Xuebing Du
Fai_Ryy
pixel skylines
The Stonewall Inn
d e v o n
Game Changer & Make Some Noise
gracie abrams
cherry valley forever
NASA
shark vs the universe
ellievsbear
One Nice Bug Per Day
noise dept.
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
RMH
No title available
todays bird
★
PR's Tumblrdome
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from France
seen from China
seen from Malaysia
seen from Uzbekistan
seen from India
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seen from Türkiye
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@thebloodydamnraven
People don’t have to vigorously study a religion in order to leave it, nor should they be expected to. If they don’t believe, they don’t believe and that’s that. People aren’t free real estate for you to convert.
Not just because they're free to choose, but also because of the nature of religion. It's supposed to come from a god, therefore, supposed to be perfect. If one fault is found within a religion, it is enough to discredit all of it.
Midnight Pals: Cosmic Horror
HP Lovecraft: what if you you saw a cosmic horror and it made you go crazy
August Derleth: what if you saw a cosmic horror and HP Lovecraft wrote it
Robert W Chambers: what if you saw a really off-putting shade of yellow
Stephen King: what if you saw a cosmic horror and it was a clown
Thomas Ligotti: what if you saw a cosmic horror and actually you were the clown all along
Frank Belknap Long: what if you saw a cosmic horror in the corner
Ruthanna Emrys: what if YOU were the cosmic horror
Theodore Sturgeon: what if you saw a cosmic horror and it was a teddy bear
Robert Bloch: what if you saw a cosmic horror and actually the real darkness was inside the human heart the whole time
Ramsey Campbell: what if a you saw a cosmic horror and it was english
Victor LaValle: what if you saw a cosmic horror and it was a metaphor for racism
Caitlin Kiernan: what if you saw a cosmic horror and racism was good actually
Nick Mamatas: what if Jack Kerouac saw a cosmic horror thats like telling gene krupa not to go boom boom bam boom boom bam bam boom boom bam boom
Brian Keene: we can't stop here this is cosmic horror country
Laird Barron: what if you saw a cosmic horror and you could punch it
Brian Lumley: what if you saw a cosmic horror and you could shoot it with a gun
Robert E Howard: what if you saw a cosmic horror but you despised sorcerers and all weavers of the black arts so you killed it and took its treasure (+10 gold coins, +12 experience points)
William Hope Hodgson: ohhhhh what if you saw a cosmic horror in a pineapple under the sea
Arthur Machen: what if you saw a cosmic horror that your nanny warned you about
Hailey Piper: what if you saw a cosmic horror and it was gay
Drew Huff: what if you saw a cosmic horror and it was a bimbo
John Langan: what if you didn't see a cosmic horror
Extended list of cosmic horror authors
Jonathan Sims is that you?
"I got your coffee, boss. Sorry about the wait, the cafe was packed," the henchman said as they entered the room, only to pause as they saw the heroes standing over the bloodied corpses of their boss and their co-workers.
He'd be damned if he said he didn't see this coming.
He could bet his life on it and would be right: the bunch of pussies circling the place weren't behind this. A few years ago, the mere mention of his master made them shudder. It was her who gave them the balls to pull such a dirty trick. Oh well.
Serving a villain that could control minds had its perks. He could make a grown ass man hop and bark like a dog for fun, or get any bitch in town to get on her knees for the most sissy-looking thug he had if he was particularly pleased after his morning coffee. Yes, he could pull any piece of information out of you, or make your relive every fucking nightmare of your life in a wink, but eh, only an idiot would give him reason to. And Schwarz was cruel, yes, but never without a reason.
Working for him didn't mean blowing up banks or kidnapping pretty little things, no. Working for him meant government officials begging on their knees for their lives, for their secrets. It meant making heroes parade in forced-out plays mid-fight when he was bored (he had a thing for Shakespeare). It meant schools turning into battlefields and hospitals becoming human meat restaurants. There wasn't a boring day with him, mostly because the man himself was so bored. One look into anyone, and he'd see their souls, their cores.
"Why would you do this? People are open books to you. You could know what would happen without all this!" Said a hero to him once, shaking and sobbing as his teammates danced with each other's corpses to a waltz only Schwarz could hear. He liked to have an audience, even if he always knew how they'd react.
