split feather

alright, iv'e seen all these posts about southern gothic (sexy, sweaty, voodoo and devils at crossroads) and new england gothic (deep dark forests and lake monsters and colonial ghosts) and southwest gothic (basically night vale)

but guys

what about long island gothic

your velour tracksuit glows like a velvet void in the watery sunlight.

your flat iron not only fries your hair, it fries the air around you, everything it touches it. leaves hot and flat and split and feathered. your hairspray leaves a trail of tangible dark that invades the nostrils of all who pass

there’s a diner at the edge of the void-marina called the east bay or the apollo or something, where the burgers are mediocre but the moussaka is delicious. dont try the coffee. your waitress has served lou reed, the jersey devil that one time he was on vacation, at least two middle eastern dictators, and probably poseidon. she was equally rude to all of them.

billy joel wants you to put actual bread in his jar for some reason. man, what are you doing here?

your aunts asks you endless streams of questions about what your major is, what you’re going to do after college, who you should be sacrificing raccoons to in the light of the half moon for good luck, who your grandfather thinks it should be and why he’s wrong, then return to gossiping about who your middle school english teacher touched inappropriately last summer.

everything smells a little like the sea, even when youre miles from the shore, even when you sleep.

i can’t tell if i’m joking or not.

Catalyst : Unbroken // Yoongi

Hunter!Yoongi x Angel!Reader. 2.8k words. Mild angst.

Series collaboration with @lovelyoongis and @optosomnio

Description. Hoseok || Yoongi || Taehyung || Jimin || Seokjin || Jungkook

In a world where demons and angels are hunted for the price of their wings by humans, will there ever be a chance for a hopeless love ─precisely between the hunter and the hunted?


They ─the believers call you. There’s hilarity in the sickening irony of the noun; a twist of syllables on tongue that drips with a sense of unrestricted conviction. They worship what they grow up knowing are virtuous and they curse the demons, shuddering at the mere thought. Defiled creatures, they hiss spitefully as if the words alone are toxic in their mouth.

Naivety runs along the line of blind loyalty and apparent scorn.

Don’t they know that the worst kind of evil is the one they can’t see?

For those who see beyond the pale of faultless masks masqueraded by the angels, they are the ones that truly transcend the limit of human capabilities. Loaded on guns, sheathed daggers strapped on legs, they are set for the hunt. Values are discarded for the high of the chase, poaching for the intricacies of angels’ wings. They call themselves ─hunters.

Min Yoongi, he’s one of them; an angel hunter.

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Zodiac - “Circle of Animals”

Recently I’ve been thinking about zodiac signs because the meaning of Zodiac always bugged me because the signs it represents doesn’t match what it means

Zodiac means “Circle of Animals” representing the animal constellations along the circle of the equator in the sky at night

But in western Astrology, our modern constellations are not all Animals, we have some human figures (Gemini, Virgo) as well as inanimate tools (Aquarius, Libra) as well as some mythological or chimerical creations (Saggitarius, Capricorn)

and I was wondering, if we did assign actual real life animals to those signs, what would they possibly be? and why?

So I went back to the roots of it all, Sumerian and then Babylonian star catalogues to try and find an answer, after all, the modern signs were only based off of these older signs, they have become changed in the process, usually during Greek and Roman times and then later sort of “solidified” in modern times (And then also with a sprinkling of mythological tales common in those star regions to see the association between the animal and the meaning of the modern signs)

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anonymous asked:

This has been a haunting thought of mine for days, but hOW DOES THE BIRB MAN HAVE BRAIDS????/

Okay this is hilariously coincidental but I got to the Rito Village today and took of a picture of Harth, because like???? HIS HAIR???

Look at those luscious locks, but also notice the feathers split it up. My guess is that it’s pretty common among the Rito to have human like hair. Either that, such fine feathers that it can mimic hair. The female Ritos, like Saki, all like got a ponytail thing going on. 

So it’s not wild for Revali having braids. That just means he has gorgeous hair that should be set free damn it. 

Monkey Business

Pairing: Carl x Reader

Summary: (Pre Negan) The reader is bored, so she spends the day with Carl

Warnings: None

A/N: I enjoyed writing it, but I think it sucks pretty bad I might actually remove it so i can totally fix it lmao… I’m more of a fanfiction person, so this is my first oneshot. But I hope it is as requested and you guys enjoy it!

