#He muerto

[diario-de-una-depresiva]

HE MUERTO

he muerto, estoy muerta, no hay sonido, no hay luz, no hay aire, no hay nada, mi corazón no palpita, no hay respiración, estoy muerta.

El mundo gira, como si no hubiera pasado nada, las guerras siguen como si fuera normal, el río sigue su cause como si no hubiera estado ahi, el mar se agita como si supiera que me he ido, la tormenta se acerca como si llorara mi ausencia, pero no es así, solo es la romántizacion de mi ida.

Mis plantas crecen y algunas mueren, las que mueren han de extrañarme, las otras aprendieron adaptarse a una vida sin mi.

Mi ropa sigue colgada como si fuera a regresar, mi perfume sigue en la encimera dando indicios de mi olor, mi nombre sigue escrito en muchos lugares como muestra de que estuve ahí.

Hay gente que aún pregunta por mi en su mente, que recuerda a aquella persona de tal salón, gente con la que hable algún día, gente que recuerda mi cara pero no mi nombre, gente con la que conviví pero seguramente ya no esté en su memoria desde antes de que me fuera.

Las calles por las que camine están iguales como si mi paso por ellas no importara, mis fotos siguen en un álbum polvoriento, los lugares que más visitaba siguen ahí cambiando olvidando que yo las visite, y después de un tiempo el recuerdo de mi paso por esta vida quedará erradicado de todos lados, de toda mente, mi nombre, mi recuerdo, mi experiencia, mi legado ya no importara, nada importara, porque estoy muerta.

[merakiui]

a plot in which skully's portrait is kept in ramshackle. there's more legend and lore to the king of halloween than there are actual facts. you've always been curious about what kind of person he is and what sort of life he lived before he was traveling the world. there's so little documentation on him. it's a shame you'll likely never know the real story, but that's where fantasy can fill in the blanks! skully looks so devious in his portrait—with that sinister smile and extravagant pose. he's a mystery you've tried to solve with very little luck.

every morning on your way out, you pass his portrait in the hall and say the same farewell: "i'm off, mr. skully! i'll see you later!"

ramshackle dorm is no stranger to haunts. you adore the ghosts. they liven up your quiet, run-down dorm whenever they materialize in front of you for a lighthearted spook. sometimes you can sense them when you walk into a cold spot or you hear phantom sounds late at night. sometimes your face or your hands feel cold, and there's a disembodied smooching sound that follows the drop in temperature. it's all just part of ramshackle's paranormal charm.

on halloween morning, you stand in front of skully's portrait and wish him well. this time, though, you stand up to reach his face and press your lips against the canvas. "have a happy halloween, mr. skully. i'll see you later tonight!"

and then you're off to classes with grim. a pair of orange eyes follows your movements until eventually you're out of sight. the door shuts and then ramshackle is quiet.

when the halloween king reaches out, his hand goes through the canvas. he falls out of his frame and lands in a heap of lanky limbs with a thwump. peculiar. this has never happened before. he tries to climb back into his empty portrait, but it's no use. he can't return.

is he truly back in the world again in a corporeal form? :O !!!! oh, how exciting!!!!! there's so much he's wanted to do! he must find you first, though! he's been dying (lol) to meet you in the flesh. :)

[pandadrake]

idk some guy and another younger guy from the comics.

I temporarily lost my ability to ink so I decided to try something small and easy. Then ended up scribbling a bunch of other things.

Gabriel's outfit is pretty much a mash of his comic outfit and a jacket taken directly from ATSV concept art of 2099 fashion by Jesus Alonso Inglesias. I don't like coloring, but if I did I would make it really bright and obnoxious.

My impression is that Miguel's civvie fit is really drab and baggy by 2099 standards and is meant to hide his body shape. Either way it's a pretty funny contrast to his other fit which is skin-tight, bright red & blue and has all his muscles drawn in.