"Books take time, you know, and can actually hold secrets," He replied in his ever bored voice. "Humans are more like sticky notes, so I make them into origami."
The bastard looked real nice when Schwarz finally made him join the dance.
But then came a note that wouldn't fucking fold.
The first sign that she was trouble was the fact that she had none of them silly names that heroes took, the bitch went by her real name and face like nothing mattered to her. And it turned out as much. She had nobody to protect. The press made an all weepy story about her losing all her loved ones in one tear-jerker way or another, and the heroes believed it. The people believed it. Schwarz didn't. He read her right away, just as he did any of them. And for once, he wasn't bored.
"What a beastly little thing." He said. He wasn't wrong.
It showed in little ways but even the henchman's dumb head could see it. Makes no sense that none of them idiots did.
Pick a fight, any fight, and none of them would come out with as much blood on 'em as her. Schwarz's men were rarely part of them stupid hero fights, but even they could tell that the body count had doubled since she started playing the game. Villains fell like flies. And the people were more appalled than the villains themselves. It was too bloody, they said. The cleanup med staff must have had it rough, cleaning that human smoothie after she was done. One of their snitches said you could only tell the dead by the bones because everything else was so mushy to figure out.
About three months in her debut as a hero, they banned the filming of the fights altogether, fights that used to be the masses' light and delight. But after that fight in a schoolyard...
"How long do you think before they lock her up? Surely, their sweet little world has been tainted enough." Said his sidekick that day.
"They won't. They let her loose because they were too scared of us, and now they're even more scared of her."
The hencheman didn't dare call it fear, that treacherous thing that gleamed in Schwarz's eyes.
And now you couldn't tell his dead eyes from the human jam on the floor.
But sleeping in Schwarz's sidekick's bed had its perks, too. Like knowing that Schwarz's seen all this coming and accepted it, and knowing not to press the button on his bracelet that would tear this hideout to shreds. Why would he want this? How could you let him? He screamed at his lover in rage. Because when he dies, the last person that could have held her back will be gone, his lover said softly. Even dead, he'll still win.
And so the henchman obeys and does what he hopes will earn him a nod from his lover below the depth of hell. He takes one step back from the hideout door and presses the lockdown button on his bracelet.
Having read Tintenherz and Tintenblut
For some reason, I can only imagine Lars Mikkelsen as Capricorn, even though he is a silly man in hindsight. But the Adderhead? Timothy Dalton. Timothy fucking Dalton, hell, I could hear his voice whenever the Adder spoke.
The Black Prince is such a great character, couldn't think of anyone other than Chadwick Boseman. RIP.
Spoilers
Years ago while browsing through used books at a book fair, I came across a thick hardback. Bound in black faux leather, no title, author name, or printing company to be found. The cover was absolutely blank. That was the reason I picked it up, and my friend then, who's not a fan of reading, was standing over my shoulder as curious as I was.
It actually took a while for me to find out what the book was, because the title page wasn't there either. I think it was Inkheart, and I remember an illustration above the first chapter title.
At that point I got busy with something else, and left the book. This would lay dormant in my memory for a long time, till about a week ago. I was reading Inkheart, for the first time, and on a whim, when Meggie described the book that her father hid. And it was the biggest WTF moment I've had in a while.
In any case, I was reading the book yesterday in the living room, and when one of my family members changed the station, they all stared at the scene when Meggie first reads out, and their remarks make me look up – at the movie of the book I was reading.
So yeah, WTF.
You have a completely useless superpower in a world full of amazing superpowers. You have been a laughing-stock for years, until you started using your powers for evil… nobody is laughing now.
"I didn't know this would happen, kid. I never do." You tried again. His eyes were full of contempt when he looked at you, calmer when they lingered on the world behind the glass panes, suspended in darkness.
"Does it fucking matter? You fucked around, and now we all get to find out."
He was right, in a way. Who were you kidding? He was totally right. Your mind went back to your childhood, the very first time you fucked around, as he so eloquently put it.
You were seven at the time, sitting at your old green living room. Your father had his football game on TV, and while you didn't understand much, you could tell it wasn't going well. His irritable mood had poisoned the whole room, you sat huddled in a dark corner while your mum steeled herself at the other couch's end.
You prayed slowly, to whom you didn't know: let them win, let them win, let them win...
