#but no it really is not that deep. rip.

[the-barefoot-hatter]

pediatricians are hard to find.

you aren't broken and other important things a triangle needs to hear

[darklight-owl]

Anyway I find it very funny that I was trying to attatch a meaning to Yendo a la casa de Damian so hard but there's a 20 minute ted talk where Roberto basically goes "i went out to buy some cat food and things happened so then i wrote a song about a guy who goes outside and things happen."

You know I like a band when I start actually looking into them instead of just listening to the same 10 songs over and over again

[lovesickeros]

☆ love; heretical and divine

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood {☆} word count 0.8k

To love a God is heretical. It is an act of blasphemy– it is to drag them down from their throne of hollow gold, to topple the pedestal the worshipers uphold on their shoulders like lambs at the herders heel. It is the act of forcing them to their knees and ripping that beating heart of glorious gold and beautiful, cruel divinity from their chest, so pure it burns.

To love a God is to make them sin. To make them painfully, horribly human.

To love a God is to sin.

The love of a worshiper is no love at all, brilliant in its raw purity, untainted by sin. It is fear and obedience masked by adoration so overpowering it corrupts. It makes the lamb so unquestioning in it's faith it will never question the knife that cuts, the teeth that rip, the claws that tear. If the Creator deemed them unworthy of the very life crafted by their hands, then they must have committed a sin so grave there lay no salvation for their horrid soul.

But she is no worshiper– her lips speak of heresy as easily as she breathes, her words nothing but lies, cold and cruel like the ice that crawls along her skin like webs.

She loves a God like a lover should.

A damned sinner reaching longingly for the heavens.

She loves a God in the subtle brush of their lips, their muffled voices behind closed doors as they indulge in curiosity untamed. She is a sinner through and through, but she feels herself fall further with every brush of her hand across their cheeks, every touch she bestows upon them like a lover. She memorizes the imperfections of their body like memorizing a map– every scar, every mark, every line drawn on their body like a canvas, her touch the brush that stains the pristine white.

No devoted lamb shall ever see the painting they create in these stolen moments– it is for the eyes of a heretic so vile it makes them shudder, their body dirtied by the love of a woman so vile even their divinity is obscured by the ice.

The lambs may be satisfied with fleeting glimpses of gold and empty words from lips that guide them to the jaws of the wolves, but she is not. Her hands crave them like a starving hound, aching to touch that imperfect skin hidden by the veil of gold that obscures the painfully human body beneath. She longs to free them from the golden cage that binds them– to see their wings blot out the sky, their divinity tainted by sin and making them all the more beautiful for it.

It is a longing that leaves a festering wound that cannot heal, will not heal. Even if it could, she would not let it.

For as much as she tries, deny it as she may, she is no better then the blind lambs following the herder who holds a blade in their hand, glittering like gold in the sun, stained by dull red.

She is a fool, and what a fool they make of her with the touch of their hands against her skin– so cold it leaves frost on their fingertips. Yet they do not fear the cold, mapping out every inch of her imperfections, carved into her body by her own hands.

She has always been a heretic, cursing the divine until she could speak no more, but if divinity can be found in them – in this love that consumes, that burns her hands and her lips – then she is a Saint, praying at the altar until her throat bled.

But in the end, she has and will always be a cold woman with hands stained with blood. Until it is all she can taste, until it is all she can smell, until it is all she can feel. These hands of hers, heretical and divine, will bleed the God from their veins– she will become the wolf to their lamb until the rivers of Teyvat run gold with their ichor, until the gold bleeds into red, the taste of their divinity on her tongue.

Until she drags a God from their lofty throne and makes of them a monster.

There is no greater triumph to the heretic then to love a God into sin. To make a God sin to love.

To love is to be human, and they are no God.

Even if she must tear the gold from their very being until all that's left is something human. Even if Teyvat crumbles and decays, even if it begins over and over again..

She will do it again and again, until the gold can bleed no longer. Until her sins grow too great for Teyvat to contain.

To love a God is to devour, and be devoured. An endless cycle of sin that dulls the glow of gold into something new– something horrifying and divine, in it's own right. Something just as horrid as her, just as divinely corrupted by the sins she carries on her shoulders like a trophy, as gold as the sun and as cold as ice.

