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have so many edward thoughts theat must remain Unspoken due to the non visual nature of flondon.like Hi Helloo “he looks so submissive here ajd i think we could break his bones with our mind if we concentrated Really hard,” “sir this is a aScreenshot. . this is a Words.”

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Oh my god this is incredible???? The murder of the future... amazing!!! Amazing!!!!

My fic for @sparingiscaring for the @fallenlondonficswap! Sorry its a little bit late. (576 words)

Things in Parabola rot much the same as other things rot. It is a process, not of destruction per se, but of reclamation. Putrefaction. Transformation. Bacteria and fungi, bugs and worms, rain and wind and soil and sunlight; all take their piece, eat their fill of blood and skin and marrow, make a dead thing into a fractal of new life. On the other side of the mirror too, does its reflection die. Its name is scattered to the ever-whispering wind and among the ever-mumbling trees, syllable by syllable. Its walls are colonized by slim vines of poetry and metaphoric wildflowers. Its tiles sink into the mud of allusion and memory. Mushrooms in viric and cosmogone sprout upon dead nightmares, frothing with the uneasy but ultimately comforting relief that comes when one awakes from a bad dream, its visage already slipping into nothingness. A whole becomes fragments, and the fragments become wholes - divorced of context, scrubbed of their past by the wear of a thousand hands. Stripped down, bit by bit, until only what is utterly indigestible remains. GANT. The colour that remains when all else is eaten. The remainder-colour, the one that stains bone and offal. That which is left behind at the bottom of the Waswood's waters as the present burrows unceasingly into the future. The colour of that which has been abandoned - unimportant, undesired. The Wizened Silverer studies it carefully, the cosmogone of his spectacles shielding his eyes from the otherwise undeniable desire to flick it to the ground as unwanted garbage. A broken fragment of something - smooth, and shiny. Red, once - the patina of something-not-quite-black hasn't quite spread around to all of it. The only clue to its origin is its rather more dramatic partner - a skull, jawbone missing, its back shattered. a bullet, half-buried in the damp earth beneath it. All of them consumed with that selfsame colour. A rejection occurred here. A brutal, final, undeniable one. Something unloved died here. Not this man - at least, not just this man. There is a reason he found this here, in a half forgotten little pocket of Parabola, seemingly shunned by the roads and paths that would usually swarm and slither so eagerly to it. This was the betrayal of a promise. The shunning of a past, the murder of a future. Everything this man was and represented, was rejected earnestly and utterly. An absolute excision. What else was there for his remnants to do then, but reject themselves? The Wizened Silverer shivered, despite the jungle's eternal heat. This was not a good place. Good men who had lived good lives did not die such deaths. Still. He had found this place shunned and tucked away, an ugly scar hidden from sight - but he had found it. The Is-Not, in the end, truly rejected nothing. For every Wasn't, there was, somewhere, a Was; for every choice, there was a twin. If every mirror must have a reflection, then every reflection must have a mirror. Parabola had many roads, and none, in the end, were untaken. Nothing had loved this unfortunate fellow; and yet, someone, somewhere, must have. He did not know who, or where, or why. He did not know what kind of life this skull's twin lived. But it was good, the Silverer felt, that he did. He stood, and strode off from the clearing; there was nothing suitable for his work here. Let these bones rest, and dream of somewhere else.

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IDK anything abt his sleepwear situation but after some thought I’ve decided I believe Poor Edward would have a fancy dressing gown

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Leverage x Onion headline

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Poorly drawn Meowth line [redo]

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We’ll wait right here and we’ll, I don’t know, shoot the courier when he comes out.

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every prehistoric human reconstruction has me thinking “I want to smoke weed with this bitch”

she looks like she would have been an awesome neighbor, like she would have loved menthols and called me baby

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northern hemisphere babes we made it to the longest night of the year. we made it. for the next 6 months, every day will give us a little more daylight than the last. let's go. take my hand. climb out of the darkness with me

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Cookies represent the body of Santa while the milk represents the blood of Santa

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things people have done to help me during a psychoses episode

i was on the buss and i hallucinated bugs crawling all over my hands, so my friend pulled my hoodie sleeves over them with permission and held my hands through the sleeves to "keep them off". they used the logic you would in a real bug situation.

i went nonverbal in a bad one in class, so my friend wrote me a note to give to the nurse since the teacher wouldn't let her go with me.

i often am very paranoid about the delusion that meat is actually rotten, so my dad will sometimes eat a bit of it before me

instead of telling me my delusions arent real, they help me through it using logic like it was real. they dont tell me that nothings going to hurt me in my sleep, they stay with me to keep me safe. then when it passes i can realize its not real

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Knitting, 2021 - by Joseph Ford, English

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What do you think of the kids who want to look like you and quote "use you as a reference?" Do you think it's okay when they describe themselves as mentally ill? You don't think the Slender Man fandom has a history of going too far blurring fantasy with reality?

1) i want to look like walter matthau in "the taking of pelham 123", big deal

2) why would this be a problem

3) apart from the one instance of two twelve year olds a decade ago, are there other examples? i've probably met 100x more slender man fans than you have and they've all been very kind

it sounds like what you really take issue with is the way people, especially people who are young and/or struggle with mental illness, interact with fiction in general. if you're looking to blame slender man specifically you'll never get a satisfactory answer

if you think any of this is new, read up on original sherlock holmes fans sometime

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Gonna b honest. A lot of hot ppl go to art museums. I’m one of them

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is your oc in the 'appears older then they are' or 'comes across as younger then they are' camp adkfkkghj

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Ages in the neath are like an exponential function

like

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The drawtectivication of Rosé [LastName] 😔

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devil's in the details

Said "Oh my G-d, the Devil's In The Detail Oh lord, I just didn't look there" We looked so long, we looked so hard Looked so long, and looked so long

wanted an excuse to draw Brett dressed formally and was thinking about him making a return to the Brass Embassy after everything that happened with the Half Devil. then this art happened-