That memory of your first time always eludes you, were you calm or scared? Focused or passive?
What happened, at any rate, is that few minutes before the match would end in a draw, a random gust of wind blew just right to shift the game to your father's team's favor, and the draw turned into a win for them.
It took many more years before you actually knew it for what it was: the most useless superpower in existence.
Countless experiments and tons of reading later, you could sit in class and tell everyone how your superpower was influencing probability so that events would go in the direction you favour. A bummer after Kevin's fire-breathing one. Your teacher's questions were spot on to embarrass you.
So you could choose the outcome you wanted for events?
No. I could influence the direction but I can't determine the result.
But you'd know what comes about, right?
No.
How do you know what's going to happen, then?
I don't.
At this point, your classmates were wondering if this was even a superpower. You decided that it was best not to mention how this false superpower ended up breaking Kevin's arm in fifth grade.
"Are you sure there's nothing you can do?" The kid asked for the tenth time.
You sighed.
"No, I told you already I can't stop it once it's set in motion."
"But you could counteract it? Influence an event that could cancel the first one."
"Sure, but what if that event fucked it up even more? You could end up with an even bigger asteroid set for your dear home."
"But you influence the direction of events! Influence it so it doesn't fucking kill everyone!"
"But you don't understand!" You were both yelling now. "That's two directions you're asking for! You want for the first asteroid to be subverted, and for humanity to be saved! How the fuck am I supposed to do that?"
That shut him up, if you ignored the fact that he was shaking, of course.
"Alex would never have wanted this and you know it."
There it was. You wished he kept on screaming at you. Alex was your only friend, the only person that ever saw you as you. Was, being the cue word, because the world wouldn't even let you have that.
"Alex is dead." You whispered.
The world took Alex from you a few months ago. After years of saving lives, Alex would die of medical neglect. This foolish species couldn't even save its own superheroes, its own saviours, from their vices.
You wished the world to see itself, then. There was no worse punishment.
Reckoning came in the form of a an asteroid. It is said that its probability was 0.001% before your wish. Well, so much for a useless power.
And see themselves they did. The rich sought to escape death, the poor to meet death as equally as the rich. Nobody thought to actually address the crisis. And a year later, they'd find, of course, that they might have stood a chance if they did then.
So here you were, on a spaceship far away to survive the spectacle, but not far enough to look away from the consequences of your actions. And the kid? You couldn't have left the kid. He was all you had left of Alex. He didn't have anybody else, anyway. The asteroid could be here now, a year later, or a century later. You doubted they would wait for the asteroid to destroy them. The kid was too young, too sweet, to live through all that regardless.
To watch the world burn or to burn with it...were you really merciful?
"I wished for the world only to see itself, you know," you finally looked at him. "I didn't want them to die, Jace."
He wouldn't look at you.
"They've seen themselves enough, don't you think?"
"I hope they did, Jace. I hope they did."
The devils greatest trick is convincing the world he didn’t exist? HA! His greatest trick was convincing us he lost and God is still in charge.
Please read the following transcript carefully if you wish to understand the Board's decision.
[In hindsight, it is really simple to understand. What sort of corrupt ruler tells you they're corrupt? Do they even know they're corrupt? And come on, history is written by the winners after all.
Except, that's only half of the story.
The devil/God titles are just titles they exchanged each time one usurped the other. I have been a divine historian for over a hundred years now, and I still find attributions hard. I mean, yeah, the current 'God' did the flood, to wipe out the previous God's worshippers or something. Noah did the smart thing by listening to whoever was in charge at the time. But which one of them crucified Jesus? Which one demanded for Ishmael to be sacrificed, only to change their mind later? It's a bit messy here.
You know what, let's call the current God Boss, and the other Not-Boss. It's easier that way.
Wait - what? No, no. Neither of them is the devil. I told you it's just a title to give to the loser. It works for humanity, at any rate.
And to answer your question, no, neither of them is Jesus' father either. I'm actually sure of that one.
See, both Boss and Not-Boss are just gods, not ultimately powerful at all. I mean come on, take a look at the universe. They're sort of above the ancient pagan gods in general power, but not in every aspect. General power? Ugh, sorry. I forget you're a newbie. Let me explain.
