Prepare For The SUPER Boops!!!

Prepare for the SUPER boops!!!

I found out how to super boop... (totally not searching how to) NOW I HAVE ALL THE POWER!!!!

So is reblog is also not permitted?

That’s the difference. Reblogs are good! You promote the artist and their work.

At least for me repost is ok only in one condition: you asked permission and the artist said “yes”.

Hello Everyone!

Today is the first day of the weeklong strike for a ceasefire in Gaza.

I have realized that I do not think the message has spread far, at least on this website. This might be due to the lack of internet in Gaza, it has been down for days. Not much can be said by the citizens there, it's like some people forgot about them. I encourage all of you to share this post, or make your own, letting everyone know about this strike. This is something that should transcend the aesthetic of your blog. My blog was a gimmick blog, but for this week, it is a blog for spreading information and awareness.

Bisan Odwa (@wizard_bisan1 on instagram) has called for this strike. She is a journalist from Gaza, who has been experiencing this horrid violence for 15 weeks. 107 days. 2568 hours.

These were the images she posted, calling for this strike:

Reblog this, share this. Do not stop until every supporter of Gaza knows what we must do this week.

Free Palestine, Free Gaza, Ceasefire now!

My cats have this meow that means "please come with me to fix this" after which they'll lead me to the problem in question, usually a empty (or 'empty') food bowl or a closed door they want open. They look at the 'problem', they look back at me, clear message.

What fascinates me is how this illustrates what they percieve as being in the realm of my 'power.' I control the food, I control the door, sure, but my cats love to sit on the balcony in the sun, and it has happened plenty of times that on a rainy day they come get me, go to the balcony and show me... the rain. "Please fix this" they say. "Please get rid of the wet"

"Silly kitty," I say, "I can't control the rain." I then walk into the shower and turn on the rain.

// SESSION 9 SECRET LIFE SPOILERS [the ending] AND I MEAN MAJOR ONES

-

I got this idea from what Martyn said during his lore stream the other day and it cured me of my writers block, so I wrote this in a few hours after hearing it

[CW for blood, mentions of death, and I feel like the fact that my friend was saying "it all hurts" for like 30 minutes after reading this counts for something]

• -------- • -------- • -------- •

It’s over Scar. She's dead.

Standing in the ravine, Scar stared blankly at the stone ahead of him as those ghostly words echoed in his mind.

It was over.

He’d won.

Despite everything, he’d won.

A breathy laugh escaped him. It didn't feel like a win. Nothing about this did. It felt hollow and empty, meaningless.

A win was supposed to be a grand show to the world that you can make it to the end, a final showing that it can be done despite everything. One last stand against the world. That's what a win was meant to be.

But this wasn't any of that, not when Scar was stuck frozen in place, the faint rhythmic sound of liquid dripping off the rocks somewhere behind him being the only thing he could hear once the blood rushing to his ears subsided. How was any of this meant to feel like a win, like the grand finale to something that had been the last few months of his life when it was the furthest thing from grand? When he felt the furthest thing from victorious? How was he even meant to feel victorious or grand in a situation like this? He'd spent the whole season alone just trying to make friends, only for him to win by shooting the closest person he has to one of those.

Alone…

He never liked being alone.

How did he win while he was alone?

How did the guy with no friends win?

He laughed to himself, bow still held in one hand, and using the other to push his hair back. A pained smile was painted across his face as he laughed, asking himself how? How did he win? How did he make it this far all alone? How did he manage to tell himself that just one more day, one more day and it would be worth it enough times to where he won? It didn't make sense. Not to him at least.

No matter how long he stood there wondering to himself, there was still one thing that was left to be done. Hit the button.

He had succeeded his task after all, right? Scar had won, despite how meaningless this victory truly was.

All he had to do was hit the button and it would all be over. It would finally end. He could go back to Hermitcraft, his home, his friends. He finally wouldn't be alone anymore.

It didn't quite feel like his own movements when he started to climb out of the ravine, disconnected from everything going on. He desperately ignored the hazy sight of a red shawl to the side of his vision, feeling sick if he put any thought into what he knew was laying under it.

He didn't feel nearly as sick passing by a similar black shawl on the ground up on the surface, orange hair catching his eye for a split second as he slowly made his way across the blood stained grass and battle worn landscape of the world. And, shortly after, he reached the statue that stood in the centre of it all.

The Secret Keeper.

The being that doomed him from the very start. Quietly, he wondered to himself, was it proud? Proud that it's favourite player to mess with - proud that the one it moulded into the unwilling villain - had won? Was it proud of everything it had done, all the pain and suffering it caused? Or did it even think at all. Maybe it was just a simple stone statue, designed to have no will or intention, to have the sole purpose of handing out tasks at random, and Scar was just losing it from being alone for so long. He’d likely never get an answer.

It didn't matter though. Not when he was about to leave, not when he was about to finally be free from this hell he was stuck in, not when he was going to finally be able to see his friends again.

Letting out a shaky breath, Scar reached down and pressed the button.

…

A faint click echoed around the area, and then nothing. Nothing happened. It was just silence. No gust of wind to whisk him away back home, no welcoming voices of the hermits congratulating him on his win as they fade into view. No anything. Just silence. Painfully loud silence. Nothing changed. He was still there. Alone.

“Uhm… haha real- real funny there guys,” Scar chuckled awkwardly, his voice filled with unease. Why was he still here? That should’ve worked. Staring up at the Secret Keeper, he waited for a moment to see if it would react at all.

Nothing.

With a level of anxiety he hadn’t felt before, the button was pressed again, and again nothing happened. The world continued to stand still around him.

The feeling of unease began to grow in Scar’s gut, mixing with fear and making him feel sick all over again. “Aha, ok now thats-” The button was pressed again. Nothing. “-that’s enough this isn’t-” Again. Nothing. “-this isn’t funny anymore- oh god no please.”

Scar’s chest tightened the more he pressed on the button, becoming more and more desperate every press. “No no please just- please just take me home please I can’t do this anymore please.”

Tears began to swell in his eyes, panic truly setting in as he pleaded for an escape. Why wasn’t it working- why wasn’t it doing anything?! Was it broken now that the game was over? Was that why he was stuck- why he couldn’t get this stupid button to work?!

Falling to his knees beside the button, his head hit against the corner of the pedestal it was on. Pain slashed across his forehead at the impact, and he could feel the sickeningly familiar warmth of blood begin to well from the cut.

“PLEASE GOD JUST LET ME GO HOME!” he screamed, hitting the button again and again, his hand becoming sore and bruised the more time went on. The more he begged and pleaded and cried for whatever stupid entity was in control of this game to just let him go.

All he wanted was to go home, to see Jellie, to see his friends, to not be alone anymore. He’d been alone for too long, wasn’t that enough?

Loud cries and desperate pleas slowly turned into quiet sobs, and he brought his hand away from the button, resting them both on the edge of the pedestal beside his head.

“Please…” he sobbed, blood running down into his eyes and mixing with his tears. “Please just let me go.” a moment passed for him to catch his breath. Then, quietly: “I can’t do this anymore, please…”

His pleas went unheard. He was alone.

Alone…

He never liked being alone.

i hope ive given you a smidgen of the silly you've given me (i am curious how much your counter is on now💜)

This is NOT just a smidgen