Originally posted by thewalkingif

It wasn’t a secret that I liked Carl. In fact, I would even be surprised if he didn’t know.

But he liked Enid. And she liked him. Enid was my best friend, and I wouldn’t do anything that had to do with taking him away from her.

But now I was laying on the bed with my eyes shut, tightly gripping a pillow at my side, helpless as Carl hovered above me with another pillow in his hands up in the air as Judith casually watched us from her crib, positive that a few seconds from now, there would be clouds of down from the pillow all throughout the room.

*Record scratch, freeze frame*

Yep, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I ended up in this situation.

One hour earlier•

“Hey, uh, Sri, Glenn, Heath, and I are going on a run, would you mind helping Carl watch Judith while I’m gone?” Rick asked me.

“But he’s good with Judith. He shouldn’t need my help.”

“He’s just probably bored with spending time with only me. I mean, Enid is with Maggie and she’s his only other friend. But I can try to get her if you would rather not…”

“No! It’s fine. I’ll go. It’d be nice to hang out with Carl. It’s been a while.” I nodded at Rick as I left to go find Carl in front of his house with Judith in her stroller.

“Hey, Carl, going out or coming in?” I asked.

“Going out. You wanna come with?”

“Sure. I was looking for you anyway.”

He grabbed the handles of the stroller and walked forward.

“So,” he began as if he was waiting for a while to say this, “I heard that you like me? Is that right?”

Oh, jeez.

“I mean I guess I do. Who told you?”


“Haha, well, she likes you too.”

“She does?”

“Oh, yeah. And I know you like her too.”

“Anyway, we’ve been walking for a while. You can go back to what you were doing if you want.”

“No! I’ll help you watch Judith. I’m sure you’re bored with just the two of you and nobody to talk to.”


We got Judith back into the house and I started looking around the kitchen to see what they have that I can make for her.

I pulled the spaghetti box (hehe) out of the cupboard and got a pot to start boiling water.

“You can cook?” Carl asked me.

“No. This is seriously a matter of boiling water and then putting the spaghetti in the water, etc” Do you want me to teach you how to make it?”

“Yeah! This is useful information for this time.” He said sarcastically, but I wasn’t kidding.

“Alright, so we start with the water. Lucky you, I haven’t filled the pot yet, so here.” I handed the empty pot and turned on the sink. He just stared at me. “Come on, Carl. We don’t have all the water in the world. Go ahead.”

He stared at me dumbfounded as he filled the pot with the water. I rushed to grab it before it overfilled.

“Jeez, Carl, we have to hurry. Judith Is probably really hungry. Now I’ve turned the stove on, so put the pot on that eye. I already have the sauce warming up. Now we wait. But only a little bit.”

“Now what should we do while we wait?” He moved in front of me to watch the water start to boil.

“I should put your hair up. Don’t want to get any hair in the food now, do we?”


“I can do your hair! I just want to put it up.”

“No pigtails or braids or any of that shit. Enid pulled that one on me before.”

“But she’s really good at that stuff. She braids my hair weekly.”

“None of that. No monkey business.”

I laughed out loud.

“Look! The water’s boiling. Now take this spaghetti,” I handed him the box, “and put it in the pot.”

“Just dump it all in?” He asked. I nodded and he did it.

“Oh, look at her, Carl. She’s sleeping.”

“Now what do we do? Our customer is asleep.”

I tried to ignore that cute statement, “Well, are you hungry?” He shook his head, “I’m not either, so we can wait to cook.

“We should probably take her upstairs then.” He said awkwardly.



“I wanted to do your hair, but don’t worry. I will be back to get it done. Let’s go put this child to bed.” I picked her us and we started walking up the stairs.

Once we got up there and put Judith in her crib I sat down on the bed.

“Are you alright? You’ve seemed kind of off all day.”

“I’m fine.”

“Tell me what’s wrong. If it has anything to do wth me I won’t be upset.”

“Nothing that important, but Enid and I have been friends since this whole thing started. We came here and we both liked Ron, and I was put on the back-burner. I just hate that it’s happening again.”

“It isn’t. I don’t want it to. I would never do that to you. You’re my best friend.”

“I hope you’re right.”

All of a sudden Carl disappeared from my view and I thought nothing of it until something soft yet intense hit me in the back of the head.

I turned only to see Carl behind me with a pillow in his hand.

“Oh no, you didn’t.” I threatened as I picked up a pillow of my own and threw it at him.