You see, we have different terms for different sorts of power. The term general power isn't even that accurate, but whatever. Look, let's divide it into three categories: there's physical power, which is the power of a god to affect the physical world we live in, through manipulation of the laws of probability; second, you have spiritual power, which affects spirit, human or other as well as the spiritual/astral realm; and finally, mental power, which affects sanity and sensory perception as well as thought, and the effect of that one is limited to human beings.
Both Boss and Not-Boss have extensive general power, which is another word for physical power. It's not very great, generally speaking, but it is something, at least from the human perspective. Spiritual and mental power, though, not so much. That's where the pagan gods come in. Let me tell you — and believe me — you don't want to fuck around with these lot.
Wait a second — I actually forgot. What are you doing here? You have been in this library for a few days now, there's no way in hell you just found out about the God/Devil drama.
Oh, that. Now that's something. But, please, say it correctly. It's The Grand Hypothesis, okay? It's not the 'what-else-is-out-there' bullshit. Look at my eyes, do you understand?
Fine, I'll tell you the story. Just take a deep breath.
The basis of the hypothesis is this: we believe there's some order or being — possibly a group of beings — that reigns superior over all the other gods, Boss and Not-Boss included. Why, they're all terrified of it/them/whatever.
Slowly, now, let me speak and I'll tell you everything you want to know. No, it's not the great Old Ones, either. Actually, the fact that they are scared of it is why the hypothesis wasn't studied further.
Look, Boss and Not-Boss had an influence on humanity for nearly two millennia now, so the time frame for the evidence is limited, but also the amount of stories and different tellings is staggeringly great. And yet, the pattern holds, and not only for them, but for other gods too.
It appears in different ways, and there are proper terms for them, but I'll say it in a way you understand:
1. The dead messenger
2. The 'why-the-fuck-couldn't-you-take-the-easy-way-out'
No, no — don't interrupt me.
3. The great shadow
They are self-explanatory, honestly. The first is about all the dead messengers of gods, and how they all met horrible ends, or had terrible lives. Did you ever wonder why the god that appointed them abandoned them? Ah — ah, no. There's no better afterlife. The gods are fucking hiding from each other, and from something else, too. Who'd gather human souls and expose themselves?
Oh, what happens to those who expose themselves? Well, we are not sure. They disappear forever, for all we know.
So yeah, no heaven or hell. At least not with Boss and Not-Boss.
Oh, I kind of feared you'd ask that. I don't think you're ready to hear the answer, yet. Trust me, just drop it.
Anyway, the second is pretty clear. There are many instances, in many stories about all sorts of gods where there is a dilemma and an easy way out vs. a hard way out. And the god, the supposedly superior being, takes the hard way out. The bloody way out, and it doesn't make sense, does it?
The third...well, take a breath.
We look into the universe for signs of divine activity — sort of like how gravity creates waves and fields — to understand the exact range of some gods' powers or to gauge the age of the oldest gods, usual work. Yes, there is a science for that! It was this that told us that something must be terribly wrong.
Imagine this, the divine field — I coined that term — is very predictable and regular, all over the universe. There are some differences that can alert you if the divine field you're observing is due to a god that doesn't belong to earth, or how old the god is. Yes, there are aliens — is this really the time for that? The point is that a divine field tells you what you need to know about a god.
Anyway, it's all good so far. Except there are vast areas, and I mean vast, that are completely devoid of any divine influence. They are literally surrounded by it, but they themselves remain untouched. Here's the thing: it isn't some random patch of space neglected by chance, it is a very defined territory of space in which no divine field exists. No, dear, it's not that the space is empty. It is that the space is dead.
There used to be creatures there, at some point, the telltale signs of temples and structures dedicated to worship are there, but they're so subdued we can't even tell who they were worshipping anymore. Not that it matters, they are also dead.
Seriously, you don't understand what? There is a being out there with the power not only to delete the entire existence of a civilization, but also the existence of whoever they worshipped.
Oh, dear, you don't get it, do you? They're dead and forgotten, god and worshippers. I remember early on, when the hypothesis was still in its developmental stages, one of our own suggested placing a mural of any random god in one of those spaces, to excite divine activity. It was a fearsome thing, I think it was one of the great Old Ones. A god sleeping since times unknown.