Miguel in the comics has organic webs which give him the power of being nasty-ass and leaving gross sticky stuff on everything he touches. I guess this is the inspiration for the top image (it's time stamped)

[latibulater]

brock and orpheus from season 1 to season 3: viva los muertos, powerless in the face of death, the doctor is sin, and the buddy system. after brock leaves they stop having full interactions like this, but their moments together are honestly some of the more genuine and casually emotionally honest of the series. i would pay for them to kiss with tongue. inspired by a @turtle-trash post

Any subtitle errors are my own 😅

[river-of-wine]

I’ve been playing Red Dead Redemption and I am enthralled by every aspect of this guy

[fauvester]

uh oh! triggered some phantom trauma! (dannymanny iteration (c) nicktoonsunite)

[galactigatorr]

this 2d needs to come back for halloween

[mueritos]

started a new job recently as a research assistant for a gay Latinx professor in my grad program, and while I definitely don't have the time to be doing my own research, working with this professor on his book projects has been so affirming and healing. i'm working on a book he hopes to publish soon that is full of interviews of gay and trans Latine men...and it is so fucking awesome. I feel so seen by the words I am reading, and I feel tears spring to my eyes looking at the photographs of these men. They look like family members, distant cousins, and family friends. They look so happy and full of confidence. I see myself in their eyes, recognizing the "fish" shape in our eyes that is so distinctly tied to Latines. One of the men in the book is a pup! And it is so beautiful seeing his smile as he holds his pup mask.

I have met very few queer latines. I don't know what it's like to have the tio or tia that has some secret aura to them, that "no se habla" vibes where everyone knows they're queer but just won't acknowledge it. Hell, this professor I'm working with is the first gay Latine man I've ever spoken to. I wish I had a community of gay Latines. I hope I am able to access that one day :)

[notmoreflippingelves]

Wardrobe Appreciation

↳ Esteban Flores (Elena of Avalor)

[jjameslily]

don’t let it make you cry,

a dia de los muertos (day of the dead) inspired fic in honor of my favorite holiday and tradition of love and remembrance ♡

read on AO3 | word count: 960

The light illuminated the path ahead, casting a golden glow that shimmered and stretched like a thread between worlds. She felt its pull, drawing her forward, a silent beckoning that wrapped her in warmth. A sudden, gentle brush against her hand made her pause. Fingers intertwined with hers, familiar and steady. She glanced to her side, meeting amber speckled eyes, accompanied by a look she knew he’d given her a million times before. A soft breath caught in her chest. 

No longer just the essence of their being but whole, vibrant with the ringing of remembered life. The cable knit jumper hung on him as easily as it had that day, its warmth mirrored in the tender glint of his eyes as they settled on her. She felt his gaze trace the familiar lines of her figure, the way the soft cascade of her long red hair caught the golden light.

Of course—it was him. He was always there, their souls moving together like the steady sway of flame and shadow, bound in a dance that would never end.

He didn’t hold her back, but matched her stride, their steps silent but sure, pressed into the softness of the petals underfoot. The glowing path beneath them was alive with the hum of unspoken words and devotion carried in the orange and gold that lit their way. No pain touched them here, only the gentle press of each step—each petal whispering to them as if the universe itself was guiding them onward.

The air around them was tinged with a sweet, citrus tang that sharpened with each breath. It filled her senses, clearing away and purifying the ache that so often lingered. They moved as one, drawn along the light-strewn path, echoing the steady rhythm of a place that knew no distance, only the steady pull of home.

They walked along the path, the candlelight drawing closer until it illuminated the scene ahead. She paused, suddenly the beat of her heart faster than she had felt in so long at the sight—a figure, kneeling before them. A flickering played in the reflection of his round glasses, casting tiny flames that danced over the curves of his face, softening the shadows that clung to his boyish features.

His hand, outstretched, fingers brushing the edge of a framed photograph, hesitant yet reverent. The glass held a moment in time—her dressed in white, eyes alight with laughter, leaning into her beloved with his untamed hair framing his head like a crown, and by their side, an old friend with a mischievous grin, forever late, even now as they found their way back to this world. 

A smile tugged at her lips, met with a quiet chuckle beside her, as if he too saw and remembered at that very moment. But he’d be there soon, she assured the figure silently. 

