purely religious reason that defies traditional logic and politics? It is not something to take lightly.

A fallen paladin crumbles nations. A fallen paladin breaks souls. A fallen paladin, in some cases literally, can make gods fall to their knees and weep.

So do not roleplay your paladin as some idiot, who genuinely believes in the good of all man and is naively surprised or disappointed when presented with evidence otherwise. Play your paladin like what they are, and if you AREN’T the party paladin, respect them for what they are:

An unstoppable, implacable, undeniable force of destruction. An engine of war and chaos, of steel and magic and might and fury. A killing machine, capable of drowning cities in gore, and loving every second of it.

And one only held back from doing so by the thinnest veil of religious doctrine.

The City

You remind me of the city
Bright and never asleep
And I pledged my abstinence
Yet here I am drowning in your presence

Cities love lights
I would know because you’re obsessed with fireflies
We’ll leave them on all night
Watch them glow in the black
Until the sky brightens from indigo to lilac

You’re exceptional
The city is inspirational
Igniting that flame in me
Erupting these words of romance and curiosity
I’ve walked your busy streets
And not for a single day
Did I ever once feel like I had nothing to say

I think it’s admirable when nature finds ways to take itself back. Tsunamis wipe entire cities, or drown entire islands. Earthquakes shatter skyscrapers so the clouds can finally breathe and the ground splits open, hoping to bury the worst of it. The lava that spills from active volcanoes fills the gaps, and it renews everything it touches. It’ll burn, but it’s what’s best. Tornados tear away the rest of the bad memories and leaves room for something new. Hurricanes clean the mass despite the mess it makes.

Sometimes, it’s more about how you heal, than how others think you should.
—  self-care tips from nature (j.b.l.)
5

Sid Meier’s Alpha Centauri

There are a number of features that make the maps in SMAC more interesting than those in the earlier Civilization games. It uses height to make hills and mountains, for example, instead of them being tile-features. The special resources are distributed in more interesting patterns; the newly-introduced borders make the size of the map work better; and the native lifeforms are better integrated that the barbarians were (or are, for that matter).

But the map generator has two really interesting features that still set it apart from other Civ-style games.

The first isn’t a feature of the generator, per se, but greatly affects the meaning of the maps: the player can terraform the planet. And not just in little ways, like raising or lowering a couple of tiles, though you can do that too. A couple of the council resolutions can raise or lower the sea level across the entire planet. (Global warming from too many boreholes can also melt the ice caps to the same effect.) The malleability of the terrain makes it fairly unique among strategy games.

It can be a viable strategy to flood the map and drown your opponents cities, or to drain the ocean and march your armies across on dry ground.

The second is vital part of the generator: the landmarks.

When a map is generated, it scatters a number of prefabbed features on the planet. A few are mostly decorative, but most have an effect of some kind.

They owe a bit, I think, to the discoveries in Seven Cities of Gold (like the Grand Canyon) and the wonders in Civilization–the manual refers to them as “giant natural wonders of Planet”–possibly via Colonization, though at the moment I can’t remember if that game had any exploration bonuses for natural wonders.

The landmarks in Alpha Centauri are unique even when compared to the later Civ games that included similar features. They occupy multiple map tiles, sometimes forming significant strategic features on the map in addition to their resource bonuses.

Moreover, they help give the random maps structure. In contrast to the accidental chokepoints of earlier Civ maps, they have deliberate strategic importance.

The map generator as a whole is “spikier” than earlier random Civ maps. The landmarks make things a bit less fair but more interesting. There were a lot of high-value city-sites in Civ II because the even pattern ensured that they would be frequent and predictable, but there’s only one Manifold Nexus.

Which is not to say that it’s an absolutely dominant strategy: There’s enough landmarks overall that everyone should be able to claim one, if they work on it. But there’s plenty of other things going on, so you may have other priorities.

In the end, it is a good demonstration of how maps (and procedural generation in general) are much more interesting when they have outliers to act as landmarks and memorable setpieces.

"Did he send you?"

The look on her beautiful face wore a deep scowl as she came out the grille. “Did he send you to come all the way from New Orleans to Mystic Falls just to come get me? Because if he did -”

“Bonnie dearest I adore you and I admire your resolve, but if you do not leave with me right now -”

“You will force me to go back with you? Is that it?” The witch hands clenched at her sides trying to calm her shaking. “You would do that, Elijah?”

