#my sanctuary

[bloodforbloodnotmore]

[intergalacticstarlight]

╔════════《✧✧✧》════════╗ . ♡ 𝕀 𝕃𝕆𝕍𝔼 𝕐𝕆𝕌 ♡ . 𝕀𝕋'𝕊 ℝ𝕌𝕀ℕ𝕀ℕ𝔾 𝕄𝕐 𝕃𝕀𝔽𝔼 ╚════════《✧✧✧》════════╝

[tetzoro]

yknow how kuroo sleeps with his head shoved between two pillows? yeah thats me with zoros tits

[fatblknfree]

romanticizing my apartment one sunset at a time.

[allthat-reallymatters]

[bloodforbloodnotmore]

My Sanctuary Behind the scenes pictures

[backtoherloneheart]

[xxitsxbillxhaderxnationxx]

I am LOVING my new Bill Hader Wall!! 😍🫶🏻

He’s so flipping perfect!!! 😍💖

[intergalacticstarlight]

���💬 You already wrote a GORGEOUS one for the Master, if it's meant for ALL the Masters then ignore this <3 Also idk why Tumblr is making my font huge....

(@sclfmastery sent a meme from here) - (always accepting!)

Heavy breaths are taken as she shakes her head, clearly irritated and either unable or unwilling to hide it- she isn't sure which. Not yet.

"Of course," she mutters, breathless with rage, disgust and disappointment and something so bone-shatteringly deep that she can't possibly ignore it after feeling it. That only annoys her more, but the annoyance causes both of her hearts to race just that much faster which does wonders for the truth serum she'd been fed. Against her will.

Ohhh, she was going to have a WORD with the Master when she found them again. Several words. A veritable CONVERSATION---

"The Master is--" she grinds out through gritted teeth, jaw muscles flexing visibly beneath damp skin. A breath huffs out and her head twitches to the side, arms straining against the binds that hold her to the infuriatingly sturdy chair. The words rise inside of her like vomit, spilling out with a grunt of aching resistance before she can help it and with almost the same visceral heaving that being sick might accompany.

"They're lost! Lost, gone, dead, hidden away and I can't--!! I can't save them! I can't stop them! I can't kill them! I can't find them! I joost--!!"

She pulls both lips between her teeth, pressing them together artificially in an attempt to avoid speaking any longer. It hurts, but not as much as thinking of Koschei, and so she prefers it as the taste of her own blood taints her tongue. It's bitter, just as she might be, if she let herself.

"I love them," she mutters finally, her cheeks burning crimson in the duality of shame and elation. The taste of her own blood has her scowling. "An' they deserve better than me."

[readinmidnight]

the right music has made me feel all of this and everything in between

“With the right music, you either forget everything or you remember everything.”

— Unknown

[evan-collins90]

The full Fall/Holiday 1995 'Sanctuary' catalog by Cher (1995)

Incredible mail-order catalog started by Cher in 1994; this is the 1995 edition. Unfortunately, it seems the venture ended after the 1995 issue. According to a 1998 article, this was due to mismanagement & order-fulfillment problems.

Luckily found a copy available online, then scanned & cleaned-up this wonderful relic of 90's Renaissance Revival & Whimsigothic fashion & design!

[bruciemilf]

Battinson as a parent: oh, I’m sorry that you fell , Jay. Yes, the ground shouldn’t have tripped you. Bad ground. Would you like an ice cream to feel better?

Thomas when Bruce jumped off the slide and broke his arm because some kid dared him to: Bet you won’t do that dumbass shit again, huh?

[rightmywronngs]

Smoke patterns off 🤔🧐

Am I crazy for having this canvas in my living room??

[bloodforbloodnotmore]

[intergalacticstarlight]

She hears him.

Even though she's screaming in an ancient, animalistic and primal language that she isn't even entirely sure that she herself understands.

Even though her veins are pulsating and beaded sweat is dripping down her temples and joining the tears at her cheeks.

Even as the inky blackness soaks in alongside of the agonizing pain, her entire past, present and future on fire and she can do nothing more than shout until her throat is raw and she can taste the blood. She hears him.

Every syllable, every reconsideration, every hesitancy, every footfall, every hitched breath… That aching, seething, crestfallen, loving, beautiful trauma.

