I Hate Tags - Tumblr Posts

Mirror mirror on the wall...

They say redheads are made of fire🔥🌹

　　　　𓏼　。　　　John or فاطمة

(Fa-ta-ma !!, or just "Fa" for short ♥︎)

　---　　　requests 　:　　closed unless rdr2 reqs

　♡　　Request & comms rules　　𝄞

　Askbox 　𓈒　prns.cc　　More undercut

　　↝　　　　I'm a 　　　minor 　　 ‎𓈒 　

　My　pronouns　are　he　 ╱　hym or just he/him,,they/them 。

---　　𓏼　　ptsd, adhd, hallucinations and paranoia. Questioning/suspected dyslexia

I AM ARABIC, I CAN USE THAT NAME BECAUSE ITS LITERALLY MY NAME AT BIRTH. DON'T KILL ME♥

　------------　♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡　------------

John makes !!

Rentry graphics

Recolouring pixels (least fav)

Tumblr layouts

Pinterest layouts

Img Frame templates perhaps

Psd colorings! (Photopea)

Discord layouts!

And ect! Just ask if you want ^_^

I really wanna post more of my art but I really hate adding tags. Like, I have a ton of art saved in my drafts that I won't post cause they don't have tags. Idk, maybe I'll get around to it this weekend.

Even more DBD ponies. Vittorio is one of the only Alicorns who isn't faux. Also, Hag is supposdd to be a zebra but I forgot her stripes. So then I just made her into a tree. She remindes me Zacora. <3

[shouts at you] DANIEL NEVER SAID HE DIDN'T LIKE IT

and what if i say that if i were daniel molloy in 1973, i would have gladly let armand throw me around like that for as long as he wanted to? what then?

a/📓 : okay, I've been wanting to invest in this headcannon ever since november first but that seemed inappropriate 😒 so here it is!

Okay, so you and Kiri have two daughters that are age five and four. Kirishima wanted to do something special for them and dress up like Santa Claus and pleaded for you to help carry with this idea. Obviously, you do.

The plan was to help Kirishima get suited up, wait by the Christmas tree and then you would go upstairs to wake the girls to tell them that the Santa Claus arrived to greet them and also watch how their pretty unripe faces would brighten with excitement.

Only that didn't happen.

You guys didn't even make it to phase two of the plan which was to have kirishima pose by the tree.

Fault number one, you miscalculated that your girls would be asleep (what kind of child falls to sleep knowing Christmas day is in a few hours?). Fault number two, your daughters heard thumping and giggles originating from downstairs which was from both of your goofy asses imposing Kirishima into the costume, so they came to the thought that Santa came without your clarification and they skulked downstairs and peeked through the wooden railing infested with fake, sparkly garlands.

And finally, fault number three, they saw mommy kissing Santa Claus.

(they jumped the gifts out of him.)

I did some line art and other art experiments, and this took me so long. It got deleted 4 fvcking times and i haven't slept. I hope you people like it as much as i do

Send help. (not rlly im just tired)

Color palette challenge :]

"That doesn't look right let me change it" and "that doesn't look right either change it back" are peak artistic process

Adding another installment to the "shes watching" series I've apparently made

Totally normal thing to find in my notes

WIP… DAY? (o゜▽゜)o☆

I was tagged by @theartofblossoming! Supposedly for #WIPWednesday but anyways, I’m always happy every time you tag me on something, dear ♪(´▽｀)

So here’s a peek on the chapter that has been killing my few braincells for the past few weeks of Love Gun:

She made him turn elegantly, both bodies in tune with the slow music. It pleasantly surprised MacCready—he was supposed to be the one leading and yet, somehow, she had managed to take control over their dance. There was a sort of harshness in him that Bluebird found entertaining, feeling his rough and indelicate hands. Amused, Bluebird rested her head between his neck and shoulder and MacCready felt how she smiled on his skin.

MacCready suffered the agony from the thought of how unreal everything was. The feeling of her nose and face in his skin and how relaxed she was in his arms. For some strange reason beyond his comprehension, he was happy. He remembered the night of the storm, all wet because of the rain and holding each other’s hands as Bluebird quietly sobbed in the dark. The question of why was she crying traced his mind with curiosity.

The hand MacCready had on her waist travelled across the curves of her slim body to her hip and brought her body closer to him. Bluebird gasped in surprise and responded with a tighter grip on MacCready’s shoulder, but didn’t pull away his hand.

“What am I doing?” MacCready thought as he buried his face on her hair “, what are we doing?”

I don’t know who to tag since I’m still quite new to the community in tumblr, however, I love to tag @theyoftenwhisper in this kind of things, only if you fancy it; no pressure! Thank you so much for your support and feedback. 

