#chvrch

[thedungeonstore]

This Friday, February 16, we'll be at CHVRCH at the Baltimore Playhouse. This is an occult themed event with "baptisms," "sermons," seductive performances, a live DJ and a photo booth. We'll be there with floggers, rope, paddles, violet wand toys and in keeping with the theme, check out our oracle cards, tarot decks and occult books. Come join us! For details and more RSVP at https://fetlife.com/events/1427645

[chvrchesgifs]

Lauren Mayberry Solo Tour | Outfits

[dis-nightmare-continues]

We really out here

[blackangelism]

🤭🌹

heyy ! well, roses = a snippet from my latest work, so... here’s a snippet from the second chapter of the thing i’m working on. it’s a huge chapter, so i’ll give one of the shortest paragraphs, i guess:

In response, he only pulled me impossibly close. His aura leaked of yearning and I instantly knew. When you know, you know. His nose brushed my collarbone, lips tickling the edge of the neckline on the stained satin of my dress. I was frozen, tensed. What am I to do, what am I to do? The tenderness was so foreign, I was a ball of anxiety under love and orgasmic under hate. “Darling…,”

[simplyshelbs16xoxo]

I need to rant about how much I hate when music artists release a 'complete edition' version of an album, but don't have a physical copy that includes the extra songs, thereby forcing you to have to buy the extra ones digitally.

I don't mind getting a digital single here and there, but it's so frustrating that even when a deluxe edition of an album is released, it neglects to have those complete edition songs.

[dustrial-inc]

Mech Chvrch is live, little bit of art, music, visuals and community. Come chat && chill

🔴[: http://twitch.tv/dustrial_inc :]

[sharkboystims]

Bo bigfoot stimboard

Request are open

Jellycat—chvrch-kinbiards—craig-f-tucker—wickerrabbit—build-a-stim—earthboundness—pridesquishy

[citizenoftmrrwlnd]

self care for : a church grim/ghost dog with chew stims, candles/incense, and themes of churches and ghosts requested by @chvrch-kinboards

x | x | x x | - | x x | x | x

[embroideredhope]

Title: How Not To Drown

Fandom: The Sandman

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x Female OC

Chapters: 1/?

Summary:

Gods rise, they fall...and some of them rise again. Several thousand years after Fhenic, the God of Rebirth disappeared....a mortal dreams of her death.

Notes:

I have no idea what I am doing this is the first fanfic I have ever written. Heavily inspired by listening to CHVRCHS album Screen Violence on repeat. Tags & warnings will be updated as the story progresses.

Chapter 1:  I Don’t Want to Say I am Afraid to Die.

It was not often he went traveling through dreams, for it was not often there was a reason to.

Dreamers dreamed. That was just what they did when they came here. There were trillions of souls dreaming here at any one time. Not just humans, other sentient life spread across the universe. Even on the roof of this woman's apartment building, pigeons dreamed. Somewhere at the foot of her bed…a cat dreamed. 

Of all of the dreams…this one caught his attention. 

He watches silently from a shadow. 

A watcher of humanity and never quite taking part in it. 

It is a nightmare. One could wax lyrical about the difference between dreams and nightmares but they were made of the same stuff. The dreamer decided which it was. Perception was everything after all. 

In her nightmare, there is a man. Chasing her across an opulent and decadent bridge made of glistening white stone. Stone carvings of creatures across the top as she sprinted across the vast but shallow pond of the courtyard. Water perfectly still except for tall white flowers sticking up from its body. It shimmers in the moonlight, a full moon hanging high above them in a sky that is impossibly colourful with nebulae and stars. Constellations that her species had no name for, for this was not Earth - it was the heavens. 

“Fhein!” His voice rings out across the bridge, he is angry. 

The name sparks recognition…and his interest is captured. 

She runs faster. Ragged breaths, burning chest, a hand clutching the fabric of the long dress, hem of fine silk and lace almost edged like feathers, it floats behind her like a wake wave off the end of a boat, gracefully despite the clearly frantic emotions on her face, the tears and gasps for air as she leaves the bridge and enters the small circular pavilion. The platform of stone was the last structure before a vast and endless black ocean. 

The tranquil and still waters of the palace ponds gave way to the depths of the abyss. A watery void of nothingness that separated their realm from the mortal world beyond it. 

“No, no, no, no, no-” her distress is palatable, and yet there is a moment of peace as she realises something - there was nowhere to go but down. A slow turn, to look at the man running towards her, he was yelling her name again…and Fhein is unsure if it is because he is still angry, or if he is scared.