Look, it wasn't our first option, obviously. We tried other gods first, and every single time the ship and the mural were blown to shards before they left the ground. The gods were very simple and forward with their messages: absolutely fucking not. The only way out of it was to send a god common enough to have way too many murals to track, but also old enough to be sleeping and unaware. I think it was Yog-Sothoth? Or Azathoth. The names look alike after a while.
Sorry, I, ugh, I lost myself there. What – what happened? The ship carrying the mural was removed from existence before it even left the vicinity. All that was left of it, and everybody on board, was their absence in our memories. No divine activity was percieved near a mural of that god ever again.
I don't think you actually get this, so let me put it plainly: Azathoth, after eons of sleeping to his flutes, woke up, saw the universe for the first time, and committed divine suicide, withdrawing all his power and essence and influence from existence!
Withdrawn to where? You were in this library for three days, for goodness' sake!
Well, I don't know. Nobody knows if there's even a where that he could withdraw to, hence the term, divine suicide.
In any case, losing even the memories of our colleagues who were lost with the god was enough for us to cease all work on the hypothesis. We simply didn't want to know the truth.
So now I ask you: what are you doing here?
All associations affiliated with divine archeology has been banned and forgotten for centuries now, even this library is time-locked. Why would they send someone now?
Oh. Oh no.
Well, given everything I told you, I suppose you wouldn't be surprised if I reached for that board behind you, would you?
Leave, then, if you wish to live, although I don't recommend it. I know – I know why they sent you, so here's my answer: it's not that we don't know what to do, it's that there's nothing to be done. We only hope that in death we may not be touched by the shadow.]
Based on Transcript #H666Op-C2, of Agent (?) with the Keeper of the Last Divine Archeology Library in Nowehere, we hereby recommend the genocide of humanity by merciful means. Based on data from the records of divine activity also attached in this report, the timeframe ought not exceed three years.
May we all be untouched by the shadow.
Kayne is terrifying
I think something we all miss is this: what the fuck does Kayne actually want?
Nyarlathotep is canonically called the Crawling Chaos, rightfully too, but killing all parts of yourself is a bit extreme. Unless you had a conflict of interest. What could be so heinous that other versions of the Crawling Chaos would object to is beyond me.
We know those other versions were also seeking the Black Stone, and we know Kayne used the other stone to learn to walk between worlds unchecked.
The question is why? What does he want to do?
Book Nyarlathotep was also a messanger and executor of will for the gods, so... does he just want to break free? Free to do what?
I also think the stone came out of a pyramid, or something, that Cummings and Dudd sought it. Nyarlathotep canonically came out of a pyramid too.
It'd be fucking funny if Kayne kept his end of the deal and gave them exactly what he said he wanted, but I'd pity Arthur if he tried to raise Faroe in a world remade by Kayne.
Saw someone bring this up as a possibility, and now I can't get it out of my head.
Not Arthur, for fuck's sake!
There was a large bowl of fruits on the table before them, it had been his request on arriving to his home town. He had not been there in years. He'd left alone once the place he called home lost all who made it so, but there he was, all those years after, but this time unalone. His bride was at his side. The land was as strange to her as the man she was just learning to call husband; even the bowl of fruits was strange, she could not recognize a single one. The vibrant colors of the fruits could not overcome the bleak, neglected living room they were sat in. Greens and blues and reds, purples and yellows, but grey conquered all. "Do you like stories?" His voice was quiet, as he picked a small knife, eyeing the bowl before him. She nodded. She simply didn't know what would happen if she answered otherwise. "There was an old tree, by the southern river. It bloomed in winter, and the bloom would be lost before the first flowers of spring. Its flower was a deep shade of purple, almost blue, its fruit the same color, round and plump.
"The fruit would ripen quickly, but would not drop from the tree till spring, when the tree would shed all its colors. You could, of course, pluck it in time, but you would not be able to eat it. See, the fruit was rather secretive. It had thick, coarse skin, and once its skin was broken with a knife, it would spread the most vile of poison. Grown men would cry and suffer under its effect. Birds that didn't know better would fall dead at the roots. Skin would redden and prickle, as if burnt. Nobody ever tolerated it for more than a minute. It is said that if one were to try and peel it, they'd be dead before they could taste it.
