find myself in time.

❝ 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚒 𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆 ❞

[colorsdevoida]

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[   𝐚    𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡   𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭   𝐢𝐬  𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬   𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒     𝐡𝐢𝐬  𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞  ,   𝐨𝐫    𝑏𝑒𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑑   𝐢𝐭   ]

" when   i   say  be  creative,   i  don’t  mean  that  you   should  all   go   and   become  great   painters   and  great   poets.   i   simply   mean   let   your  life  be  a  painting,   let  your  life  be  a  poem.   "

A STUDY IN: learning to cope with trauma, fear of oneself, exploring misery through epics, the struggles of finding your voice, overcoming anger and sorrow, relief in the afterlife, darkness overtaking you, and unhealthy vices. ── original muse, based primarily in american horror story hotel, thomas mackenzie brooks, as woven by genesis. he/him pst, 21+

carrd. (new one in progress) ── also at: @applesdrowned + @edgedglory + @auragifted + @daisiescovered + @arrivaldead + @haitipsychic

affiliates: @sylkshe && @hidesinhiswork

[colorsdevoida]

THIS BLOG IS NOW AN ARCHIVE !!!! FOLLOW ME @colorsdevoid <3

[colorsdevoida]

THIS BLOG IS NOW AN ARCHIVE !!!! FOLLOW ME @colorsdevoid <3

[colorsdevoida]

not open yet but new blog is here.

[colorsdevoida]

this blog is a mess.... gonna work on moving it next week.

[geryone]

The Shared World, Vievee Francis

[joprompts]

CYRANO (2021) LYRIC SENTENCE STARTERS.

lyric starters from the movie. adjust as necessary.

what does it feel like? 

i need something to die for. 

i have no doubt.

it’s something like happiness.

just tell me what to do.

i need more.

have you ever loved someone madly?

i won’t be ashamed. 

please come to me.

i know who you are and i know you are loved.

tell me your secrets.

who are you in private?

i made a list.

you know what to say.

i try, but i can’t.

tell me that nothing makes sense but the sound of my voice in your head.

words are only glass on a string.

i feel like I’ve been too long with my thoughts anyway.

i’ll never forget it.

what is it you’re so afraid of losing?

when i was born, the nurses laughed hysterically.

when you can’t sleep , tell me how you survive it. 

how could you possibly remember that?

have you ever wanted something so badly you cannot breathe?

all i do well is kill.

would you give me yourself or turn and run?

every time i see you i am overcome.

everything’s there in your name.

i always only think of you by myself.

i nearly lose my vision.

why didn’t you say anything?

i’m right here, love.

i buried that man with my very own hands.

every word is like your kindest touch.

what i’d do to have thе one thing that you have.

i feel the same.

i’m nobody’s pet. 

i’m nobody’s pet. no one’s wife. no one’s woman.

the trials of the rеal world are what matter.

what am i supposed to say?

i’ve heard that line before.

even the sky looks like it’s behind glass.

every letter makes me lose my reason.

i won’t play that game. 

i have nowhere to go.

just talk to me like you do in your songs.

don’t you dare tell me you love me.

what do you do when you’re always waiting to find love at first sight? 

i learned to control my tears.

i’m alone.

i’m tired of yearning.

my first sight of you was my first heart attack.

i can’t resist and i don’t want to fight.

i’ve cornered myself in the loneliest place.

i’ve tried to look away, but i can’t resist.

the ink on the paper makes me nervous.

words can only get me so far.

she’s all i can think about.

i try to tell you.

i won’t let you lose me now that you’ve found me.

they cannot describe the way that it hurts.

i told her mother.

i barely knew that girl at all. 

if i’m naive why does all the poetry say that i might? 

i promised i’d be home all right. 

tell them not to cry at all.

halloween’s my favorite holiday.

i’ve held my breath since i saw her.

i’ve kept everything.

nothing’s even. nothing’s fair.

i can’t resist and i don’t want to fight.

i deserve a happy life.

no.

i can’t live without her.

i think i love her.

i have heard songs that say love conquers everything.

my heart has been burning.

i don’t let you go.

you just have to claim it.  

can’t you see i’m much more than you think?

am i asking for too much?

i deserve a little kindness.

i can still hear them joking.

they’d never seen anything quite like me, apparently

the way i feel is like falling stars.

these words are the truth.

i have no fear.

i’ll swallow my pride.

i don’t know.

i have them hell.

i deserve my due respect. 

you look at me with the kindest eyes.

i’d give anything for someone to say all the words i don’t have and i can’t put together.

i’ll swallow my pride and ask you to stay. 

i see you.

he isn’t well. 

why should i have to beg for what everybody wants?

i read to mysеlf until i go blind.

every morning i’m overcome.

love’s a painful, painful game.