Her hand reaches out, materialising within its grasp is a dagger, its silver blade glints in the moonlight, red inlay in the shape of a swirl of flames along its blade reaching out from the red hilt. 

“Not again.” 

He can feel the sentiment echoing across the dream, like waves ripping out from a pond, for she had dreamed this a hundred times over, and then maybe another hundred more. 

“It’s a dream,” a shake of her head to herself, long dark hair follows her head movement, bright green eyes frantically searching around her, like she is looking for something, a way out? Anything?

It was surprisingly common for humans to be aware that they were dreaming. For all of his aloofness to humanity, their consciousness was interesting. How could it not be? He held them all in The Dreaming, along with almost every sentient thing in the universe - even Gods dreamed.. All of them visited here, the ones who dreamed in vivid detail with recall, the ones who dreamed in only concepts and feelings and didn’t remember. 

Except this was not a dream. 

It was a memory. 

Of a God who had lived a thousand thousand years ago and maybe some more. 

Dream remembered her name, if only because she had been unusually pleasant for a god. 

Over the many millennia that humanity had been walking the Earth many gods had risen and fallen. She had simply disappeared. Most of the time that meant one thing, death. He had never known what had happened to her, though he supposed…he was about to find out.

There is a small part of him that feels bad, that he had not noticed this dreamer before, dreaming over and over the last memory of a god that had lived long before her, but things just hadn’t lined up. He had not been looking, why would he, Fhenic may have died…but her entire pantheon had died one by one after her. For that was the way things were. 

They rose, they died, they fell. 

Only the Endless were…well endless. 

Then green eyes find the shadow in which he stands…and stops. She is staring right at him, like she can see him. 

She can see him. 

“You-” the word that leaves her is but a whisper, frightened and lost…jarred out of the dream of a memory before it resumes. In one swift movement Fhenic takes the knife, spins it in her hand and drives it into her own chest. Her body jolts with the force of the impact, and it happens so fast the King of Dreams can not avert his eyes. Many gods had died, not many of them had killed themselves. 

A step backwards is her final action, off the edge of the pavilion and into the waters below. Black hair fans out in front of her, layers of red dress caught up in the air as she falls in slow motion, as she hits the water…she wakes up. 

In the Waking World, consciousness returns to a young woman, she had not slept nearly enough, considering the morning was not early. A tired hand reached for the phone on the bedside table, only to let out a frustrated groan. Her alarm would sound in four minutes, she would rather there be hours of the night left, that way she could attempt to roll over and sleep and dream another dream, one that she would not remember. 

It was the same dream as always…well…kind of. For a moment her eyes narrow and stare at the ceiling, this time was different. This time there was someone else there. Something else. At the back of a shadow? 

“It’s too early for this shit…” maybe if she just closed her eyes she could focus on something other than the dream, though respite from her own thoughts come from a paw in her face and a soft meow. “Pumpkin, stop.” Another, more demanding meow as the ginger fluff ball decided it was wise to plant another paw on her face, “alright, good god I am up - I’m up! Fuck sake can’t get two moments peace in my life, come here then.” Hands drag out from under the covers, wrap the feline up in an embrace before it decides to dramatically collapse onto her chest.

“Maybe we could just lay here for a few more minutes…” for someone who disliked dreaming, she sure was desperate for more sleep, that was the thing about lack of sleep though - it wasn’t like you got more productive time in the day, you just got more time feeling crappy. 

A cry from the creature finally spurs action, “fine, fine-” she rises from slumber into the chilly air of the room. Feed the cat. Coffee. Work. In that order. 

Meanwhile, a realm away, the Dream King stands rooted to the spot where a nightmare had once played. He wanted to dive into the water after her, to stop the tides of mortality pulling her down. Yet it was not possible, he was millenia too late on that front. Instead, he takes two soft steps through The Dreaming back to his castle, left with only thoughts of how her death had been more tragic than she deserved…and how her marriage had been more than she could bear.  

The mortal world was not fair, neither was the realm of Gods. 

Sometimes people got what they deserved, sometimes they did not. 

That was simply the way. 

