#sorry for the imagery

[papenathys]

Meg, Jo, Beth and Amy being the original quartet of coquette / dark academia / cottagecore / light academia aesthetics will never not be funny to me. Like I know they would each have insane Tumblr game. Meanwhile, Laurie would be haunting the old money-Greek classics-Iliad yaoi tags and posting bait photography in thrifted sweaters, corduroy pants and black nail polish captioned "how I look with she/they pronouns in bio"

[ohmypawsandwhiskers]

My goal for today is to catch up on reading the recommended ask fics and catch up on the updated story from killerpillar

And maybe post chapter two of odam here on Tumblr and write chapter 8, but grief brain is a bag of dicks you don't know if it's a good one or a crusty unwashed one

[areyouscaredyet]

im not particularly religious but i think it’s very cute that Trans Day of Visibility and Easter are on the same day this year :)

its no question that something like this could be triggering or upsetting to a number of queer ppl given the current sociopolitical climate, so i want everyone to remember that u are loved! Regardless of what u or others believe, there are ppl who will love and support you always. Give yourself patience and treat yourself with care!!!

happy and peaceful TDOV everyone!! And Easter to those who celebrate :D

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Stanley wasn't sure if he was supposed to be dead. He wasn't all too sure if he was supposed to be alive, either.

He was... somewhere. He didn't know where exactly, but it didn't matter. Nothing really seemed to matter all that much in this strange place. Compared to the unfathomable expanse of nothingness that surrounded him, everything else practically paled in comparison. Still, Stanley felt as though this all-consuming abyss that kept him prisoner within its dark maw deserved a name; at the very least, a title. Yet, it didn't feel right to call this place anything. Death too egregious, and Life too extroadinary; either terms felt far too extreme to his liking. There was nothing particularly hideous nor amazing about where he was. He was simply somewhere in-between.

For as long as he could remember, Stanley's world was just that. This somewhere; this in-between of not quite Death and not quite Life. This empty, greedy abyss that seemed to swallow him whole, stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. There was no sky, no ground, no anything; only the daunting dakness engulfing his every senses and leaving him horribly, hopelessly blank.

That wasn't all there was to it, however. This... somewhere, it was more than just a lifeless void.

Stanley wasn't sure if he could find the right words to properly describe it. He didn't think he could ever come to fully understand the feeling himself, but. Somehow, the abyss felt... hungry. Unimaginably, insatiably, and unbearably hungry.

The hunger seemed to eat away at Stanley, tearing off pieces of him chunk by chunk, piece by piece. With every blink, another part of himself seemed to disappear into the ravenous darkness around him. The void never took much at once, only pieces; nigh imperceptible impossibly tiny crumbs of what made him- so little that they should have hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. But Stanley noticed. He noticed every particle, every atom that was taken away from him by this greedy hunger. The darkness was eating him; digesting him.

It was as though hunger was all that mattered in this somewhere, this stomach; the world itself a single immense digestive system. He could practically feel the void's biting hunger pangs reverberate through his bones. It was so hungry, so hungry.

The dark ate him slowly, ripping him apart from inside out and outside in. It took his flesh first; stealing away the muscles and fat beneath the skin, leaving behind nothing but meager skin stretched over bone. Sometimes, not even his bones were given the luxury of being spared, and he would find himself with an odd dip in his side where the abyss had taken a rib or two; or with half his face lopsidedly sagging into a limp mess with no muscles, fat, nor eye socket to properly hold up the skin of his face onto his skull.

The hunger took without mercy, without order nor preference. It ate anything, everything, as long it helped abate the forever stabbing, starving desperation that painfully twisted and tore at its non-existent stomach. It never really was satisfied.

It got worse when it started eating his memories.

Stanley despised the thought of losing more of himself than simply his physical body to this greedy void. However, what terrified him far more than the notion that this insatiable hunger could breach even his mind, was the fact that he couldn't remember which memories it took.

Stanley couldn't remember much; before the darkness; before the endless hunger. He liked to imagine, though, of what he could have been before. He'd probably had a warm home, warmer than the cold, cold abyss. He'd probably had a loving family. Probably. He couldn't remember.

Everything turned unsure when his own mind started failing on him. Stanley tried to cling to what little he knew. He had his name held tight in his iron clad grip, repeating it to himself like a mantra. He would try and keep track of time, but it was all in vain. Time didn't seem to matter in the face of hunger. Perhaps it had been years since Stanley's arrival; hundred, maybe even thousands. Or, perhaps it had only been a few days, weeks, months. Stan once had a fleeting, terrifying thought that maybe Time too was already victim to the darkness' insatiable hunger.

However, as much as Stan could forget his past, his identity, and life, perhaps the most tragic loss to him greater than anything else was the memory of Him.

He was important to Stanley. He couldn't remember why, but he was. There was nothing of Him left in his memories. No face, no name; not even why He mattered to him in the first place. All he knew was that the loss of Him had struck him with such profound heartache and sorrow that it had left him weeping helplessly for so long, unable to move and rooted in one spot for days, weeks, years. He couldn't remember how long.

Stan was only snapped out of his comatose stupor by His hand.