Even though Theta Sigma is rampaging within, staining everything in crystallin obsidian as the Doctor's consciousness takes shelter in an old wooden barn somewhere in the deepest recesses of her mind.

How many times can grace find you, Doctor? How many times can you steal it from those more worthy? Ticktockgoestheclock... evenforthe--- How many times can forgiveness shield you beneath its wings? You're a fool, Doctor Idiot....

Run. Hide. Leave. Go! COWARD! I'LL TAKE IT FROM HERE-- ticktockticktockTICKTOCKTICKTOCK Put your hands down, Doctor. Hang up your coat. Thirteen's hour is over now. The clock is striking-- ticktockgoestheclock... ticktock... THE CLOCK IS STRIKING---

She hears him.

Gradually, the primal cries of agony transform instead into heaving, audible breaths as the restraints holding her in place are rendered useless. She falls- no. She crashes into him, broken and bleeding and burning alive.

She knows she has no right to find comfort in the rough clasp of fingers tangling into her damp hair or the forehead that's bunting with bruising firmness against her own- but she finds comfort in it anyway.

She has no right to cling to him, gasping and terrified, with dilated eyes that stare at his face, wide and glassy and entirely incapable of sight- but she clings to him anyway. Fingers curl into the fabric of his shirtsleeves, and her respiratory bypass engages briefly. Blood stains the corners of her mouth, the inner flesh of her lips, her tongue.. her breath carries the sickly sweet scent of the crimson, heavy and thick as she speaks.

"Y-You're wrong..."

Her voice is ragged and broken- perhaps from howling like some sort of wild thing, perhaps because of the gentle golden shimmer starting to glisten in the places where the marrow meets the bone.

"I did come back for you... I did... So many times..."

Every word still the truth, even as the golden shimmer leaks into her bloodstream and purifies her body in a trial by fire, incinerating the truth serum, Theta Sigma and the Doctor all cell by agonizing cell. A grunt of discomfort escapes and cuts through her briefly, her unseeing eyes squeezing shut and crinkling along the edges.

"Like the sun... tryin' to catch a glimpse of the moon as it sets... Always just... a bit too late..."

I love you, I'm sorry.

Yeah. Funny old life.

Funny that he's sought her destruction for centuries, if only to feel closer to her, because all his life, Koschei suspected Theta Sigma was a special comet that happened to graze him with its sparks and he had, otherwise, not one cosmic molecule in his body. Even her ordinariness had the power to transform other beings into something more. She disrupted, she inspired.

Yasmin Khan's face looms, the most recent in a searing line of human replacements.

'She is loved.'

Both the Doctor and Master can love, terribly, leaving marks-stains--on the things they hold so terribly close. Terribly, terribly. But the Doctor loves, somehow, in a way that's returned.

The Master stops walking. The animal shrieking behind him doesn't chill him nearly as much as his own inertia.

"I wish that were true."

I wish that we were the same. I've been trying to shave, cut, excavate you down to my level for so long that I even tried to occupy the same body.

But it will never work.

"You may think it's true, but it isn't."

Turn around now and it's over, says Saxon, burning and defiant, carving out an autonomy he once thought inviolable by pushing Her away. And then, every Master before him: She'll pull you back in to her gravitational field and you will finally disappear forever. You will die.

"....I know," he whispers back, with tears that match Hers. Frail, and then firm. "I know."

He turns around.

"We're not the same. I'm the part of existence that clears the way. You're what comes next. You're dawn. Future. Something that can...that can be merciless but, but ultimately....! Something that defies its own nature and brings life instead. That is you."

You are not a hero. But you try to be, in a way that has never tempted me to action. And that is what is good.

One step back. He draws the TCE. He's so calm and so quiet, and she's still screaming. Can she hear him?

"You want to know how I know this?"

Two steps, five, twenty. He's in front of her. He fires a laser carefully, breaking her restraints. He catches her body as it falls, tosses the weapon aside and collides with her. Hands in her hair, tangling it. Forehead to forehead. What he has unleashed, still he wants. There's no escape, and he's glad.

"Because you didn't come back for me, but here I am, for you. Whatever you are, she got me to do this. Whatever you bloody are, Doctor, I can't leave her."

I love you.