Yet, this time around, he did not like it 

[penroseparticle]

Penrose Song of the Day, day 4- Seeds by Nathan Nzanga

There's this preoccupation, as a culture. With darkness as dangerous, or evil, or cruel. Darkness as shorthand for badness. It's not without merit- the dark can hide things worth fearing, after all. But heuristics are not exhaustive. They are not things that you can comfortably build your life out of. There are things outside what you know and can do shorthandedly. There are places your mind will travel without you, unbidden, and taking you to strange lands is a way of you getting outside of your rut.

I don't know what it is about this song that takes me in different directions. It's like I'm chasing smoke (hah), or trying to sculpt water. It's got some sort of like... hold, on me. At least spiritually. This song gets me, in some important, intrinsic way that I don't know how to describe. This song fucking. Obliterates me, sometimes.

Seeds by Nathan Nzanga is one of those songs that exists not just as a song, but as an entire experience. There are parts of this song that I cannot unlink from the album art, from the way I discovered it, nestled gently in my discover weekly playlist, handpicked by an algortithm I'm still not totally convinced isn't somehow a friend of mine. Seeds. The name is evocative, no? And it's just. Seeds are planted in the dark!

The whole point of seeds is that they're buried. Not all seeds. But most of them. In dark, rich, loamy soil. In something that will sustain us. In our home. Nestled in that darkness, buried where light cannot touch. Safe to reach out a single tendril. A single cotyledon, a tiny hand to the sky. Where the sun and the light and the scrutiny of the day won't scorch you before you have the strength to stand. To have the strength of your convictions is tough- conviction is tested by virtue of being what you believe in, and belief is so malleable- at least for me. I need the time to noodle. To poke and prod and slowly make my way, blinking, into the sun.

I need the cover of darkness.

This song is about growth. About hope. About who I am, who I want to be, what I want my life to look like. How I hope to grow. Your life is shaped by your experiences, yes. But you can lash your life to a trellis of your choosing, and but for an act of god, your life will start to take that shape. It's dangerous, right? To have that control over yourself. Careful. A little bit of a spiral, a little bit of a tumble, and you can be stuck in a dangerous growth pattern. Not enough sun, not enough water, not enough care and you can wither on the vine. A promising sprout killed by sadness.

I put a lot of pressure on myself. I don't have anything interesting to say on this particular topic- the song says it as well as anything. It's getting kind of old. I don't want to talk anymore, all I do is say the same thing over and over. I guess I just need to start sowing seeds. Growing my silver bells and cockle shells. Maybe Cantaloupes, if that's something I want in my garden.

I read a book back in the day that was pretty formative for me- It's Traitor. A Star Wars Extended Universe book (I know I know, stone the nerd, etc.). I read it at the right time to think it was imparting some deep, dark, immutable truth about the world. It was a little myopic. A little morose. A little bit negative. But it felt real, and it was one of the first books I read that really grappled with "What do you believe" in a way that grabbed me. In a way that felt, if not definitive, at least authentic. I read some things after that that all dealt with what you believe. Give Me the Bones of What You Believe, right? Take me to Chvrch. Christ. Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. Flowers for Algernon. It's Kind of a Funny Story. I'll Give You The Sun. Not all serious, not all important. All important to me. How to Talk To A Widower. I read that one after I tried to kill myself and it meant a lot, despite not being a widower myself.

This song is a comforting darkness. It's a formative narrative. It's a song that I hope I can grow to be more like. I want to be kind, more than anything. I want to help people. I'm tired of being sad all the time. I'm tired of hating myself, because hating myself doesn't help me help people. I don't want to do anything these days, but I do want to help those I've chosen as my people. Those I'm close to. I know that I need to carve myself, shape my impact. Have a narrower focus. You can't help everyone, you don't even like everyone. Stop trying. Not everyone likes you.

I need to be more comfortable with failure. With being not enough. Because no one person is enough, that's not how people work. You aren't "enough" for anyone, because you're not enough for yourself. No one is. The idea that we are individuals, that we can exist apart from our peers, is such a stupid fucking idea. Who sold me on this idea of individualism, of perfection of the self. Who told me I had to be enough. Who told me I COULD be enough. I'm so furious with the idea that I can't make myself be vulnerable without almost dying. With the idea that I can't ask for help, as if the very first sign of civilization wasn't a healed femur. The whole fucking point is the community.

I've been isolating. I tend to do the whole wounded animal schtick. Leave me to die, let me languish alone while I lick my wounds. It's only now occuring to me that it's maladaptive. I hate how uncomfortable it is to be seen, to be known when a problem occurs. And even harder to recognize that the isolation- that wasn't always maladaptive! That served me well during hard times in my life. I need to thank it for the work it did keeping me alive. Helping me survive. But I don't need to do that anymore. I have a tribe. I have people I would trust with my life. Not even that- with the ugly, unfortunate darkness that I have. Just as everyone else does. The dark is not always so nurturing.