Divinity, carved into something human by love all consuming, until it all bleeds away and they begin their dance anew, for as many cycles as it takes.

An eternity, if she must, of dooming this world of theirs to fire and decay for a glimpse of the being snared by their golden shackles.

[spaciebabie]

springtrap but he has claws and he slowwwwwly sinks them into youi while holdoing you close purring softly hes not eveb truing ta hurt you on ourpose justtrying ta keep you as close as possible and get you ta stay put for just a few more seconds oohohohhh ohhh hospital hostpital hospital. emergency room hospital

[nataliesscatorccio]

it's starting to feel a little too much like that weather that killed Jackie Taylor :/

[dogwittaablog]

RIP 2017 DRAFT LOVERS

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

Garak is So much right from his first episode. Laura Palmer of Cardassia over here trying to get laid, foil a terrorist plot, AND work a retail shift, all while high as fuck. Dude’s schedule in Past Prologue is FULL.

[feelingtheaster99]

Luke calls Annabeth is his sister. Full stop. Not ‘she’s like a sister to me,’ “she is my sister.”

[mashmaiden]

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Eric Christian Olsen Fans (@ericchristianolsenfans)

Well, I bugged @ericchristianolsenfans all day to make this post (and she obliged me cuz she's awesome!), but I should probably also share it here before the day ends! 😂 (Plus, I provided her with the screencaps, so it's technically like half my post too! 😂😂)

But Get Real turns 25 today (Sep 8)! I still don't know how I missed this show when it was actually airing on TV. I was totally the right demographic and would've loved it! Thankfully, in the past few years, some wonderful people have put the episodes up on YouTube so I've finally gotten to see them all! Well, all the ones that aired in the US - the show was canceled with two episodes to go, but some of the international broadcasts actually aired those episodes. Maybe someday those will surface again. Till then, if you search on yt you can find the 20 aired episodes and enjoy some young ECO!

There are also a fair number of recognizable faces who guest star in the series, which is fun to see too!!

[loderlied]

mmm essay about sally and kid gort in the tags (cw for child abuse, mentions of suicide, animal cruelty and a murder attempt. i always hope i don’t have to say this but just in case: i don’t excuse or condone any of her or gort’s behaviour at all.) this is literally not even touching upon everything i have to say because i hit the fucking tag limit lmao. NOBODY READ IT’S BAD BRAINSTORMING I JUST NEEDED TO GET IT OUT SOMEHOW

[good-beanswrites]

Added my Double drabble to Lights, Camera, Sing Your Sins! I snuck it into chapter 2 so I figured I'd make a quick post with it here :)

“Hey, stop bumping me.”

“You’re bumping me – I can’t see!”

“Just scooch over.”

“My toes!”

Mikoto looked back at the group of prisoners huddled around him, packed tightly so that they could peer over his shoulder at the monitors. His hand paused from where it had been sweeping the stylus around, rearranging his latest creation.

“It’s not that exciting guys,” he laughed. “Let me at least show you some of the finished pieces, I’m sure this is boring…” 

Not that the other pictures were that exciting, either. He pulled up the other frames he’d been busy editing. There came a chorus of oohs and ahhs, but Mikoto knew it was just out of obligation. He flicked through a few of them as quickly as he could.

It was the type of art he loved to do (with some input from Red now and then) but it didn’t really suit any of the other prisoners’ tastes. He’d heard enough questions about his field to know it wasn’t all that impressive to most people. 

Sure enough, Kazui squinted at the screen. “You made all these?” he asked. “Like, you drew them?”

“Er…in a way. I drew some of the elements, and had to do some work to make the effects look right. And the color coordination takes time too.” He scratched the back of his head. “I know it doesn’t look like much…”

When he glanced over, though, Kazui’s expression was one of awe. “No, no, you’re very talented!”

Haruka’s finger tapped the screen. “Can you go back to that one?”