It was all that was left of Him, other than the knowledge of His past existence. It was warm, a glowing red hand that pulsed almost reassuringly within Stanley's own, its long six digits curled tightly and firmly around his hand, never once faltering in its grip. He couldn't remember a time when he didn't have it. He's had it clutched within his own cold, rough palms like a lifeline since forever; every step he took and every move he made done hand in hand with Him.

Desperately, frantically, he held onto His hand, never once letting it go. Losing the hand meant losing Him for good, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to cope with the consequences of that all alone.

However, ocasionally, even the the comforting presence of His hand was unable to keep his mind anchroed for too long, and Stanley would lose track of his memories. Plagued by odd laspes of utter emptiness, Stanley would suddenly forget. His own name, his face, everything he knew and remembered would slip withut warning between his fingers like sand; streaming down, down, down and getting lost in the gaping mouth of the void below him. He would wander aimlessly with no real destination in mind, simply roaming somwhere, anywhere.

He would come across all sorts of sights during these odd episodes of his. He'd crossed paths with hundreds upon thousands of partically decomposed remnants of once living, breathing organisms; All of them endeniably, for the lack of better words: dead. He'd walked past entire forests; enormous clusters of tall pine trees completely uprooted and floating in a massive mass of rotting leaves and half digested bark. He'd walked past countless animals, big and small, all in various stages of digestion. Animals always seemed to rot away faster than anything else, and Stanley wasn't so sure what that meant for him.

Once, Stan had somehow even found his way before the destroyed remains of a universe.

It was dead. There was no other way to describe the state it was in. He hadn't even known it was possible for entire universes to simply... die. Stolen away from its rightful place in the starry night sky.

The scene was everything he'd thought impossible to take place in this all-consuming abyss. It was extroadinary. A veritable bursting cacophany of light and heat. It was as though the universe's explosion had been paused at just the right moment, frozen in time at the very moment of its heat death. Its particles flickered, undulating softly and shifting ever so slightly like looking through a warped window. If Stanley stood still enough, and listened closely, he thought he could even hear the softest sound of the shattered screams of the broken remains of the universe ringing silently in the air. It was as ethereal as it was haunting.

The thought of the unimaginable power required to be able annihilate entire universes just like that... It scared Stan.

Stanley may not be sure of anything anymore, but as he watched the debris swirl gently in the blinding epicenter of the shattered universe from afar, he knew with a certainty that he didn't think he possessed anymore, that he did not belong here.

Part 1/2

[lunacias]

but we'll never be rid of each other

[sihbisu]

binge read reprogrammed n decoded by @littlecrittereli a few days ago :3

its very neat -u-

so made fanart :D

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 6 OF REPROGRAMMED

TW BLOOD, PANICKNG

(The blood part is brief with only a lil bit on the 1st page, there's nothing super graphic but just a lil heads up)

Please be safe <3

[crismakesstuff]

cast out of paradise

[wannabemasterofwindintraining]

You could be nicer about it :((

[foggysilverfeathers]

Fast, furious, unpredictable.

Like a wildcard

Like a meteor

Like a winner.

[tubbytarchia]

The bloodied moon cried for you, but you only heard the stars The weeping moon then bled for you, but you only saw her scars

[zlinkiez]

IM BACK BABY! Enjoy my unrealistic desire of Oscar returning and getting to meet Yorick </3

Crazy that there's technically four characters here lmfao.

[divorceblogger]

the loumand bench scene is a bdsm scene at its very essence and you’ve also got to appreciate the erotic/phallic imagery of lighting cigarettes in that and the ones that precede it. louis and armand light their cigarettes independently in their 2x02 murder mansion date because they’re not really intimate yet and are still appraising each other as potential sexual partners. the cafe scene in 2x03 where they’re smoking and discussing philosophies of evil is adapted from a passage in the book which says louis felt his mind was ‘deeply excited’ and ‘feritilised’ by his conversation with armand. when dreamstat attempts to light his cigarette in 2x04, louis blows out the candle because he’s specifically shutting him off from interfering in & insinuating himself into what is a very intimate moment between him and armand. later in the same episode, armand lighting both, his and louis’s cigarettes, coincides with them finally coming together to shape the future of their relationship after dithering and hesitating so much to articulate what they’re hoping to receive from one another (re: the conversation on whether they’re involved in a companionship in 2x03). armand lighting both their cigarettes also serves as the third and final act of submission that he performs in that scene (1: holding the umbrella, 2: calling him maitre), allowing them to finally settle into the dom/sub dynamic that dictates their sexual lifestyle going forward.

[hinamie]

binding vow

[decapod-appreciator]

canary in the coal mine?

[formulanni]

Power Play ⚓️

Tag list: @st-leclerc @rubywingsracing @saviour-of-lord @three-days-time @the-wall-is-my-goal @albonoooo @ch3rubd0lls @brawngp2009 @korolrezni-nikolai @d00dlespng

[cassowariess]

I know the writers gave Nacho's character huge amounts of iconography and symbolism, and the flower is the one that's mentioned/referenced the most, but my favourite has to be this shot in which the "halo" doesn't quite reach his head.

Like yeah, he died a sacrificial lamb, a martyr and a twisted christ figure, but he'll never be a saint.