But emerging from the earth and bearing the sun's rays? I'm having a hard time making the change.

I convince myself I'm sinking when I'm standing in a puddle. Forget the I can't, the I ain't, just let yourself win. I am way better than I say I am. I am done with treating myself like this. My mind's the biggest trap in the world and it stinks. Life's a puzzle.

I love when a song feels grown in a lab for me. The idea that my little star in the sky perfectly eclipses Nathan Nzanga's at this exact moment. The kinship you can feel when you look directly at someone and say "I see you. I know you. I've walked this road, I'm on it now." And I would never hate Nathan for struggling like me! I would never leave him to flounder in his puddle. I would pull him out until he could see it for what it was.

I should do that for myself.

This song is so simple. Elegant. It's perfect. I wouldn't change a thing. Like watching streetlights pass you by in a dark car ride, in the rain at night. It's comforting. Nurturing. Like rich loamy soil, or dark chocolate, or a good coffee. It's like a sultry, dark night where the crickets lull you to sleep. It's like bedtime when you're tired. Something in this song is so good for my soul, I actually can't take it. Nathan Nzanga is actually a genius, I think.

I truly love this song more than most songs in the world. It's hard to overstate, really. My heart is full, listening to this song. Even when I'm sad, or I hate myself, or I'm down on the idea of improving or getting better. This song won't let me. No matter how negative I feel about life, this song challenges me to grow. To change for the better. The best time to act righteously is always. But if you didn't manage yesterday, why not today? Because you failed once? Why fail twice from one transgression?

I love this song. I love you. And hey. You could be dead right now. Go listen to something you love.

[suicideandcheese]

Stillside & Neverwell

By the grace of goddamn, only the lonely, Your god on a pedestal, mine on my only. Beyond the whispers, kitten joys, tears Of how and if I could fuck the anomaly We universe. If we could lose a verse, Saints on the other line, hanging them For calling, oh we're calling. In bliss'd Hells there are to earn, your fire On a weekday, come a year, blur The all-time, crime the slaver, you're Another halo to rustify the damned They kiss, oh they will kiss to heavens You, on an email end, hot drink in hand. Grifted, the grifted grift and grift theirs. Under the church, beside the military. Underchurch, bedside military, Stillsighs, afterlies, streams of everflow, The damnings we dare, still not a share. Paintings on the halls of always, colorless And white. Oh so fucking white. And the Oscars and the white, And affordables, tissue paper, oh so For the white. Your ass. White your ass. This blvck chvrch ceiling has cvnted in. Better to die among the greens, And mold into the meadows Than slur another word into the masses Like it's sacred, text, pressed yesterday, Told to fly, it's told to fly, you never fly, Baby, it's another well, just be well. Deeply, down into the well. Oh you fucking will. Fucking, you well.

[blackangelism]

10,27, and 28 for the ask game (if it's still open ofc !!)

you are literally my favourite mutual, so much serotonin everyday.

10: Last song you heard?

I’m actually listening to Florida Kilos by Lana Del Rey right now! Last song, before this, would be West Coast by Lana as well <3.

27: What’s your Pinterest?

Same as my Tumblr!

28: Favourite fashion era?

Ooh, interesting one... Probably the ’90s. Definitely the ’90s. I love the ’90s with every inch of my doll heart (Hole reference). But the ’50s were very neat as well, so close runner-up (the babydoll dresses!).

[theidiotartistt]

Intro to me! **************

My nickname is Zuzu and my pronouns are she/her! I love to create (stuff,things) and to read!

Communities: anyone can art, Midnight Poems, Sapphic Book Recs (et cetera) Music: Most sound tracks from musicals, Tupac, bikini kill, bratmobile, Salt-N-Pepper, CHVRCHS, Violent Femmes, Tyler(,)the creator, Mitski, (+)

I may not be particularly good at anything, but I am annoyingly persistent in the things I love <3 I hope you have an amazing day!!! ************** Background pic by me, profile picture is a screenshot from Adventure Time taken by redwolf972 on Pinterest!!

[carboniz3d]

soaked in red toe to head deathbed desire fire

[dustrial-inc]

What Mech Chvrch sounds like

🔴[: twitch.tv/dustrial_inc :]