[latibule-e-deactivated20231012]

— Kim Visda, from “For Lack Of A Better Poem.”

[colorsdevoida]

can i interest you in my lastest venture. 👀 @burnshope

[tylerposey]

Would you just take the yes?

[colorsdevoida]

your character's aesthetics as the five senses.

sight: small towns. big cities. six thirty curfews. lights that take the place of stars. blanket nests. light through the blinds as a wake up call. found family. finding a single star in the middle of new york city. window shopping. watching something terrible and enjoying it. growing numb to the sight of injustice. wilted flowers. faded caricatures. bright, bold colors.

sound: crickets and lightning bugs. car engines and ac units. a phone call to mom or dad. laughing with friends. jokes that are so bad you have to laugh. the clicking of computer keys. noise cancelling headphones. deafening gunfire. the sound of silence. muffled music from another room. drumming fingertips on a table. clicking of pens. listening to a clock and swearing the ticks are getting slower. ringing in the ears. the voice of someone you love. pitch shifted songs.

touch: being held close during a long night. fleeting reassurances. holding hands when you’re scared. brushing fingers through strands of hair. freshly dried clothes. bruises on your knuckles. silk and satin. your favorite pet’s fur or feather. wringing your hands anxiously. snuggles. comforters in the dead of winter. nails against skin. cold metal. leather in summer.

taste: coffee in the morning. tea in the evening. bubblegum that has lost its flavor. alcohol burning the back of your throat. homemade cooking. blood in your mouth. stale air. mint. fresh vegetables. the processed taste of citrus candy. the first meal you cook by yourself that tastes good. foreign sweets. fast food. bittersweet. sour. spicy. sweet. bitter. too much salt on fries.

scent: morning glories and honeysuckles. freshly cut grass. hot chocolate in the middle of winter. nail polish. hospital rooms. smoke. hair spray. your favorite shampoo and conditioner. the scent of home. perfume. cologne. mint. something burning. wet dogs. copper. metal. leather. un-emptied ashtrays. something familiar yet different. campfires.

[colorsdevoida]

langdhon. / michael langdon

What started out as Michael embodying some kind of karma for the murderous journalist, who usually sits on the other end of such interrogations, well, takes an unexpected turn. Not by any means reversing the roles, though. It’s the deep dive into a long dead boy and his conflict with the ignorant world he was trapped within. A boy Michael partially relates to, if not for the same ‘defect’. Unbothered by the exhaled smoke flitting around his frame, now as before, he gleans those sorrowful eyes through Thomas’ glasses. And awaiting some earth-shattering revelation, his own countenance turns blank when the grey ghost ultimately spills his answer. Vague, yet clear enough. That’s it?

❛ So ❜, a twitch to his shoulders only implies an unimpressed shrug. It isn’t a big deal, not to him.  ❛ You’re gay. ❜  It’s sad actually, how families ruin the lives of their children over emotions that really shouldn’t change a damn thing. In no second averting his gaze from Thomas, Michael cants his head minimally to one side and again, albeit slowly, another smile tugs at his lips. None conveying amusement or malice of any kind, but sympathy. His clasped hands part for one of them to reach out. Bringing his warm fingertips to the ghost’s chin to plant them on its underside, he aims to inch Thomas’ head up in a silent demand to look at him.

❛ Those who preach love are the most hateful fuckers out there. You are. Not. Defective. ❜  If the ghost lets him, he idly brushes the pad of his thumb along the curve of his chin, the crease to his own brows betraying his own resentment for all the hypocrites that soon enough are going to get wiped off the face of the earth.  ❛ I won’t lie, pests like them still exist. But I daresay the world has become a more accepting place. ❜  Michael doesn’t feel the need to get under Thomas’ skin anymore. Tormented him enough at this point. Instead, he’d love to unleash the unfairly chained down boy’s vengeance upon the deserving masses. And by grant him the opportunity to live a little.

❛ Do you want to be free? I can arrange that. We walk out of this hotel and you see for yourself how everything changed. ❜  Of course, there’s a catch. Michael isn’t a selfless creature — but that’s for later

" you're gay. " the sentence resounds in the spirits ears. it was out in the open now, it was word for word stated for any that listened to hear. there was nothing to ever hide anymore. they both hear it , & the grey ghost can feel thoma's inner panic from inside his head but he ignores it for now. fingers do twitch ever so slightly still as the cigarette once again makes it's way into the grey ghosts mouth. ❝ that's what i said.   ❞

hand drops to the side slowly , but not without shock , as he finds his chin grabbed in the other mans hold. cigarette hangs from his finger tips , smoke collecting at his feet. & with how loud the pounding in his empty chest cavity is , the sizzle of the flame is a mere pin drop. ❝ it's all i have ever known.   ❞ tom bleeds through with the meek , almost sad words. he quickly vanishes however when grey puts up a fight. ❝ enough.   ❞ he doesn't intend to shout. ❝ he is getting restless   ❞ words are quieter & more clipped.