The Original brown eyes softened staring at the woman in front of him. “I would never.” Elijah said sincerely. “If you wish not to go with me, I would not force you, Bonnie. You know that.”

Bonnie stared at him closely reading him carefully. She believed his words. That was more than what she could say about Klaus. “Good.” She turned away from the vampire heading towards her car.

She left New Orleans and now she was leaving Mystic Falls. At home, Damon was already packing their bags. She only came to Mystic Falls to retrieve some things and say goodbye. Damon being Damon invited himself to come along. Bonnie wanted a new start. After all she been through, she deserved it.

“However,” Elijah called out to Bonnie halting her steps. “If I leave here without you make no mistake Niklaus will come for you.” The lightness in his tone he had once before grew serious and unfeeling. Her heart began to race and blood was shushing to her head. “And when he comes for you he will not leave nor would he let you leave.”

Bonnie slowly turns around to face him. “You have some nerve -”

“And he will certainly not let Mr. Salvatore interfere.” Elijah interrupted her as plucked a piece of lint from his coat. “So you see it would be most beneficial for everyone if you willingly come with me.” He took a step closer and Bonnie took a step back. “Come with me Bonnie. Don’t make this harder than it should be.”

“I’m not doing anything.“ Bonnie shook her head. “It’s you. It’s your family. It’s Klaus that’s making everything difficult!” Bonnie chest began to heave and chest burned from the frosty morning air. “I’m leaving.”

“Bonnie if you get in that car you are initiating pestilence…a plague so vile and deadly upon this place and any other place you might deem safe to rest your head.” Elijah watched furious green orbs glazed over in uncontrollable fear. “Niklaus will not rest until you’re by his side. He will tear everything and anyone apart to get to you. Family. Friends. Neighbors. He will drown cities in blood and fire, Bonnie.”

It wasn’t a threat. No, he would never threaten her. He was only telling a simple fact. A fact that Bonnie feared and knew was true. She couldn’t stand it and she couldn’t stand him. She would not let the hybrid win.

“I am not going back!” Bonnie spoke harshly but her voice was shaking. She blinked back unshed tears. She refused to let them fall. Not for him. Not for Klaus. “I’m done.”

Elijah’s lips pulled into a sad smile. He felt sorry for the Bennett witch. She didn’t know what world she was entering into when she was younger. She was sufficient, strong, and sassy but she was in love and naive. Now older, the Bennett had grown wiser and eyes have seen everything. The once light and beautiful world she had known was nothing more than darkness and ruin.

“I’m done, Elijah.”

“Unfortunately…” Elijah opened the black passenger car door. “He is not.” The Original felt Bonnie’s rage and magic pulse around him. Though he felt the maddening essence, he simply ignored it. “Now,” He turned back to the seething witch. “Shall we?”

Originally posted by sikanapanele

There are so many great poets on tumblr who write really honest poetry in really clever and unique and beautiful ways that cover so many topics and genres and even if it’s not really my style, I still appreciate the talent it takes to write the way a lot of you do. But sometimes I’ll go through the poetry tag and it’s so tiring because some people just reuse the same fucking words and phrases over and over again and i don’t think it’s because they truly thought that was the best or most honest way to word something. Like for some reason using certain words and phrases on tumblr is going to get you a lot of fucking notes and they know it.

Like ok cool if you really really really feel like you have wildflowers growing between your ribs and your freckles are constellations and that girl you love is like a wolf who bit into your heart and the blood dripped down like pomegranate juice then cool by all means describe it like that if that’s honestly how it feels to you and you can’t think of any other way to describe it that’s more truthful then ok, write it just like that by all means. And I saw that post about how so many people write about gritty modernized greek gods in nameless cities drowning their sorrows or whatever and someone else responded and said you shouldn’t criticize kids on tumblr for using that like bitter alcoholic trope because white men have been using it for years without being criticized for it.

