#picking these books up again

[originalcontent]

The Queen of the Damned is so funny, Lestat has another introduction wherein he says he's still super hot, he's the best rock star ever, he's wearing tight jeans, he's going to tell the story from other POV's but when they comment on how attractive he is those are their canonical true-to-life opinions not anything he made up, and then he reminds everyone again that he definitely fucked his mom. Then the book's first act consists of a bunch of new POV's from various characters from all around the world, all of which manage to shoehorn in some scene where they listen to his rock music and comment on how great his rock music is, and how even if they're not into rock, Lestat's music is just that good.

[lucidloving]

@roach-works // Melissa Broder, "Problem Area" // Mary Oliver, "The Return" // @annavonsyfert // Koyoharu Gotouge, Demon Slayer // Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance // David Levithan, How They Met and Other Stories // Tennessee Williams, Notebooks

[benevolenterrancy]

"He realized she could indeed be catlike. She could be as suspicious of others as a stray cat, but when there was food to be had she would come just close enough to get it, take as much as she could, and then she would be gone again."

if Jinshi just keeps "pspsps"ing enough surely it'll pay off???

[kurikorso]

oh shit look who it is!!

please click him for better quality

[arthursfuckinghat]

You know, whenever I see the discussions around Jack Marston possibly getting drafted in world war one, I can't help but physically ache at the thought of it.

Jack Marston, born into a gang that honoured freedom above everything, forced to sacrifice everything he has left for war.

Jack Marston, a boy who read about knights and soldiers, now forced to become one in another fight he never asked for.

Jack Marston, raised to be away from a life of violence, but now the world has found a way to drag him back in.

No matter what happens, Jack would have to face a really tragic dilemma. Does he go to war and sacrifice the legacy of freedom he was raised with? The life his family died for? Or refuse and be labeled a criminal, putting his parents to shame and repeating the same cycle his father went through?

It just tragically mirrors the struggle he’s always had - trying to find his own identity outside the legacy of John Marston, and the violence that came with it. But he's being pulled back in, no matter what he chooses.

He was never made for the violence that shaped his parents' life.

[hragon]

please read Divine Rivals

[ai-manre]

Wha-what now??? WHAT???! This is extremely stupid, why would Lyanna ask for that when her joining with Rhaegar has already fulfilled that pact? And why only first born daughter and not any daughter (hint Jon would always choose Arya). And why would such a stupid premise even exist.

Sorry but Jon*Sansa shippers have the absolute worst theories and takes.

[saywhatyouwillbut]

what’s so hilarious about min ho and kitty is that he convinces himself she’s obsessed with him, meanwhile she literally could not give less of a fuck until he confesses his love for her on a plane

[catscidr]

dottore lowkey teaches u how to dissect a dead body to preserve and sell study the organs but make it romantic and weird and im tired cw; gn!reader, descriptions of blood and organs, tension, confession? sorta

His hand is atop your dominant one while your fingers hold onto your scalpel tightly, making sure your grip is steady and precise. Slowly drawing incision after incision, you watch blood seep out of the cuts you make. The flow of it is so slow and serene it nearly brings you peace, as you observe it slide across the corpse’s skin silently.

(plus, you’re doing a decent job cutting it up since there are no surprise blood geysers, so the slow trickle of blood almost counts as a reward for your good work.)

It trickles down the dips and indents of the body, leaving a faint trail of crimson down, down, down until it reaches the cold vivisection table. You watch it form a small pool of ichor, and only when Dottore hums a soft, low 'focus' do your eyes snap back to the cadaver’s torso, where your blade rests.

After you lift the scalpel away from the skin, he slides a swift hand beneath the cut to push the flesh and sinew aside, bearing organs to the cold air of the operation room.

Watching him work so fast and casually after taking the time to teach you how to do something as simple as cutting skin makes your body run warmer than it should when faced with such a gruesome sight. His bloodied hands gently pry the scalpel from your hands, and you do nothing but observe as he works.

