Feels Blind-Bikini Kill//Ginger Snaps//Violet-Hole//Jennifer’s Body//Mean-Nicole Dollanganger//Buffy the Vampire Slayer//Mean-Nicole Dollanganger//Carrie//Alligator Blood- Nicole Dollanganger
Misplaced Lens Cap
Xuebing Du
Three Goblin Art
Not today Justin

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

@theartofmadeline
dirt enthusiast
ojovivo

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we're not kids anymore.
art blog(derogatory)
TVSTRANGERTHINGS
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH

oozey mess
Claire Keane
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cherry valley forever

shark vs the universe
taylor price

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@mugenyurei
Feels Blind-Bikini Kill//Ginger Snaps//Violet-Hole//Jennifer’s Body//Mean-Nicole Dollanganger//Buffy the Vampire Slayer//Mean-Nicole Dollanganger//Carrie//Alligator Blood- Nicole Dollanganger
50 DEVELOPMENT QUESTIONS FOR FEMALE MUSES
note: please feel free to put in the tags if there are any of these you don’t want to be sent when you reblog. 1. does your muse like her name? has she ever thought of changing it/goes by a nickname? 2. did she have a ‘not like other girls’ phase? 3. for trans muses, what was a defining moment in her coming to terms with her gender identity? 4. has your muse ever struggled with their relationship to womanhood and femininity? 5. if your muse is a woman of color, how does her cultural and racial heritage impact her? are there gender based traditions she takes part in? 6. also for woc, are there aspects of how her gender intersects with her race that she struggles with? what parts of it are special to her? 7. for any female muses with a connection to their cultural heritage, what is something about that heritage and her gender that has always been important to her? 8. how is her relationship with her mother? 9. how is her relationship with her father? 10. if your muse is genderfluid, what aspects of womanhood do they find joy in? what aspects of it do they have difficulty with or don’t find identity in? 11. how are her relationships with other women? friendships/familial/romantic etc. 12. does she tend to surround herself with women or men more? is there a particular reason for one or the other? 13. tell me about an aspect of internalized misogyny she had to tackle unlearning. 14. has she ever faced harassment? 15. is she outspoken about equal rights and feminism? is she intersectional in her feminism? 16. if your muse is queer in any way, talk about how that impacts their view on womanhood? 17. what makes your muse feel the most comfortable in their gender identity? 18. was she raised in a progressive or sexist household? was it more neutral? 19. do they prefer to present themselves more masculine or feminine? 20. for wlw muses, when did they first realize their attraction to other women? did they struggle with this or accept it easily? 21. for wlw muses, did their family accept them when they came out? 22. for wlw muses, how does this impact their relationship to womanhood? 23. for trans muses what is their favorite aspect of being a woman? 24. for trans muses how do they like to present themselves? what gives them the most gender euphoria? 25. for queer women of color, how does their identity intersect with their racial heritage? are there experiences and aspects of it specific to that intersection you want to share? 26. for queer women with specific cultural ties, has it been a point of contention or celebration within their cultural identity? are there aspects of their queerness that intersect with their heritage? 27. is there a female role model in her life? 28. is there a female figure from history, or current times, she looks up to? 29. does she prefer to be perceived as cute or sexy? does she not want to be viewed on an attraction basis at all? 30. is there a hobby or interest that she was discouraged from pursuing because of her gender? did she continue anyway? 31. if she has a period, how does she tend to deal with it? 33. has the way she dressed ever been influenced by a male gaze, whether it’s trying to deflect OR appeal to it? 34. as a teenager, did she struggle with feeling competitive with other girls? were there ever instances of bullying she had to deal with? 35. how does your muse deal with sexism in the workplace? 36. does your muse tend to be confrontational? or do they try to appease and make peace. 37. how do they view motherhood? 