But…….like……..that’s exactly why they shouldn’t do it???? Because that Bukowski/Kerouac-esque glorification of bitterness and alcoholism drinking to numb the pain of your existence as if pain/sadness is inherently poetic is SO tired and SO boring and why would you want to mimic it??? Why would you want to mimic anything a glorified white male poet does?? If you’re a 16 year old kid who’s never blacked out from drinking too much whiskey after getting your heart broken or whatever, then don’t write about that. If your only experience with alcohol is getting tipsy off warm beer in your friend’s garage while your friend’s older brother feels you up then FUCKING WRITE ABOUT THAT because THAT’S interesting. School dances and quiet suburban neighborhoods and learning how to drive, all of that is interesting and worthy of having poetry written about it and more so because you can write about it truthfully and you understand it, and use your own fucking words and metaphors and phrases to explain it to everyone else. Just be fucking truthful. And if you want to apply your own experiences and feelings to poems about greek gods fucking DO it. Write whatever kind of poetry you want to write as long as it actually means something to you and it’s the truth to you.

no, you immature baby. it means that insulting and harassing 99.7% of the world isnt helping trans rights

is that a shock to you

is people getting upset when theyre unfairly mistreated and generalized such a surprise

are you gonna piss yourself

quake in horror at the truth

drown cities in your tears

reflourish the crops

wake the dead from their graves

their soily dirty graves

@sjw-gladion

Genre: Dystopia without Rebellion

forestagain asked: Is it all right to set your story in a dystopian/postapocalyptic world, but not make its plot about making major changes in it (like in the Hunger Games, which was about Katniss and her friends fighting the government)?

writing-questions-answered said: YES! Absolutely! There are many interesting things going on in a dystopia, so don’t feel they all have to be about rebellion. :)

nicarox said: Can you give suggestions? I haven’t read much where Dystopias AREN’T about fighting a government or higher power


We use storytelling to help us interpret and understand the human experience, and the human experience is about far more than rebelling against an oppressor. The human experience also includes stories of survival, escape, love, loss, finding answers, righting smaller wrongs, friendship, parenthood, transformation, personal growth, exploration and discovery, and so much more. These stories don’t have to be sub-plots to a rebellion plot. They can be the main plot in a dystopian setting.

Here are just a few examples you can check out. Some of these might qualify more as post-apocalyptic, but because they contain elements of corrupt or militaristic leadership/government, they still count as a dystopian setting:

Ship Breaker and The Drowned Cities by Paolo Bacigalupi

Floodland by Marcus Sedgwick

The Forest of Hands and Teeth, The Dead Tossed Waves, and The Dark and Hollow Places by Carrie Ryan

How I Live Now by Meg Rosoff

There are also other dystopians where there are hints of a rebellion or an active rebellion not led by the protagonist:

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood

Brave New World by Aldous Huxley

1984 by George Orwell

//I want an expansion pack where you go to a place as radioactive, gloomy and dead as the Glowing Sea. You’re sent there to do something, but doing that something requires doing a huge goddamn pre-war story puzzle, like gathering family holotapes to get into a bunker, or picking up a trail of someone’s journey after the bombs fell in order to find out where they went, stuff like that.

The difference? There’s almost no one out there. You might meet one or two people deep underground, but on the surface its dead, not a soul (other than a LOT of glowing Deathclaws, Radscorpions, and ghouls). The landscape would be as if cities drowned under boiling oceans, leaving only the tallest of skyscrapers sticking out of the ground, with access to transformed caverns and loot to pick.

I want it to feel lonely and almost hopeless. What radio stations that would be available would be horribly wrecked, playing distorted songs of sadness and loneliness. Ambient music being that like Metallic Monks, but more bone chilling, with static and screams of the people who were burned alive by atomic fire.

I want it to truly feel like the end of the world. The hell it was sent into.

For those who feel they could drown entire cities with their tears,

If your sorrow brings such destruction,
if you hold within you the power to fill living rooms with salt & wash away the photos on the walls of those who hurt you,
then tell me,
what can you do with your rage?
Can you ignite the same streets you made soggy?
When you sing, can you make millions hear you - or can you shatter windows with your words - which is better?

If your sadness holds such strength,
then tell me, what happens when you’re so happy that the sunlight glinting off the riverbank starts to turn to diamonds? 
When you jump for joy and the sidewalk cracks under your heels - 
when a wave of lava seeps through the gap between your teeth as you laugh, will you spit it out at the crowd below you,
or swallow it & become the fire?

All I hear when you talk of a river of tears,
is just where its current could take you
if you rolled out your arms & gave it a chance.

Don’t you see?
You’re not just a star - 
you’re the whole
goddamn universe.

—  Riverbank, Daisy Lola.