Slicing, pulling, prodding, tearing. You subconsciously lean over further, eyes focused on the way his hands and fingers pry apart the deceased’s organs from one another. If you didn’t have a problem disrespecting the dead, you would say that the Harbinger was doing so almost elegantly.

The previously empty metal platter fills with what looks like bloody chunks of meat as Dottore places each organ in it one by one, hollowing out the upper body. The incision might have been a pinch too small, you think, because you notice some streaks of blood that had already oxidized on the bare skin of his forearms from where he had to reach under the skin to take… whatever it was he grabbed.

You weren’t really paying attention to the organs anymore.

You’re pulled out of your musings when Dottore snaps his fingers to grab your attention. Looking up at him for the first time in what felt like hours, you spot a twinkle of amusement in his carmine gaze.

“Apologies, but I’ve called your name twice and you didn’t react. Is something on your mind?” You blink, swallowing down the embarrassment from catching you red-handed, daydreaming about him—not that he knows that’s what you were thinking about, anyways.

...well, maybe he does.

“No, sir. I was just studying your, um... technique," you cough. "Did you need me to do something?” You feel sweat bead at your temple, nervous that he could somehow see your thoughts.

He nods, the corners of his lips curling up into the faintest smile. “Yes, actually.” Turning his back to you, he shields your sight from the carcass on the table. “Hold your hands out, palms facing up and close your eyes.”

Setting hesitancy aside you follow his instructions, keeping your eyes firmly shut. Now unable to rely on your sight, your ears pick up on the tiniest of noises; you hear the sound of a particularly obscene squelch, followed by a quiet, seemingly irritated hum.

You hear the sound of clothes shuffling mixed with a similarly grotesque, squelch-y noise; as soon as the room fills with silence again, warmth spreads across your palms. You bite back the urge to open your eyes to take a peek. Dottore watches your face carefully, examining every twitch and shiver of your skin with rapt attention.

"You can look now," he hums, a smile hiding beneath his tone.

...Your eyelids suddenly feel super glued shut. Pushing through the nerves, you crack your eyes open, gaze immediately focusing on Dottore's face. He scoffs, amused at your sudden demure change in demeanor and glances down at your hands in silent encouragement.

Slowly peering down, your eyes widen as you gawk at the fresh, large organ in your hands, staining your disposable azure gloves a deep scarlet. You're almost unsure of what you're even looking at—all previous anatomical knowledge having flown right out of the window the second your eyes fell on the wet, goopy mess in your hands.

There are no arteries jutting out from the organ, so a heart is out of the question; it was too big to be one, anyways. It can't be the pancreas either, so maybe a stomach? Or—

"Good thing this isn't an evaluation, huh?" Your gaze snaps upwards to the sound of the Harbinger's mocking but light tone, shoulders squaring in pathetic defense. "You're putting me on the spot," you huff indignantly.

(Thank the Archons the only light in the room was the obnoxious overhead light above the table so the fine changes of your features can go unnoticed.)

Taking a step forward, Dottore swiftly invades your personal space as he brings his hands up to cup your own, not unlike how he held your hands a while ago to guide them. He looks down, and your gaze follow his, hand in hand.

You imagine a pulse. Blood flowing through, hundreds, billions, trillions of cells traversing lobes and segments—imagine that it's part your own body in the palm of your hands, held together by the man before you.

(The horrible, irredeemable man before you. Standing, observing, waiting oh so patiently. And he would wait an eternity if need be, for you have been safe from his hand the moment he shared a part of his humanity with you.)

Ridding your throat of the lump that had formed, you crack a nervous smile. "Is this supposed to be a test, or are you trying to be romantic?"

Returning a ghost of a smile, Dottore raises a brow. "Do you really think this is how I flirt?" he asks with uncharacteristic softness. Bloody, gloved fingers trace mindless patterns along your hand, and goosebumps bloom beneath your skin.