Mikoto clicked back to a photo of himself sitting on one of the train benches. It was meant to depict Red, made abundantly clear by the blood spatter, colored eyes, and savior label that had been placed with much deliberation. Blue had insisted on it, though Red only agreed with the addition of quotations. Their guilty verdict had been crushing for both of them (though not wholly unexpected), so it was important to show all sides of them, now.

Although it had been one of his favorites when working on it, he suddenly wondered if his personal flair had gotten out of hand. It was hardly distinguishable as the original shot, with too many textures and additions obscuring everything.

Fuuta whistled. “Man, that looks sick. You should have done my video…”

“Mine too!” Mahiru said. “I love the bright colors you’re using in all of these. And the paper and ink just looks so crafty!”

Kotoko leaned in to get a better look. “I really like the focus on the eyes here.” 

“O-oh, thanks!” He could feel his chin lift at the commentary. “I got the idea a bit ago… it’s kind of a running thing now? I drew some of them here –” he scrolled though a few frames. “And a scribble over the face here to keep the theme going. Little ones here, a string of them like this. Heh, I drew about a thousand different eye designs to get any actually liked. Then I have these big ones, see? I’m debating on including a blue version, too, but maybe I’m going overboard. I think Jackalope might have a heart attack, seeing all this crap.” 

“He’ll get over it.” Yuno answered his joking smile with a genuine one. “I’m so glad you’re having fun with these. It’s all very… you.”

Mikoto’s gaze fell onto the last frame he’d pulled up: another messy one of Red filled with pink and blue, with the text save you repeated nearby.

“It’s both of us.”

[devondespresso]

the feminine urge to dig through every scene steve is in to compile a masterlist of any and all traits, facts, and details we could gather from canon

and not to prove a "right" way to characterize him but to give more ideas and jumping off points for us to play with. we don't have a lot of details explicitly laid out for us so we do assume a lot (some of those assumptions don't have a strong canon backing which is fine but some definitely do and a lot of people don't realize?? we're not too far off with some of this) but theres definitely stuff implied here and a good bit of it's probably intentional (you're rarely "looking too far into it" with filmmaking. there are happy accidents but a shit ton of this is intentional otherwise it wouldn't be there)

anyway would anyone be interested in seeing it? rn it's just like an impulse before i go to bed but if anyone actually wants to hear whatever i find it might actually push me to do it tomorrow

[kochanski]

Here's another concept from my drafts folder:

What if the gang finally had an opportunity to get back to Earth in the correct time and place, but Lister tries to sabotage it? After a lengthy drawn out attempt to get him to confess the reason, he starts to admit he's got sort of like… prison syndrome. He believes he wouldn't be able to survive on Earth after years of just scavenging and living off Red Dwarf's storage, and feels he's lost whatever carefree spark it was that kept him afloat when he had no hope of reaching Earth before. This anxiety spirals and finally Rimmer is the one to talk him down of all people because Rimmer actually understands how that type of rejection feels.

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

sigh

[astragatwo]

Lasso tool Rain World creatures ft. my first 3 tamed lizards

Purple slugcat in the middle belongs to my buddy @upr0ar!

[curiosity-killed]

wip wednesday

Callebero had never hated anyone until he met the Capallan king. He had not known how much he did hate him until he saw the walls of the city rising from the sand, how that hatred could fill him like a scouring flame until he was sick on how much he wanted him to suffer. Devolt stood before him now, with grey curling in his hair and new wrinkles by his eyes and mouth, and Callebero felt—tired. Spent. He had had chances to kill the king before. He had not stayed his hand out of mercy or a sense of honor or nobility. First, when he took Tikana, Callebero had let him live because he would live the rest of his life with the weight of Callebero’s boot against his neck and he would not be made a martyr to rally his people in rebellion. Then, when he had attacked the camp, Callebero had spared him because Jisel, incomprehensibly, did not want her father to die. Catterik had been furious. He’d fumed, seethed, hissed out all the ways Jisel was implicated in the attack—her arrival the night before, the blood on her hands, the knife shoved in her belt. When Callebero did not sway in his decision, he’d subsided only because Callebero was Alir’s child and Catterik loved Alir.

sometimes Callebero takes after his mom in military focus and legacy and sometimes he takes after his mom by getting a military commander to fall hopelessly in love with him