I finally done with them :3

ellievsbear

izzy's playlists!
official daine visual archive
noise dept.

gracie abrams
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

#extradirty
The Stonewall Inn
NASA
Claire Keane
untitled
Monterey Bay Aquarium

if i look back, i am lost
Mike Driver

@theartofmadeline

No title available
almost home
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
trying on a metaphor

pixel skylines
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Poland

seen from Singapore

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States

seen from Singapore

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from Germany
seen from Spain

seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Bangladesh
@hatopond
I finally done with them :3
Headphones on, Dave Strider leaves his apartment and walks two blocks to the subway station.
Taking off work for your birthday is pointless if you have no one to spend it with. Honestly, with little to do but sit around and think about the lack of plans you have, it might even be counterproductive. Word of advice: don’t let it slip to your cool coworker that the Once-a-Year Reincarnation-Celebration is coming around. He’ll tell your cool boss and you’ll be stuck alone on the dreaded day. There’s a reason those cardboard party hats are cone-shaped like dunce caps. Birthdays are a chance to look back on past decisions and inevitably shy away from attention out of shame. Memories rewind like VHS tapes: spotty with missing chunks and way too fast to catch the full context of each visual.
For Dave Strider, it’s physical torture. Seriously: ship him off to Guantanamo because waterboarding would be more bearable. In Dave Strider’s memory, there are obstacles he did not face, faces he cannot place, and places he cannot name. The timeline stops at thirteen.
A train rushes by. It’s the E train. He needs F.
Being a thirteen-year-old god with the world in your hands is preferable to being a twenty-six-year-old man with empty hands and a full heart, he thinks. How convenient it would be to realize the past and future with full ontological certainty. Sometimes he zones out on the subway and the cold, lifeless railing begins to feel like a warm hand. He’s looking the end of the world straight in the eye until the conductor calls out his stop and he grips tighter, trying not to let reality go.
New York City in December is cold and wet.
He’s stopping at the museum. In this lifetime, Dave is broke yet still well-traveled. History museums are a constant and therefore a source of comfort. The fact that humanity’s greatest wonders invoke feelings of familiarity makes him feel a little bit immortal, a little bit invincible. It’s almost like an artist stepping back to admire his own work. Soft female forms cut from marble statues decorate the halls accompanied by paintings of impossible detail.
There is one statue in particular. It haunts him.
She is definitely not Roman or Greek. Perhaps she is Egyptian- the way her hair is cut into a blunt bob, eyes furrowed and harsh-lined, almost as if she is wearing eyeliner. Though, the clothes she wears are untraditional. He has seen the artifacts of Italy and Greece; China and Japan; Russia, Turkey, and even South Sudan, but it doesn’t take a scholar to determine that long sleeves and tights were not worn in such harsh deserts. Usually, she is stone-faced in both literal and figurative senses, but this time she sees him and smiles, softly.
“Hey,” he says, approaching with trepidation.
“Hello,” she replies. Her body does not move and neither do her eyes. They never have. It creeps him out a little, the way she stares into the wall. It’s like she is watching something far more important and entirely otherworldly. He has tried to ask for a name or a country of origin. She continues to stare.
He has so many questions.
He clears his throat and tries, “I’m Dave…”
She stares.
Fuck the decorum. He places his palm on her lower stomach. A mysterious sun-shaped symbol lies under his touch. Unheard of in every history book he has read. The lips of the statue are lifelike, despite their cold stiffness. He steps up onto the platform moving his shaking hand to her waist. He’s taller than her and can catch a glimpse of the top of her head. There is a headband there. He’s inches away from it now.
“What’s your name?”
Her eyes dart down. He jumps and raises an eyebrow. She mimicks him: a challenge, gazing further into his eyes with the same determined look she gave to the wall. The statue opens her mouth. He prepares himself for the answer. He has so many questions, like why a tooth that has punctured summer gooseberries of the Caucasus tastes the sweetest when biting the lip of its darling. Or why out of every place in the world this room is where he feels most at home. Where are the others? What others?
Dave awakes before she can finish, too tired to fall back asleep.
I like this daverose novel. beautiful.
great daverose fanfic
The universe likes to repeat itself, to try the same song over and over but in a different key each time. A serenade to existence that never changes its score, and somehow is brand new every time it begins again.
He comes back pale as snow, she comes back dark as night- they swap the next time around. They come back every shade in between the two, and sometimes in greys, rainbow blood flowing through them and bright orange horns atop their heads.
They grow up together, crammed into an apartment with a man who loves neither of them, pushes both of them, to be better, stronger, faster, too quick to the draw to be killed by an inevitable doomsday rushing towards them- in that world they’re scarred and scared and never admit it, keeping the truth of things from even themselves, tangled up in beds they don’t need to share and dreading the next time something creaks outside their door, only trusting each other and even then hardly breathing a sincere word to one another-