"The liver is often thought of as the source of one's passion," he murmurs. "It is also said to be the seat of life and the soul. While I can't prove nor disprove these claims using scientific research, I have come to understand why people view it as such."

Your hands feel slimy even with the latex barrier between your skin and the large liver in your palms, but with this discomfort comes elation.

"It only took me losing my own to comprehend," he continues quietly. You feel his breath grazing your forehead—it makes you itch and burn with the urge to look up, but you abstain yourself.

Dottore's hands slide up, cupping the sides of the organ, containing it solely to your hold. Long ago had his sights left the mound to gaze at your features. Looking at you wasn't all that dissimilar, after all.

(Thinking hard on his words, you want to ask him to teach you how to give him a liver of your own, next time.)

[varilien]

song: leni by crystal castles vs goodbooks

REALLY need to get back into doing some editing every now and then so here's a lil thing inspired by animation memes i saw on instagram back in college hehe

Palestine: Funds | Action | eSims | Info Sudan Resources | Congo Resources | Lebanese Red Cross

tried to keep the whole process pretty quick and dirty including the boards, i'm p happy w them considering i pulled them all off in like 2 sittings :3 edit: also added my notes for what each board is supposed to be for! cuz i didn't know if it was obvious w some of them teehee

happy in love, possessed by bill

after fiddleford leaves, inter-dimensional crime spree going badly

just settled into gravity falls, just returned through the portal

bill messing with his head, turned to gold during weirdmageddon

[baravaggio]

i’m serious i need to go to the museum and stand 18 inches from a rothko…..

[kaiserin-erzsebet]

The thing about the whole "what if people read YA instead of classics in their free time?" discourse that I find a bit frustrating is that cordoning classics off to "things you read for class" makes them less enjoyable.

I promise you that so many classics are more fun when you're reading on your own time and don't have the pressure to answer questions in class or write an essay at the end. You can just read the story as a story and engage with it how you like. You can't get a bad grade during free time reading.

I hope that seeing what happened with Dracula when it was presented as an email newsletter rather than Assigned Reading demonstrates that.

[youvebeengalindafied]

“I don’t know that I understand them, I read them as poetry.”

Goddamn, I love book Elphaba so much. It’s been fifteen years since I first read this book, and the Emerald City chapters are still everything to me.

[anirritant]

like man the parallels between stan and bill are so so so so so fascinating to me ough...... the most obvious thing is that they speak so similarly, often using the same terms and i can't help but wonder how intentional it all was on the part of the writers. biggest one being "eenie meenie miney you" to me, it's so specific.

it could simply be bill picking up stan's mannerisms through ford's memories to further appeal to ford (is that canon somewhere? i don't actually know but i see it mentioned a lot) but some of these are things bill still says and does even when ford is absent. for a being that's lived for trillions of years would terms he picked up only a couple decades ago cement themselves in his behaviour so much?

(also, has anyone ever brought up dreamscaperers' deleted scenes where bill summons a paddleball in the mindscape? stan does the same thing in his own mindscape in the finale. again, that's so specific i can't help but wonder how intentional it was or if it was just a coincidence. i know deleted scenes might not be the best to point to as evidence but i think i've only ever seen someone allude to in one fic and nowhere else?)

i havent read tbob and haven't really kept up much with the new info from it but i have seen the poem about stan and gosh like. it really does seem like it's being consistently hinted at over and over that there's something there with specifically bill and stan. the axolotl's poem was already eyebrow raising with how much of it could be applied to stan and now there's even more..

[karamazovposting]

Dostoevsky never mentioned it but I just know Ivan was chain smoking through that whole shitshow

[july-19th-club]

the bright sword is a book about how even in the highest of all fairytales there was always something higher and more glorious that came before and is just out of reach . which is SO, so very arthuriana, a story about all the many ways in which the golden age is over before it begins, in which the crowning of a king is the cause of his dying