Anyone who wants to do this tag, feel free to do it and tag me if you want to!

they said, "This is your Tumblr and u can fill it with whatever you want." FOOLS! I HAVE ALL THE POWER NOW!!!

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Please Reblog is Your Blog is Safe for Non-Binary People.

If my mutuals can’t rb this then we can’t be mutuals

Wayne from Hylics. :3 I don't know what posting here,except reposting something.

Abstract | Obsession

Archive #7 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: Hey, so I have a set of three poems that are interlinked and summarised into this abstract. Now here is the question, do I post all three poems separately, or all together? You tell me! Enjoy :)

Obsession, the Abstract

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

When one compares their dependency on an item or being with an unhealthy tendency to forget the importance of being their own person. A siren is known for the obsession she produces just from singing; while a place of holiness can be known for saving those that have no other place to go. Obsession and adoration are two separate things, but sometimes the siren can be merely adored… while the building is seen as a cult designed for obsession. The comparison of the siren and church to the human's dependent heart is a wake up call for those who allow themselves to serve no other purpose than living in someone else’s life.

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

Infatuation

Archive #9 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: SECOND POEM MENTIONED RAHHHH ENJOY

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

Infatuation

Summersweet, white alder, pepper bush— 

wind that blows bouquets away with a swoosh.

A church, the ocean and the utter devotion 

such words that are unremittingly

used and mentioned.

You must be annoyed and sick of the voices

telling you about the, oh so many choices…

that you can take. 

It makes your cliff shake and ache against the currents

you’re trying to break. 

Hundred of shouts turns into a song

while you still can’t get along—

with yourself and the image

that you portray as a sailor, paying primage. 

You can’t love a siren,

moreover cage them in a shrine to admire in. 

They didn’t draw you in with their beauty, 

they were just on death duty.

Artless feelings are sweet and dependent 

until you sneeze and crush flowers gifted, 

not to the loved one but to the church—

a place of worship but for a search…

of pathetic purpose. 

Arson ash that coughs up the lungs

makes heartthrobs hold their tongues. 

It’s been so long since the reminiscence,

but existence with omniscience means that

one can’t help those that don’t want it.

Sailors should save those words for those who admit it. 

Repetition shows a mind not working— 

hiding behind the words of formal glory. 

When the time comes that you consider your fate, 

please stop placing your heart on a plate.

Not everything is worth dying for, therefore

realise this before you bleed even more. 

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

Siren's Curse

Archive #10 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: grah. Final poem from this series. Enjoy <3

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

Siren's Curse

The feeling stills,

located deep in the heart and

washed away by emotions that don't depart. 

Such betray hasn’t been seen

in years and years, oh it’s been centuries. 

It’s not about creed

nor about faith, 

but why does the siren continue to retaliate? 

They don’t seek will or adoration,

but only sailors' shallow empty emotions. 

Thus, greed is not a problem, 

just a solution with an astrobleme. 

The star-shaped wound within the heart

drowns out singing and works of art. 

They focus on sole possessions, a measly painting

rather than just forever self-changing. 

A place verses a person can be quite the personification

for a future naive adorer’s destination. 

You compare a holy place

with a person that has no proper face.

A sailor counts

and so does a siren,

so don’t you dare postpone your responsibilities by naming it Psyren.

Yet you put them on top, as if an angel 

told you that evil is an archangel.

Connections from siren to god

is a mockery for those that don’t have a facade. 

Love yourself for what it’s worth–

not for the punishment of your birth. 

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

Obsession, the series

Archive #11 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: Here is the abstract and all three poems combined. I personally feel like there is a difference to when you read the poems separately, versus reading it all together in one sitting. Let me know what you think. I actually have a story inspired by these poems, if you are interested in me posting it, let me know! Enjoy :)

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

Abstract

When one compares their dependency on an item or being with an unhealthy tendency to forget the importance of being their own person. A siren is known for the obsession she produces just from singing; while a place of holiness can be known for saving those that have no other place to go. Obsession and adoration are two separate things, but sometimes the siren can be merely adored… while the building is seen as a cult designed for obsession. The comparison of the siren and church to the human's dependent heart is a wake up call for those who allow themselves to serve no other purpose than living in someone else’s life. 

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

Obsession

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

Woe the building that falls

To seek a soul whose pictured as gold,

makes artless mortals sway. 

The siren theory is embodied as a place— 

that is known for its embrace…

of worship, importune and obsession.

But to pray to who is equivocal… 

they’re merely a god, merely a question.

You can’t treat a person like a church possession—  

the inner walls creak and moan

against the protest and crack of bone. 

Nicknamed Dulia for its glory, 

but it drowns those who try to adore thee. 

The plafond above our heads sing in pressure– 

haunting the thought of being crushed. 

Whilst they cry for their successor,

dust floated towards the exit as if being rushed. 

