Not today Justin
titsay
izzy's playlists!
Claire Keane
Love Begins
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
Origami Around
@theartofmadeline
if i look back, i am lost
tumblr dot com
The Bright Sessions
sheepfilms
ellievsbear
The Bowery Presents
🩵 avery cochrane 🩵
No title available
NASA
roma★
The Stonewall Inn
Discoholic 🪩
seen from Belgium
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@toomanyocs-suggestions
Alarms blare.
Everything bathed in red.
You taste blood. You smell burnt flesh.
Gunfire blares.
Ears loudly ringing.
You taste blood. You smell burnt flesh.
Firelight flares.
Your face split by pain.
You taste blood. You smell burnt flesh.
Okay so I brought up the name change thing to my dad and they took it really well! They actually said that a lot of my family members, including them, have changed their names, and I'm kind of in shock that I never even considered any might have???
I mean it's understandable to not expect your parents to be supportive, if you don't know for sure. Happy for you though!
If you threaten my friends one more goddamn time, I’m going to show you what your insides look like up close and personal.
found this and i think it's the perfect character meme
*covered in blood & swinging a butcher knife* guys why're you screaming? i'm coping
it won’t stop. the pain. the agony and the crunching and the spikes, over and over and over again. crunch. crunch. crunch. the smell of rust, the smell of metal. you can still feel it. you can still feel it. you just cannot scream- can’t even breathe.
two versions of an informative flyer about Changelings
“poison is the coward’s weapon” boo hoo sounds like someone’s sodium channels are easily inhibited
if your deoxyribonucleosides depurinate I just don’t see how that’s my problem
like, it’s not like I asked your vesicle fusion mediating proteins to cleave and block acetylcholine release... you can’t keep deflecting responsibility for your own actions onto me just because I “put something in your food”
“you’re trying to kill me” yeah well have you tried being less sensitive
to poison
You're beautiful on the inside. Trust me, I've been there.
The little fire flickers to life. It's been a long, cold day, and you're grateful for the warmth it gives. And the beauty. You stare into the flickering, twisting flames as you take off your hood, letting your long hair hang free. You weren't able to steal much today, so you're still hungry. But staring into the flames, that doesn't matter. They're so pretty. This world can't be all bad, you think, if it has something as beautiful as fire in it. You consider letting the fire burn, spreading it to the rest of the abandoned building, standing outside and watching the place be consumed by flames. But you reconsider. After all, it's not really abandoned, since you're living there now. Someday, though. If you can find a better place to live, this old shack will be beautiful as it burns.
Every time he speaks it builds up within you. Every spark of anger piling up like so many grains of sand. You must have a mountain seething in your gut by this point.
He says something, you don't even hear him, you don't even care. He's welcoming someone new to his table. They're short, with a cocky smile, and fingers they tap on the table like they're bored. You're sitting next to him, hoping your insolence shows through your mask. He says something, this time you hear one word - replacement - and you realize what he's got planned for this new addition.
The mountain shifts, a distant rumble echoing across the landscape of your carefully crafted facade of calm distaste. You're shaking.
You don't care about them, whoever they are. But you remember the last five years. You remember the things he did to the last one. Forging them into the perfect weapon, he said. You remember the smug sadism in his voice as he congratulated them on a job well done, as they stared numbly at their blood-stained hands. You remember the way he told them they were perfect. Perfect for him.
The mountain splits open.
You don't remember standing up, but now he's looking at you, at the heavy decorative statue you've snatched off the table. Its weight fits your grip perfectly.
"Now, just what are you trying to-"
But you've already swung it toward his head. The crack of its impact resonates through your palms and through the darkened room. He staggers, stumbles, falls. You don't even care. You bring it down again. And again. And again.
Soon enough, the exhaustion beginning to ache through your arms pulls you to a stop. You look around at the masked faces staring at you in shock, in horror, in... disappointment? Pride? And you look down, at what used to be your brother. You don't feel anything, you don't even care. The emotions will hit you soon enough, you're sure. But for now, all you care about is getting away from there. Away from your home and the hell that he made it.
I drew some edgier stuff with Sterling recently so I had to draw soft moments to make up for it
sometimes Lysander still gets a bit defensive
The first thing you notice is the cold. At first it doesn't bother you, you've always liked it a bit chilly. But as the hours go by, the chill deepens and your fingers start getting stiff, and you remember packing your thick, warm coat, despite all the assurances that the ship would be perfectly climate-controlled to your exact liking.
Your coat long since forgotten, you hurry toward the center of the ship and enter the viewing dome at the very middle. Here, windows and prisms allow you a 360-degree view of the space around the ship, as though you're floating in the void yourself with nothing separating you from its endless depths. You can see in every direction - and no matter which way you look, you cannot see the sun. All you can see are distant stars like little pinpricks of light. None of them form recognizable constellations. You are lost, far from home, adrift under an unfamiliar sky.
As you make your way through the big, empty ship to where your belongings are stored, you notice the stars shining through a window, and a chill runs down your spine - you're supposed to be so close to the sun that the other stars should be too dim to see through its glare. You remember your employer telling you that the ship runs on solar power, so even if the navigation were to go wrong, it simply couldn't make it any further than the asteroid belt.
Eventually, your voice grows hoarse from repeating your SOS message over and over again, and you realize how tired you've become. Pulling your thin jacket around your body (you'd completely forgotten to get that coat...) you try to focus, but soon you slip into a deep sleep.
You exit the viewing dome and make your way to the communication bay. None of the many screens are on, and the lights that had been cheerfully blinking when you waved goodbye to your family are now dark. You frantically push buttons and adjust levers, trying to tune in to any frequency you can remember, searching for any trace of contact. When this brings nothing but static and silence, you begin transmitting your own message. First you start on the more commonly used frequencies, then you select a few random ones in panic, before collecting yourself and adjusting the frequency by the same regular interval each time, trying to cover as broad a range of radio frequencies as possible.
You wake, some hours later, to the feeling that something more has changed. As you look around the ship, you can see that its lights are dimmed, some shut off entirely, and many of the fancy observation devices and scientific experiments you were meant to oversee have shut down. The ship is clearly losing power now. But as your head clears, you notice something else. You touch the wall and feel motion, a gentle vibration within the ship's structures. As you move toward the viewing dome, you realize the vibration is stronger nearer the outside of the ship. You turn toward the top and look out a window, and the source becomes apparent - your ship must be within a nebula, because thin wisps of dust are moving past you and brushing against the hull. You also appear to be moving.
Once more within the viewing dome, you look around. The stars are still utterly unfamiliar. But now, you are not alone.
A strange ship, its appearance utterly unlike any human-built vessel, and its size utterly dwarfing your own, looms in the void. A long, thin cord extends from a small opening in its side, to where a sucker-like pad on its end fastens it to one of the prism-shaped windows that feed light into your viewing dome. As you watch, the cord shortens, pulling you closer and closer to the alien ship, until its bulk is all you can see. The gap in its hull widens, and you are pulled into the darkness within.
dont let people tell u ur attraction to fire is "abnormal" or "hazardous" prometheus doesnt have his liver eaten every day for u to ignore the allure of arson
Pro tip to anyone who may be trying to murder me: if I look unarmed keep in mind this simple fact;
I am NEVER unarmed
The wounds reopen when you straighten your fingers, bubblegum-pink blood spilling out from the cracks. But you have to straighten your fingers, have to reopen the scabs. You'll never regain your range of motion if you let it heal all curled up like that.
At least it doesn't hurt.