“Oh yes, I did.” He shoved me down on my back and hovered over me with the pillow in the air. I looked over at Judith who was just waking up. she probably heard us.

He began to swing the pillow down with all of the force he could when I rolled off the bed, making him hit the bed so hard that the fabric split and feathers spilled out.

“Jesus Christ. We should probably clean this up before your dad gets back.” I laughed.

“We can wait,” he lifted another pillow up, “and if we don’t, he’ll live.” He smirked.

Tagged: @nightrose1234 @guatebabyxo @mpericles @what-lee @macnic88 @lydiapanicsatrichonne @emmyroo002 @shelbasourusjade16 @never-have-enough @oprahs-tampons @star-crossed-fanfiction @soul-mate-equals-halsey @libby822 @agespenst @i-will-die-when-im-115 @sweetlycupcake @sophiehd77 @ciern-psychopatyczny @emoji-mutt @frickin-bats @lostxghirl @kaykay226 @enidgreene

This is one of my favourite creepypastas, and because I can’t find any version of it that wouldn’t be impossible to read on this format, I’ve transcribed it directly from the screencap I have of it.

Story originally appeared on /x/ on October 10, 2013, and was written by a user known only as hawkeye !!ASKzWwNPKxw. Accompanying photograph was taken by me and isn’t associated with the piece in its original form. Aside from grammatical corrections and a quote from the author from a reply to another user at the end, the story appears exactly how it does in the original image.

It’s long, but well worth the read, and has stuck with me ever since I first saw it. For those of you that have experienced something like this, it’ll hit even harder.


Human Nature

So, first let me describe how I’ve spent the last three summers.

>Live in Ohio
>Be camp counselor at INNAWOODS camps in hocking hills region of southern Ohio
>Clear creek valley is one of the most biodiverse areas in the entire world. (Not kidding. More than some rainforests)
>Nearest civilization is town of Rockbridge (TINY) many miles away.
>Everyone lives in cabins with no air conditioning, power, or lights
>I’m assigned to the older boys, because I’m better with the bushcraft
>Teach then bataonning, fire building, debris huts, edible plants, the works.
>One night every week, we camp out, use the skills, and sleep under the stars
>Every week, each cabin has to do a “Camp Improvement Project” (chores)
>Little kids pull weeds on what few (unpaved, barely maintained) paths we have
>Big kids (14-17) use saws, rakes, and shovels to clear out new campsites, or refurbish old ones
>There’s always been a rivalry between the older boys and girls, especially among the counselors

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“Dewey made his way towards the doorway, his footsteps virtually silent as he crept closer and closer. The sounds of clinking glass jars and tupperware being pried open along with frustrated grunts grew louder and more distinct. Dewey quickly realized that the frustrated quacks were not Uncle Donald’s, and he that had no idea who was raiding the fridge.”

Duckvember #2

decided to write something for today’s prompt, and what better thing to write about than ducks

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Author: psychopathic-homosexual

Original Imagine Link:

Warnings: None

Fic or link to fic: 

“Hey (Name), do you think this is to bright?” Abaddon asked, showing you her dark red nails. “No, I think they’re perfect.” You smiled, wincing when Meg caught a tangle in your hair. “Sorry.” She muttered. “I’ve been thrown into a tree, I think I can handle it.”

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My Father

My father was born to an Ojibwe mother, rez-born on Walpole Island, he was born in Port Huron. His parents were in and out of the picture between jail and work, so he was mostly raised by his tradish grandparents until he was taken by the state at 2 ½. He spoke Ojibwemowin and knew very little English. Children’s Aid Society kept him in their orphanage for the next 6-ish years, “reteaching” him English. During this time, he refused to speak English in the presence of adults, something that I’m sure had to be a form of protest. He repeatedly ran away and lived on the streets of Detroit, stealing bikes and fighting cats for the milk left out on the porch.

Sometime around 9 he was back in the orphanage, and was extra snacky that day. So he broke his protest, and asked for a second dessert. Of course the Children’s Aid Society didn’t have money in the budget to give an Indian children a second pudding, but they did decide that he was ready to be adopted out. Within a year of first speaking English to an adult, he was adopted to a white couple in Flat Rock, MI who apparently collected “intelligent” Indian children as trophy children. His adoptive sister was also First Nations, and together they navigated the abusive world of these shitholes that adopted them.