38. do they ever overcompensate due to misogynistic stereotypes placed on them? what does this look like if so? 39. are they particularly attached to their womanhood? or do they feel more indifferent to it. have they ever struggled to relate to women around them? 40. if your muse is neurodivergent, how does this impact their relationship to gender and sexuality? 41. for neurodivergent muses, was their diagnosis delayed because of how they present? 42. for neurodivergent muses, are they self diagnosed or did they seek a medical opinion? if so, did they have to deal with misogyny from medical staff? 43. for neurodivergent muses, what aspects of womanhood do they identify with most? what aspects of traditional ideas of gender do they struggle to understand/relate to? 44. for neurodivergent muses, were they ever ridiculed for their behaviors because it wasn’t deemed “ladylike”? how did they respond? 45. for neurodivergent muses of color, how did these two aspects of their identity intersect? any experiences you want to share? 46. are there any female fictional characters she idolizes? 47. did she ever do something just because she was told a girl couldn’t do it? 48. what does her relationship with men look like? how does she view the current state of patriarchy in her time setting? 49. if your muse dates men, what is their process of vetting them? do they have a checklist of things to look for to decide whether or not they’re safe? any kind of tests or questions they use to make a judgement. 50. give me a headcanon that has to do with their identity, whether it’s gender, sexuality, race or a mix of it all!
The Seven Ages, ‘Saint Joan’ by Louise Glück
[ID: I kept being alive / when I should have been burning: / I was Joan, I was Lazarus.]
goregacha·:
Outside of his sanctuary, the world burns! His house is a casket, big bedrooms with plenty space for a boy growing out of his own skin. Sure is, she’s seen it before! The light that slinks between blinds is sullen gold, casting washed-out tiger stripes on the dusty carpet. When you’d sneak your hand between the slats and press the pads of your fingers to the glass, you feel the heat radiate through it. Summer has decayed, bloated by heat; bearable days slip through in places like exposed ribs. Stepping outside is like walking into a furnace; where skin prickles and contracts in the heat, and the cicadas drone in chorus as you close the door behind you. She’s reminded just now that the sky’s even a greasy, mottled shade of yellow, like an old bruise. Yeah, Light’s right, that house won’t last long – NOT WHEN KAGERU’S A BLISTER! That city of teeth gives off just enough wrongness to settle in between your shoulders later on, fermenting, like a mushroom. Growing.
Changing.
Grieving. She turns to look at the other, notes that Light’s expression is dropping into no-no territory on the mood meter: ultra, MEGA sad. At this, Nooni’s eyes gleam for a terrible instant. It repels the stifling darkness that threatens to blanket them both; and like a fairy in a forest, the strikingly bright glow emanating from her body shines to both guide and comfort.
“ I hear ya, ” She mutters, brushing off sugary residue. Candy wrappers scatter as they dance wildly through the trees, trusting that the wind navigates them elsewhere. Give us privacy for now. “ How’s about I raise you this, then: we go out tonight, we have fun. Lots of it. Get your mind off of the bad stuff, okay? Nooni’s got you !! ”
𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐋𝐈𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐃 𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐄𝐍 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄, it teems, boiling, bubbling, claiming everything and everyone. the world outside rots in violent shades of orange and decaying, dingy browns, but inside he’s all black and blue, frozen in time, cold as he slowly dissipates in his soft rigor mortis. it comes, unrelenting as it bursts at the seams and claims the corners of his world. it’s only a matter of time until he burns. only a matter of time until he sets himself aflame, until he’s one with the funeral pyre, the cicadas the only ones left to cry.
her candy wrappers dance through the sky like lights, fluttering and drifting away. the smell of sugar remains underneath the rust, the rotted wood, and the strong stench of gasoline. a bulb from the nearby shed dangles and flickers, illuminating sides of their faces as the wind blows it by. the heat festers and circles around them, clinging to their skin. light, looking to nooni again as she booms with her characteristically jolly voice, grins slightly and folds her arms, an interested expression replacing her once gloomy mood.