freedom ? & a more understanding world. tom never dared to dream such a thing. he was content to his his own shadows , fighting his own demons by his lonesome. that's why his anger was locked away , he wouldn't let it control him. but now that he is dead , his years of resentment is finally given life. if he leaves ? , he might lose the one thing protecting him now. ❝ i can leave ?  ❞ he questions , vulnerability how shown in his eyes , ❝ how ..... why ? why do you want to help me ?  ❞

@langdhon continued from x

[hidesinhisarchived]

@colorsdevoid asked: [COLOUR | 🙈] hehehe

the newly former filmmaker trembles where he sits as he watches cops bustle around his hotel room, going through his things, and talking amongst themselves. a few of them even laugh at some crude joke that the one who seems to be in charge makes, not caring that his body was still lying in the hallway where he'd fallen after being attacked. none of them seem to care that he was still somewhat warm, lying in a puddle of his own blood while the crime scene crew hovers around it. this was just another day for them, another gay man dead, another grisly visit to the cortez. nothing that they haven't seen before.

he brings his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs in an attempt to self soothe. mark was apparently dead, but not gone. somehow, he remained stuck on this plane of existence, bound to the hotel that he'd lost his life in. there was no hope of seeing his grandparents again. no hope of seeing roger again. no hope of seeing collins. no mimi or angel or anyone else he'd ever known who had been taken from him. he bound to the very earth that had been so cruel to him throughout his life.

a sudden nearby presence has mark glancing up from his spot on the floor. a man that he didn't recognize was in a chair and, it seems, he was bound to this hellscape the same as mark. the filmmaker starts to say something when their eyes meet and the entire world changes in an instant. color, brilliant beautiful color, instantly blossoms around them. his surroundings are now made of colors that mark could have never imagined and had long since given up hope of ever seeing.

instinctively and almost fearfully, mark scrambles away from the stranger, looking reminiscent of a terrified cat. he's unable to take his eyes off of the man who had caused this, noting that he himself was the only thing still colorless in this now technicolor world. "w-who are you?"

[colorsdevoida]

📘 ── thomas had long since lost hope of ever seeing color. his entire life , up to his death was shades of grey, white & black. & since he was dead , it was safe to assume he would never see it. but that didn't mean he didn't dream about it. the soulmate part of the equation was something a little more complicated. he was an outcast in his childhood , & in his teens , brainwashed to conform to societal norms. he was afraid of his sexuality , but more so , will i be good enough for him ?

it's thoughts like this that remained with him through the years. countless scenarios ran through tom's head , wondering just how it was supposed to happen. as the final years of his life came to pass , it was nothing but an after thought in the back of his head. & when he died , all there was left was his deep seated anger manifesting in the hotel. sometimes tom is unlucky enough to remember the terrible violence he caused when his "other half" became in control.

the amnesia has blessed him on this particular day. thomas wakes up in a corridor , blood on his hands. , & all over his shirt fuck. in a panic he runs from the scene , not wanting to run into the soul he just killed. tom has no reason to fear them , grey will protect him , but the anxiety is too much. instinct is to run to the nearest empty room to wash his hands , but then he hears someone down the hall.

there is a vacant chair behind a small alcove he could hide in. tom takes the seat & pulls his legs up , willing himself to disappear but before he can he meets a pair of eyes. & suddenly , his world is filled with color. pupils dilated , he's skittish as he drops his legs to the floor. his blood covered hands laying awkwardly in his lap. a once over around the room , taking it all in. the cortez is unfortunately very dull , but it is exciting all the same.

❝ i should be asking you the same thing.  ❞ finally finding his words. who was this mysterious stranger ? the mysterious handsome stranger at that.  ❝ thomas m. brooks , i would shake your hand but --   ❞ this was really shaping up to be a disaster.

@hidesinhiswork

[colorsdevoida]

this blog is so messy honestly.... i think i will have to move again.

[garlicdad]

I want a soft kind of love. A best friends kind of love. A "good morning baby, I'll make coffee and meet you in the shower" kind of love. I want lazy Sundays spent in bed and groggy Mondays getting ready for work side by side. I want the kind of love that makes you question if you ever felt love before. I want slow and steady and I want jumping headfirst into anything as long as we're together. The kind of love that feels like home and like a great adventure. I want that love.

[homeofahs]

if you have anything affiliated with ahs on your blog (be it a verse, a character if you're a multimuse, or you're overall an ahs blog) please reblog this post with the season your muse / verse is a part of, the name of your muse, and anything else you wish to add! within a week or so of you reblogging this post (assuming my own schedule isn't crazy), you should see your url updated on the masterlist page!

[starfleetist]