Excuse You, I Am Notterrible At Tagging. Not At All -- In Fact I Pride Myself Upon It. Its My Writing

Excuse you, I am not “terrible” at tagging. Not at all -- in fact I pride myself upon it. It’s my writing that fucking sucks.

In this fandom we have like 9 flavors of fanfiction

- Heart-wrenching, drawn out stories that WILL make you cry (probably lorenly or throbb lets be honest here)

- Shameless smut. Everybody is just fucking. All the time. 

- The modern AU that is always the same and always hilarious (also they’re probably in highschool or they’re coworkers)

- HAPPY TIMES WHERE NO-ONE DIES AND EVERY THING IS FINE AND THEY’RE ALIVE AND ITS FINE (cough cough the red wedding doesn’t happen cough cough) 

- Weirdly specific AU’s

- there’s.. ALOT of crackfic. Like alot. Like there’s a whole series on ao3 where ned wargs into a pigeon??? it’s delightful

- hahahha it’s fine my jonerys fic has NO incest hahahah ITS FINE NO INCEST HAHAHAHA WHAT’S CANON???? WHY SHOULD I CARE? incest bad!!!

- Incest good!!! aren’t cersei and jaime so cute?? teehee <3

- …. so much whump. there’s alot of flaying, um…. alot of theons have lost many a finger or ~manhood~ to alot of ramsays

Hey. You’re not dumb just because you were bad at math in high school.

Somehow the entire Greyjoy family has strong vine energy in the most unexplainably weird way ever

as a jewish individual living in central europe, this kind of news isn’t even surprising anymore. i feel so numb to this. last month a jewish man in hamburg was attacked whilst entering a synagogue with a shovel to his head. i keep seeing news about vandalism and slurs from all over the world. at this point i’m neither surprised nor shocked by antisemitic hate crimes around jewish holidays; i anticipate it at this point. 

how come goyim will make 30k note posts about why not to use antisemitic memes but ignore the SEVERAL hate crimes that have been committed since chanukah started

The forest took over the railroad four centuries ago. You can still follow the tracks, but the planks between them are either gone or half-buried. Trees have sprouted between without a care, and in many places, they sit over the rails.

It’s here that we played, where we pulled on the horn and choo-choo'ed by whistling. We spun around trunks, jumped across logs, rushed through bushes, and we only halted when we were at a stop.

Elia’s mother had once told us about a stop that was now taken over by the forest. They said that the structure for the stop had a great glass dome, and thousands of people walked in and out of it every day, if not more. Standing in it must have been like receiving a religious epiphany in some grand temple.

We knew the spot where it stood. The only mark of its existence was a signboard that had been half-consumed by a growing trunk. Elia’s mother believed the only word you could see on the sign was incomplete, and that it read ‘Central’.

So we called it ‘Central’, and that’s where we found the woman in the dress, holding her purse in her hand and balancing a parasol with the other.

She glanced at us, and then went on looking at the ocean of trees in front of her. A bird’s droppings fell on her hat, but she paid it no mind.

At that age, we knew better than to mess around with grown-ups, so we went on choo-choo'ing away, following the tracks and making noises that made the squirrels skittish.

When we made the return journey, she stood there still in the baking afternoon light. Once again, she glanced at us to acknowledge our presence, and then looked straight ahead. She looked regal. Straight out of an old-timey illustration. In fact, I didn’t know clothes like hers even existed.

“Could we take you to Perth?” I asked the lady, mentioning one of the stops we had in our schedule for that day. Stops we had previously visited included: Osaka, Maiduguri, Vladivostok, Scythia.

“I’m headed for Dallas, as a matter of fact,” the woman said. “Please, carry on.”

I looked at Elia now, and her face lit up with an idea. “Why, Dallas is the second-to-last stop, ma'am.”

The woman broke a smirk on her face, and stepped towards us. “I’ll step on board then, if you don’t mind.”

She walked behind me, and behind Elia, and we set off over the tracks.

It was some time before we found the woman missing. Again, we were just young and old enough to know not to mess with grown-ups, so we decided not to pay much heed to it. We carried on playing, got home, and told our parents of what we’d experienced.

I don’t remember when it happened, but one day, we were playing on the railroad in the forest, and I suggested we stop at Dallas. Elia concurred. We stopped the train at Dallas, and made a hissing sound before pausing to catch my breath.

Before we set off again, in the corner of my eye, that woman with the dress walked away, into the trees, perhaps through them.