“-----what’s on nooni’s list for tonight?” she approaches with full eye contact, reaching just past nooni and grabbing a stray piece of candy to unwrap and toss in her own mouth. “i do like fun.”
in the real world, it didn’t matter if i was there or not. when i realized that, i was no longer afraid of losing my body.
It’s said that the line between one world & the next is a mirror, an undulating hum between absolute silence & irrevocable chaos. A shimmer, if you will, upon the reflections of being: a curious lapping at the shores of The Veil.
Something humans believe to be true, at least. The windows to the dead are never empty, after all. With each mantlepiece comes a token, a gift, a curse, a question; and on occasion- a body. As Ev stares into the muggy glass, encapsulating himself within the muggy confines of the bar-club’s bathroom, both hands are resting against either side of a cracked sink. With only ten more minutes left to his break he figured to confide in her narcotic presence, exhaling wires of smoke against this half-baked magic mirror.
“ You weren’t afraid because you had no choice but to die, Light.” He says, relaying a fact she already knew, regretting it to be true: love got her killed. Turned her into a husk; nothing short of god-given hope being a woman diminished into monochromatic shades of decay. “ Because of your brother’s selfishness, and that you have a heart bigger than hatred. ” You are a ghost of your mistakes, and for that..
“ I’ve decided to just.. fill in the blanks for you.”
> for @goregacha, in response to this
“𝐍𝐎, 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄,” light says as she picks herself up from her moment of weakness, not even a sniffle left behind or a shake in her voice, “there’s nothing to say.” no well wishes, no questions, no small talk between the walls. there’s nothing left. not of them, not of him. his world is far different than hers, far more intricate and horrendous than anyone else’s, and yet it comforts him, cradles him like the child he dearly wishes to return to, like the young boy of thirteen, unaware and unafraid. she couldn’t pry him away even if she tried, and she’s tried enough. done enough. his fate was in his hands all along.
“he just...something happened to him out there.” something unlike any other. a caged animal in his own home, a rabid beast in the mirror. a husk of whom she once called brother. she fears it’s a tale no one knows---not even him. “i think it’s best he and i stay like this. you know him.” she looks to nooni and her empire of sugar, watching as she devours it curiously and without a care in the world, their eyes meeting briefly from time to time. she betrays herself again, her deep set emotions showing along her face in a troubled expression.
“i’ve done enough to him.”
i actually dont wanna write on light anymore this was a mistake and i now have what they call clinical depression
“ you’ve done enough. ”
𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐘 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒, 𝐈 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐆𝐎𝐃. in the soft, sweet shadow of unreality, it’s me, my hands on the steering wheel, denying him the control and rolling headfirst into the lake. she is filled to the brim with a sorrow so deep it permeates from her very being, seeps from each crack in her skin and fills the room like a deadly gas, red like envy, thick as blood. it betrays her, allows her no respite. from the beginning unto the end, this gaping wound, pulsating like a heart.
'you’re right,’ she thinks, but she keeps it safe, tucked tight into her bosom. the weight of the world on one girls shoulders. a boulder on her back in the shape of love. to willingly play a losing game, to dare, to try. how she wished it’d done something more. how she wished god didn’t wear her brothers face, how she wished he didn’t hold the keys to the car. how she wished she knew. how she wished it meant anything at all. in my dreams, i take you with me. in my dreams, there is nothing to regret.
"i...” light pauses, a tear streaming down her cheek, “i did what i thought was right.” that’s all. nothing and nothing else. forevermore.