The sky tends to fall away; 

clouds imitate a chevet. 

The sight itself creates much dismay,

but time is an illusion…

oh, such betray.

But what a church with no heaven?

Sky, empyrean, and the ether

don’t judge a star's demeanour! 

Aperture with glass framework– 

edging feelings with a smirk.

Reflection shows a shining gleam,

but true colour is never seen. 

The sun has a shaded costume 

using the moon as hecatomb.  

It may use perfume as a facade…

but mien flares hearts exerting ballade.

If darkness plummets beneath our feet

may I pray for a deathless greet.

The devotee, 

limp in their extremities, 

served one purpose…and failed.

It drifted into sea like a dead anemone– 

with no avail or memory. 

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

Infatuation

Summersweet, white alder, pepper bush— 

wind that blows bouquets away with a swoosh.

A church, the ocean and the utter devotion 

such words that are unremittingly

used and mentioned.

You must be annoyed and sick of the voices

telling you about the, oh so many choices…

that you can take. 

It makes your cliff shake and ache against the currents

you’re trying to break. 

Hundred of shouts turns into a song

while you still can’t get along—

with yourself and the image

that you portray as a sailor, paying primage. 

You can’t love a siren,

moreover cage them in a shrine to admire in. 

They didn’t draw you in with their beauty, 

they were just on death duty.

Artless feelings are sweet and dependent 

until you sneeze and crush flowers gifted, 

not to the loved one but to the church—

a place of worship but for a search…

of pathetic purpose. 

Arson ash that coughs up the lungs

makes heartthrobs hold their tongues. 

It’s been so long since the reminiscence,

but existence with omniscience means that

one can’t help those that don’t want it.

Sailors should save those words for those who admit it. 

Repetition shows a mind not working— 

hiding behind the words of formal glory. 

When the time comes that you consider your fate, 

please stop placing your heart on a plate.

Not everything is worth dying for, therefore

realise this before you bleed even more. 

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

Siren's Curse

The feeling stills,

located deep in the heart and

washed away by emotions that don't depart. 

Such betray hasn’t been seen

in years and years, oh it’s been centuries. 

It’s not about creed

nor about faith, 

but why does the siren continue to retaliate? 

They don’t seek will or adoration,

but only sailors' shallow empty emotions. 

Thus, greed is not a problem, 

just a solution with an astrobleme. 

The star-shaped wound within the heart

drowns out singing and works of art. 

They focus on sole possessions, a measly painting

rather than just forever self-changing. 

A place verses a person can be quite the personification

for a future naive adorer’s destination. 

You compare a holy place

with a person that has no proper face.

A sailor counts

and so does a siren,

so don’t you dare postpone your responsibilities by naming it Psyren.

Yet you put them on top, as if an angel 

told you that evil is an archangel.

Connections from siren to god

is a mockery for those that don’t have a facade. 

Love yourself for what it’s worth–

not for the punishment of your birth. 

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

Understatement

Perfection meets Perfectionist #1 | copyright to saturnfairycat

Author's Note: This is different from an archive! It is one of my drafts for one of the moments in the webtoon/written fiction that I talked about in my very first post. There is another version of this, which involves the two main characters of the story. But I thought posting this one first and then the one that is more personalised. Let me know if you would like to see the "official" one!

Understatement

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

It was more of a rather nice night. 

Though nice was an understatement. 

Polychromatic, astral. 

The clouds were a spread of butter on toast. 

The sunset was the jam– maybe even marmalade. 

Salted caramel can’t compare to the sea’s mist. 

For you to show leniency on my heartstrings? 

The world will deteriorate, your devotion is interdiction.  

There isn’t much room for such an ambition to ruin my depiction. 

Your perspicacity scares me, 

Torment me next, hence my jonah complex?

Eradicated, irretrievable.

Yet what is there not to regret?    

Your hand is so much bigger than mine. 

Pleading to discard the truth, 

Everyone's hands seem to be more commodious than mine. 

My world fits perfectly in my cupped hands. 

I always hope to the heavens that the water wouldn’t seep through the cracks.

Is it obvious that I was holding my breath the whole time?

That night was beautiful. 

Beautiful is definitely an understatement. 

It reminded of you– a wistful memory meant to be kissed good night. 

Was I meant to kiss you? 

Attentive jealousy, trounce dolour.

My hands are tied, with the most winsome ribbon, crafted from fallen angels to trap my small cage of a mind.

Once I step in, I have to continue until the day I dwindle, the flower can wither from its sorrows. 

But your hands are so much bigger than mine, I always can’t help but wonder how steady you can hold my world.

Would you hold my world? 

Would you drop it when I let my sirens out to the poor sailors who only want to go home?

But I guess it's too late now, huh.

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