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you say, you're afraid of death?

oh honey, we are immortal.

we'll be alive in each others words,

in each others poetry,

as long as the poetry exists,

as long as the poetry exists in between the mortal,

in between the earthborn,

we are alive.

we'll be alive in each other's words and poetry, forever.

Because someone might as well!? And look at this. Look. At. This.

Does this look right to you??

These are just the last three fics I wrote. I appreciate the likes, believe me I do, but you have to understand. Likes do nothing for content creators. It’s the reblogs. Because that’s how you find shit on your dashboard. Through reblogs. Not likes. This isn’t twitter or tiktok or instagram. This is a website that’s run by the reblog system.

Reblogging helps content creators put their stuff out there. Why do you think so many people stopped writing fanfic and creating beautiful fanart and edits? It’s because they put in hours of work and don’t get nearly enough notes for their masterpieces. Yes we do this because we enjoy it but like...some validation won’t hurt. A boost of confidence here and there might be all someone needs to finish whatever thing they started and left.

REBLOG YOUR OWN WORK.

Have they? Have they done it from your perspective? Have they done it with your cultural and social history? The only time your story is going to suffer is if you rely solely on cliches and recycling direct material from fiction you like.

By nature of your very existence, yes: by existing, what you produce will be different to what someone else would produce. Everything you experience goes into what you write. After all, you write what you know. And what you know best, is you.

A glassen girl stands before you In her translucence perfectly see-through Refracting all light That’s doused upon her face In spectacles that do create The illusion she can take on Any shape; it’s strange ‘cause Unblemished Her pellucid sculpture Persists in apparent still-life existence Still, all the people Who’ve come to see her Share different accounts of the glassen girl Some say she’s bubbly blonde Others claim to have seen The crimsoned flame of passion She’s been called haunting By those who carry the night with them Offering but the faint glow Of a callous moon It matters not, she cares little Whether you Shriek, shrug, or swoon Rainbow hearted, she is Raven-kin, sunshine’s goddess, forest spirit Dub her dazzling, dub her grim All and everything You want her to be, really She’ll keep refracting; reflecting Whatever projections quick visitors bring And, verily, every claim of perception Any judgment or label leaves her unfazed As onlookers merely mistake Her to remain ever unmoving They hoist her and have her Stuck on the pedestal of their imagination Yet they never once prolonged a gaze Locked in everlasting fascination Long enough to finally notice The continuous flowing Of her liquid nature