𝟑, 𝟒, 𝟓 ♡ 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒
𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄
“ let’s go home. ” “ um, excuse me? ” “ you broke it. ” “ need a hand? ” “ please, help me. ” “ i missed you. ” “ i’m not sorry. ” “ tell the truth. ” “ what happened here? ” “ got a minute? ” “ life’s a bitch. ” “ you’ve done enough. ” “ i’m still learning. ” “ don’t touch me. ” “ was that you? ” “ there’s no god. ” “ you deserve better. ” “ you’re a saint. ” “ you are enough. ” “ maybe you’re right. ” “ this will pass. ” “ you complete me. ” “ you got this. ”
𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑
“ don’t be so dramatic. ” “ no guts, no glory. ” “ i’m calling for help. ” “ run away with me. ” “ it’s always been you. ” “ some things take time. ” “ you’re being awfully quiet. ” “ please don’t hurt me. ” “ snap out of it. ” “ did you miss me? ” “ how do i look? ” “ i wanna get better. ” “ whatever floats your boat. ” “ i’ll love you always. ” “ what are you waiting for? ” “ at least i tried. ” “ give me a kiss. ” “ what’s the fucking point? ” “ god, i love you. ” “ i’m doing my best. ” “ i waited for you. ” “ you woke me up. ” “ stay with me tonight. ”
𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄
“ you can’t keep doing this. ” “ i think i love you … ” “ you make me feel special. ” “ are you upset with me? ” “ you need to heal first. ” “ let me see the wound. ” “ is your brain even on? ” “ don’t give up on me. ” “ you are perfect to me. ” “ i can’t take this anymore. ” “ you are my favorite person. ” “ you had me at ‘ hello. ’ ” “ i wanted to see you. ” “ don’t give me that look. ” “ you’re a work of art. ” “ i’m not scared of you. ” “ i have … so many questions. ” “ do you think i’m stupid? ” “ just tell me what happened. ” “ i just want to help. ” “ we need to be careful. ” “ what did you just say? ” “ i miss talking to you. ”
… a body as a sinkhole as a war wound as a poisoned animal as the saddest, most cut-open thing to ever exist.
A Handbook of Disappointed Fate: ‘Woman Sitting at the Machine’ by Anne Boyer (via decreation)
lunacy by m4s4y0shi s0k3n is a light song. no i will not elaborate
paracynic·:
SHE’S A TRAGEDY CLOAKED IN ILL-FITTED SKIN, A SURMISE OF PREMONITION.not someone, but something– her, a mangled cultivation of human horrors and wreckage. chaos dons the shape of a woman and ev learns quickly that it is as consistent in her as it is for the other living counterpart: emotional dissonance. … or, maybe a lack thereof.
“ Sorry I didn’t bring any flowers,” he says, not bothering with a ‘hello, nice to meet you’. it seemed they were past that. the need for discovery was rough on his skin. common sense telling ev that, yeah, he should of expected what little show of force he’s made to not do much other than raise her suspicions further. the deadly plague of her gaze is as much of a warning as it is.. abstractly docile, a not-so-silent indication of overt hostility. reasonably so.
not everyone’s welcome in a house of bones, after all. he’s cracked open a mausoleum to find the banshee within, therefore he’s fully aware that the time limit before she considers haunting him next is nearing an edge.
so he’s keeping it cute. tells himself to keep his mouth shut and look stupid. ignorance is now in counterfeit bliss as he’s eyeing, none too closely, through the smoke. ev stares –– his are pupils sharp, eyes gray like knives yet somehow, at the same time, blurred and boringly unimpressed. “ .. I’m a friend of Adam–– kind of. He thinks so, and follows me around like a kicked puppy. So if he comes back, then I guess it’s my head next. ”shifting himself with a slow roll of his heel, ev faces the right until he can reach a hand outwards, lazily gesturing towards the rest of her room.
“ He didn’t like when I snooped around too much and got weirdly angry when I did. It pissed me off, so –– looks like I.. now see why? ”
“ha! you’re funny, too.” she laughs, genuinely, a most pleased smile returning to her. the proof is in his quip: he knows. for years she’s loomed inside this prison, the inner workings of a mad mans heart, his dearest love and desire molding the walls and infecting the air. he holds her from the ceiling like a marionette, an untarnished doll to play house with ‘til the end of days. a dance for him and him alone. for years he’s lurked inside his sweet home, content with the filth, eager to see it grow. she would exist so long as he wills it. so long as his poison heart continues to beat. so long as she haunts him. so long as he’s allowed to lie.