They grow up together, again, spaced out in a house that has too many doors and too few people, cold but not uncared for, alone but not isolated, acting out and acting like kids, while their guardian drinks herself into oblivion, too scared to look at their faces directly and know the day the world ends is coming for them all too soon- in that world they’re together, they talk, they share, but there remains a barrier, a miscommunication, no one ever taught them how to be open, to be honest-
They meet when they’re adults, when they’re on the way to success, dressed in finery and fought for riches, a director and writer sizing each other up, questioning each other’s merit in their field, trading barbs and probes and tipping their glasses to one another in the end- in that world they know the end is coming, they know they’re going to fail, but they fight and they struggle and they try to warp the set future of time with weapons and strength that isn’t even half a god’s power, and they fail and fall and fall in love as they do-
They’re neighbors, and he hides from her, he wants after her, and she’s intrigued by him, interested in his secrets, his mind and skills and dumb hobbies, her blood placing her so far above the lowblood foolish enough to build a hive so close to the sea border and yet she wants him- in that world she is brutal and terrifying and will outlive him by centuries, and he’s resistant, afraid, he’s a mutant freak and knows he’s going to die before he manages to leave more than half a mark on the world, and their hands join more than once, they hold on as long as they can, and when the day comes and the drones are set on him, she bares her fangs and needles and roars in the face of the empire for trying to take what is hers and only hers-
They’re raised apart, she in an isolated house that is filled with love that never connects, cold and alone and pretending she’s not, and he in a city that burns, that blisters, trapped in a cage that is riddled with tracks from restless pacing, unloved and not sure why, never understanding why he doesn’t measure up- in that world they ascend, they rise above it, they’re children thrust into battle and turned into tools for the universe’s continuation, the next step, and they burn together on a suicide mission, a one way trip that they knew might not work but were willing to do it anyway, hands clasped together as everything bleeds searing green and all they have left is their faith and barely hidden love-
They win the game, they grow up, they find people they love and who love them and they get to see a future that’s bright and good and are given everything they wanted. They’re gods and eternal and happy, but the universe treks on, and nothing is forever-
Reset.
The universe starts again.
They’re born, and grow, and they find each other again.
They always do.
And so repeats the melody.
wonderful daverose fanfic.
Beautiful day to remember Dave and rose were willing to die together, how they earnestly try to save the other-- Dave desperate, rose manipulative and lying, neither willing to be in alive when the other was dead, and that the first thing Dave did when he woke up was rush to her side without a second though. Either one of them dying was never an option. Dying was sweeter than living without the other, no questions asked
And we could call the conveniently placed godtier beds a plot device, or we could call their love so pure and so eternal and so obvious that the game itself knew that one wouldn't be there without the other, holding hands as they faced death, gazing at each other one last time, reemerging together like phoenixes, like. yeah.
beautiful daverose fanfic
cute damirae fanfic.
Happy Anniversary byDoomBeThyName
I love this story. fluff&cute!
piggybacking off the other asker your blog has made me realize i like coils/snakey stuff a LOT more than i thought. like woah.
tHIS is my mission in life heres some snirk action for u anon, mwah ~
Illustration from the book 鉄腕アトム サーカスのまき (Astro Boy: The Circus) by Tezuka Productions
cool astro boy action!
GO GET THEM BOY!
cool official strilondes song.
this song is cool. I like how they both have cool expressions but look like they're having fun.
I read osamu tezuka's early works "the romance lsland".
I read Osamu Tezuka's early work, "Romance Island."
It's a single volume drawn in 1946, predating "New Treasure Island,"(新宝島) and was shelved because light ink was impossible to print at the time.
If you look closely at the island on the cover, you can see that it's shaped like a butterfly.
I think it's a work filled with the sensei's love for insects.
happy birthday tim drake!
July 19th is Tim Drake's birthday. Happy birthday!
I love Tim as Robin in his debut film, "A Lonely Place of Dying," when he resolves to rebuild Batman after Jason's death.
"Ever since that night at the circus, when he emerged from the darkness and took Dick in… Batman and Robin have been my life…"
"I know them both well. I know that Dick became Nightwing, and that Jason became Robin and lost his life."
"I never intended for this to happen, especially since Robin was gone and Batman changed."
"But I want Batman and Robin to return to their original selves. If Dick won't become Robin… …Someone has to do it!"
I also like Red Robin; he's so cool.
they share a single braincell
whered your glasses go
新人類フームーン 1957
illustration:OSAMU TEZUKA
手塚治虫表紙絵集より
#OSAMU TEZUKA #手塚治虫
Will you ever make a daverose playlist / have you ever made one?
ive made a few private ones but just because you asked i made one, i also made a listening guide for it (because im really extra) its angsty and sweet
the playlist in question (make sure its not on shuffle its a directed experience) if the embed doesnt work its here
and then i made one on soundcloud thats less directed and more just vibes i think about them with here
7/16 is "rainbow" day.
July 16th is "Seven Colors(rainbow) Day" in Japanese, a play on words. Speaking of seven colors(七色の日), there's Osamu Tezuka's "rainbow Parakeet."
I was particularly impressed by the glimpses into human nature through theater, the budding romance between the parrot and Detective Senri, and the adorable dog Tamasaburo, who was his partner.
I like the second image, the cover illustration from the first episode of "Hamlet," where Inko, who had perfectly completed the rehearsal, is flustered by the appearance of Detective Senri.