Like them, his spirit hovered, keeping close watch over him, content to do so until his time came in some far away future. The longing to be whole was tempered only by the joy of witnessing his life unfold—happy, full—each moment a testament of their love and willing sacrifice, patiently waiting as long as forever just to see him grow old.

He sighed, rubbing a sleeved hand across his forehead. “I don’t know if I’m doing this right,” he murmured to himself. 

But this was the closest they’d felt to him in what felt like an eternity, more than just mere shades of themselves.

A gentle breeze caressed the marigolds laid out before them, lifting their petals into a delicate dance and waving the air with a sweetness that held echoes of laughter and song. The faint notes of distant music whispered through, tugging at memories long settled in the quiet corners of the past. 

Her eyes glistened, the love within her radiating from her. She let it ripple outward, weaving her spirit into the air around him, reaching beyond the veil, hoping he—Harry, their son—would feel it not as a ghost of a fleeting memory, but as a pulse.

Alive.

Real.

James reached forward to outline the curve of his cheek, to feel him, to extend himself into the warmth that flowed from the space they once called home. Though they couldn’t show themselves as before, the world held their presence in subtle ways—the quiet stir of petals, shifting as though under the brush of invisible fingers; the rich scent in the air, wrapping around him with the longing warmth of home. The candle flames pulsed gently, each flickering their heartbeat for warmth to settle deep, to comfort in place of their embrace.

Harry’s shoulders lifted, drawing in a shuddering breath. His eyes softened, a hint of recognition breaking through the sorrow that shadowed them. As Harry looked into the small collection of arranged photographs, his features became more peaceful, regarding the lively expressions from their youth. 

A single tear escaped him, catching in the light, and a quiet, wistful smile appeared on his lips as calm settled over him. 

“Welcome home,” he whispered to them.

They lingered in the glow of their bridged worlds, woven from love and memories like a protective shroud over him—their love pouring into the very air he breathed. The night was heavy and vibrant with the embrace of life, death, and everything in between. A gentle reminder that love remembered was never truly lost. 

Together, they held him, encircling his body wordlessly. Their presence continued to infuse in the candlelight and scent that surrounded him, carrying their message: they were here, always, and would remain until the day they were together once more. 

Until the divide between the living and departed was no longer.

Until the very end.

[jaybee2000]

A lone Aragorn action figure at the Day of the Dead Festival. I’m choosing to see this as a good omen.

[no-one-says-hi]

HuaHua de pan

Hey! Did you know that for Día de Muertos (or Día de los Difuntos) in Ecuador we eat this traditional bread called “guaguas de pan”. I’ve bread-ified Hua Cheng hehe.

Xie Lian will have a dozen Huahuas de pan

[kiweegamez]

Caminante muerto

Meet the boy he practically drove me insane twice with all the patterns. Partially inspired by day of the dead. Instead of a lower jaw he has another hand, which can be broken off from the hinge from inside his skull as it is delicate. I also thought I should try to do a more chubby character. He’s so doughboy coded. He is usually just dead silent, usually gesturing what he means with his jaw hand (which only has 4 main fingers) He is a sucker for a nice iced salted caramel latte. He also gains the nickname ‘sugar’ or ‘sugar skull’ from the excessive patterning on his bones. If he had to talk he has a very Markiplier-esk voice but once again would rather stay silent unless he needs to use verbal communication. He is also skilled at making marshmallow skulls which he will often spread through the multiverse because why not, he likes gifting random marshmallow skulls. He often is found at ccino’s café, usually just lingering around, if not there then he’s in his own little spot in the anti-void. Which is a rare occurrence to come across but still possible. In this spot he offers marshmallow skulls and a resting place. Despite he won’t talk much he’ll listen if you want him to. He can often be linked to having a ‘heart too big for the world’ or being a father figure to those who need one.

[damiandie]

!!!THE SILLYS!!!!

♤♡◇♧♤♡◇♧

[Jervis: "Southern sweet tea is a disgrace to tea"]

Your honor, they're In love

[juantinarchive]

🏠🫂

[oheck-trainwreck]

everybody bloodthirsty until theres child-shaped little guys around