“i wondered why somebody would come to this dump,” she says, pivoting on her feet to behold the room once more. beyond lies only more decay and wreckage. their home became naught else but a tomb. for mother, father, sister, and even sweet little brother, settling comfortably into his early grave, wanting for nothing more. she watches him in the dark corners, mourning. but for whom? “sounds about right though, kicked puppy and all. but relax---if you’re lucky, he won’t be too mad.” she speaks not his name. not for the love it once and always holds, or the curse of pain it brings too. they are not who they were. never would they be again.
“well?” a smug aura takes her. what was an ill-fated meeting turns into something rather amusing and ever so exciting. the spectrum of emotions churns through her; he’s rife with possibility and wonder, each piece of him alive and teeming, those seen and unseen. his red smoke is like an ominous reflection, just like the dull look in his eyes, like the shadow at his back. she leaves him and takes a seat upon her bed, settling rather close to the rotted carcass ‘neath tattered sheets and mangled foliage. her legs cross and she folds her arms. “find anything worthwhile?”
you, barefoot, in the empty house you grew up in. cold december air, damp floor, the smell of elementary school.
you, barefoot, walking towards your childhood bedroom. door ajar, and the sound of shifting (papers shuffling? clothes being moved?).
tentative steps and the door creaking open as you walk in. see old, dry blood soaked into the mattress, see yourself, curled up, festering, on top of it.
alright nobody move :gun:
paracynic·:
she treks him, knowingly. like stars to their prerogative she is light ceded to misery, to inherent darkness, death—her, a propitiation for devastation. there is a likeness about her that he can familiarize and it’s as nacreous and clear as a mirror, or a body of dark - night water: the scent of demon. it clings tightly to her skin and serves as a mirage to her brother if not something much more devastating - irony.
from something he’s visited countless times prior with its four walls, cracked paint, and ingrown floors. a broken lock didn’t stop him, and neither did the maggots with what was initially leaking between mossy bed sheets. something about laying the dead to rest.
ev shifts from one foot to another, squinting. and in the event of no response— he sucks on a cigarette until his lungs are bloated of smog then shoots the poison like a bullet from his throat, lips puckered into a tiny o, tongue flicking behind his teeth. the stream of smoke parts in haphazard billows of red as it branches out to lean in for a closer look.
“ Do you.” ev says, flatly. he’s snipping his sentences in half out of the intent to watch her mannerisms without opening leeway for his own. “ ..I’m hoping it’s a good thing on your end, then. ”
like dogs with a keen sense of smell. oh, she likes it. it’s a sensation she’s long since felt, an unspoken knowing; to be in good company. her smile calms and she looks to him with a soft expression, like she has never been anything else but kind. he carries a likeness like none other, an uncanny dagger in her side she would soon carve out. how funny. how painful. even now.
“there’s just something about you,” she speaks, trailing off like there’s something on the tip of her tongue, stepping closer to examine him further with a hand at her chin, watching as he shuffles in the moment, “-----besides,” and then she pauses, stops in her tracks, and turns to face the room. her eyes glide over each and every piece of rotten wood, of chipped paint and growing fungus, of the tattered old clothing and the lumps underneath each mass. the air around them is thick with a pungency of decay, his red smoke setting the mood nicely.
she turns back to him, hands dropping to her sides, eyes suddenly sharp. “how’d you get in?”
Octavio Paz, tr. by Eliot Weinberger, from “Between Going and Staying”, The Poems of Octavio Paz
@paracynic : touches fingers together..
“you know-----” she breathes through her all tooth smile, eyes alight and full of amusement, leaning forward to see him just right, “-----i like you.”