My dad survived, disowned his adoptive father, and moved on. My dad is bitter in regards to his birth parents, and guilty as well. He once told me he would run away to find them, and that obviously they didn’t want him because they never found them either. See, I’m the only one my dad shares his secrets with, really. I know things about his life that even my mother doesn’t know after 40+ years of marriage.

My dad and I share a deep connection, a mutual understanding. He confided once, a long time ago, that he remembers being taken from his grandparents, asking them why he couldn’t stay with them. He didn’t understand what was going on, and all I could do when he told me was cry for him. I could feel the pain, his pain, my great-grandparents’ pain, his mother’s pain.

My dad is so run down and abused. He’s both proud and ashamed to be Indian. His adoptive parents and Children’s Aid took a Kill the Indian, Save the Child approach to raising him. But despite his bitterness and frustration regarding his family, he didn’t discourage my pride in my heritage, or my desire to find out. Not that he could of if he tried. I’m too stubborn, too unrelenting to give up. I will not let my spirit be crushed beneath the boot of white oppression of my race.

Fuck that.

My Heart Aches for Veronica Brown

So I have been following the case of Adoptive Couple v. Baby girl for quite sometime. It has been a long and difficult custody battle. I feel pain for any family that has to go through the court system and be told how they should exist. I have a presentation tomorrow and I have been researching the case in preparation for it. I wanted to have a well-rounded perspective so that I could speak from both sides so I started reading the comments and tweets from various sources. I was not prepared for what I was reading. So many angry people in the world throwing hateful words back and forth through the veil of the internet. It made me sick.

My own opinion on the case is that it is a bigger issue than just one little girl being adopted. This is about the preservation of an entire people that have faced oppression and genocide for the past 500 years. These are my people. I am so lucky to exist and to be here with my family, it’s a miracle really that my ancestors made it through all that colonialism and destruction. The Indian Child Welfare Act is meant to stop this adopting out of native children and protect a culture and people from extinction. Veronica belongs with her people, and now she is just another lost child or splitfeather.

There is a lot of misinformation circulating about this case and even some questionable interpretations of the law made by the Supreme Court. I don’t think that it is possible to know who is really telling the truth in this case but each side has such a vastly different story as to what happened it is obvious that someone is lying. My heart tells me that Dusten Brown is a truthful and honorable man that just wants to take care and have his daughter in his arms

I also have to look at the perspective of the Adoptive parents the Capobiancos. I believe that in their minds they are doing the right thing. I think that this is subconsciously supported by a white savior complex in justifying their custody of Veronica. What I mean by that is that they feel that they are saving Veronica from a terrible life with her father. They are wealthy and white. Two things that Dusten Brown is not. They can provide her with so many opportunities with their financial status. What she will be missing though is her culture.

Of all the comments and opinions that I have read the majority are innately racist. They claim that Veronica isn’t even Cherokee because of her and her father’s blood quantum. This is not relevant to the case. The court is not questioning Dusten’s tribal authenticity but that didn’t stop Scalia from throwing in his two cents on the Brown’s tribal heritage. These are probably the comments that affected me the most. I have always been taught the one drop rule. Regardless of percentage you are Indigenous. The fact that so many people brought this minor detail up makes me sad that we as a people must be put into a category of the lesser and that others must justify their racism by claiming that I am not really Indigenous even though that is how I have always self-identified as Indigenous.

My one question that never seemed to be answered was whether Veronica was asked her opinion as to what was going on and who she wanted to live with. I don’t believe so. Shouldn’t that be the most important question? In ten years when Veronica is 14 years old she will wonder about her birth parents. This will lead her to do research and to find all this documentation about the court case and how important she was to thousands of people. How will her adoptive parents explain and justify what they did? Will she resent them for taking her away from her biological father? Only time will tell. I hope that when that day does come there will be no more lost Indian children separated from their parents.

My heart aches for Veronica Brown and family. I hope that all involved in this case find peace and love.


My dad got his adoption records today. Names are still sealed, and there’s not much about his birth father in the adoption records, but his mother was full-blood First Nations (Walpole Island First Nation). It’s nice to have documentation in hand, ya know?

She also attended an Residential School from 10 to 15 in Canada, and then her parents moved to Michigan to send her to a private school there. She ran away.

My dad was two when he was seized from his grandparents. They took him because his father wasn’t able to be found and his mother was in jail pending sentencing.

He apparently has older half-siblings in Canada: a brother and a sister, older by 6 and 2 years, respectively.