"Some creatures were immune to its poisom, however, and it had been witnessed of the fruit to bring back creatures from the very brink of death." He finally chose a fruit, a small round green thing dotted with orange, covered with what seemed like scales. He cut it into two pieces, reached for her hand, then placed one piece in her palm.
"Try it, it's sweeter than it looks."
"Is that all the story?" She asked, more impatient than she intended to sound.
"Of course not," he chuckled.
"There was a man who lived on the edge of the village, and his name was Maer. Maer was a smith; a big, bulky man covered in a hundred bruises and as many burns, but his heart burned for brave miss Yera, the huntress who passed him by on her way to the forest every morning." He started chewing his piece with a playful glint in his eyes, enjoying her attention on him for once.
"Did you like it?"
"It was sweet, thank you. But I want to ask: Yera gets hurt, and Maer dies bringing her the fruit, doesn't he?"
He laughs.
"Close, but not quite. Must you be aching to be given love? Would it not be best if it were given freely?"
"But you said kills people!" She exclaimed. "You can't just die for someone's cravings."
"And you can't live a life spent in longing, you must find a way to fill that hole in your chest before it consumes you. This was Maer's way of achieving that."
"So, what happens?" She asks helplessly. He reaches for the fruit bowl again, hands her a curved, long coral fruit and a knife of her own, and instructs her to cut it into small pieces.
"This one changes color as you go along its length. If it's yellow, brown, or white, then it's sweet. Anything else is sour, so be careful."
"But the story—"
"I'll finish it if you let me," he smiled.
"Alright." The first piece she cuts is nearly black. She puts it aside.
"So yes, Maer plucks the ripe fruit. When it's skin is broken, he feels a tingle in his hands that turns into an itch, then unbearable heat. But he is a smith, he's been burnt before." Her next piece is a deep gray. Cast aside again.
"He is used to heat on his skin, but then he feels it in his eyes, his nose, every sense is on fire. Still, he pushes on," he whispers.
Her next piece is a light blue.
"It is said that he presents her the white flesh of the fruit on death's door, but what happens after is largely debated. Some say she placed it in his mouth, some say she took it without a glance at him. Some say she refused altogether." he seemed to be tired, bored of his own story.
"But did he live?" Her next piece was just a deep blue.
"Oh, yes, he did. The fruit of love is torture, yes, but it does not kill." Another whisper.
"This fruit is rotten, you know."
"Oh? Perhaps you should try this one."
She looked up to a white slice, held in his red, trembling hand. A smile through his tears.
Malevolent 43
At the beginning of the episode we don't hear John, but we hear Yorick say that whomever he calls for, his calls are going unanswered. At that point, I just take it to be Arthur.
But when the witch asks whom it is that John calls for, Yorick says something along the lines of an immensely powerful being before being interrupted.
So, bets everybody: Was it Kayne, you bastard, or Jesus fucking Christ?
Is the Christian God cannon, Harlan?
Malevolent 40 Spoiler
Akhenaten and the guard of his tomb
Rayia and Sekina
One thing that bothers me is how the True Crime community is sleeping on two of the most notorious female serial killers: Rayia and Sekina. With a body count of +17, and a gang of men run by Rayia, these two were some of the worst serial killer cases to ever encounter the Egyptian court. As a matter of fact, they were the first women to recieve a death sentence by hanging.
Motive? Money. It was one of the worst periods in Egyptian history, characterized by an occuptaion that bled our resources dry, illiteracy, and hunger, all in the shadow of an ongoing World War. Their victims were all women who had enough money at the time to adorn themselves with golden jewelry. They'd suffocate said women with a wet cloth, or strangulation, strip them of the gold that they would sell later for considerable sums, and bury them beneath the floors of their own (Rayia and Sekina's) house. By the time the police had found their bodies, all that was left was bones.
I could go on about these two for long, honestly.
TMAGP theory
I know the fears don't work the same way in The Magnus Protocol, but I can't help thinking that, the fears are stupid, but The Web isn't. It schemes and plans and manipulates, and it was in the TMA universe from the start, and it saw exactly the end to which all the fears were going with the rituals and all that, and so it carved its way out of it from the beginning. The Web learns, and The Web understands the consequences of repeating history.
Who do you think the OIAR and Starkwall work for?
@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
