moved.
Stranger Things
NASA
untitled
art blog(derogatory)
No title available
Noah Kahan

Discoholic 🪩
let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open
trying on a metaphor
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I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

Kiana Khansmith
tumblr dot com

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★
ojovivo

gracie abrams
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izzy's playlists!
EXPECTATIONS
seen from Spain

seen from Singapore
seen from Chile
seen from Malaysia

seen from Argentina
seen from Russia
seen from Sri Lanka
seen from Germany
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from Singapore

seen from South Korea

seen from Singapore

seen from Malaysia

seen from United States
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Singapore
@vivrez-archived
moved.
and we're out. i've gotten the new blog set up and feel comfortable switching gears over to there. the asks i wanted to finish will be moved over there. i won't be giving out the url publicly, but if you like this post i'll consider giving a follow from the new blog. 🙂↕️ i just want to cut things down and be more particular when it comes to curating my space. see you all on the flip side!
and we're out. i've gotten the new blog set up and feel comfortable switching gears over to there. the asks i wanted to finish will be moved over there. i won't be giving out the url publicly, but if you like this post i'll consider giving a follow from the new blog. 🙂↕️ i just want to cut things down and be more particular when it comes to curating my space. see you all on the flip side!
and we're out. i've gotten the new blog set up and feel comfortable switching gears over to there. the asks i wanted to finish will be moved over there. i won't be giving out the url publicly, but if you like this post i'll consider giving a follow from the new blog. 🙂↕️ i just want to cut things down and be more particular when it comes to curating my space. see you all on the flip side!
hi gang 🫡 this blog is pretty cluttered and overall i'm just not feeling it at the moment so i'm thinking i'll be moving in the next week or so. there are a few asks i want to get queued before i fully move, but with the submission deadline for my dissertation coming up in the next couple of months i think having a smaller and cleaner space would be good for me.
VERSE² ... THE METAMORPHOSIS : Modern — current arc.
Drawing inspiration from: the original Scarlet Pimpernel novel by Baroness Orczy, the works of Angela Carter (but specifically The Bloody Chamber), the story of Bluebeard, Deathless by Catherynne M. Valente, Kunihiko Ikuhara's Revolutionary Girl Utena, film noir, the gothic and mystery genres, the wider superhero genre, and more.
you think i was the only one who saw it? from francesca!
Ah, the joys of young love! To be swept up in a whirlwind of passion and romance, heart beating in the hands of another, the entire world suddenly reborn around you. Marguerite remembered it all so fondly, how her stomach fluttered and everything seemed so light, so airy, so free, despite the short lifespan of a romance between an actress and a baronet. To see that mirrored in Francesca now — whose cheeks were flushed a bright pink, once so prim and proper and perhaps a little uptight, now appearing so unsure of herself — had endeared the girl to the lead actress of the Comédie-Française. Not too many years older than Dowager Countess of Kilmartin, it was only natural that Marguerite wish to impart some wisdom, still bursting with that lively, French zest that continued to make people scoff in disapproval. Not even the ton, it seemed, could break that vivacious spirit.
❛❛ Not exactly, ❜❜ she begins, slightly in jest, eyes twinkling with amusement. ❛❛ But, it's not that easy to spot. ❜❜ There was still so much that Marguerite had yet to learn concerning the matters of love — about secrets and betrayal, how to fix what is seemingly broken for good — but there would be a time and place to ponder about such things. For now? She could help a little on the more superficial aspects of love. ❛❛ Do you think she feels the same way, hmm? Even after she fled? I saw how she was looking at you, too, you know. ❜❜
Vivien Leigh in Waterloo Bridge 1940
❛ nothing in me was not made by you. ❜ hey
They have both kept so many secrets from one another, shrouded the other under a veil of darkness, keeping them placed firmly on the other side of an impenetrable, secret garden. Their Eden had shattered within the blink of an eye, the cherished illusion laying shattered at her feet, spurned by a betrayal that cut a wound so deeply that it continued to fester, aching and throbbing. The past taunts her with those semisweet, halcyon memories, holding them just out of reach, leaving her in the present with only the terrible, crushing reality. Oh, how cruel she had been! Callously pushing him away with vicious words and gestures, shutting him out of her heart which he had once held the sole key to. Perhaps her girlish softness had died that day as well, her goodness broken once there was no one left to believe in it as vehemently as he once had. The Scarlet Pimpernel was all that was left of that foolish, wide-eyed girl who had dared to dream — to hope — a puerile fantasy meant to keep her amused, sprouting into a beast far larger than the both of them.
Now, as he collapses to his knees before her, gripping the hem of her burgundy skirt as if he were venerating a saint, her gaze drifts downward, dumbfounded and twinkling with tears. Galatea had come to life and had taken on a will of her own, but what became of Pygmalion? Pygmalion, her creator, whom she had spurned and tossed aside, now clings to her, begging her to stay. Why did he still love her? Her sins had piled up and made a monster of her, had nearly cost him his life once her world had begun to bleed into his. Anyone else would have turned their back and shunned her, and yet, he stayed, still holding onto their childhood pact of marriage and of fairytales and of adventures in far-off lands. Why, she wonders, after everything that has happened, did he stay? Why did he still believe in her? Why couldn't he let her go?
❛❛ Percy ... ❜❜ she breathes his name like a prayer, cupping his face in her hands, dark curls cascading around her face like a waterfall. ❛❛ I didn't think you'd ever forgive me, my darling, I ... Oh — ❜❜ Selfishly, despite all of her doubt and anxieties, she cannot help but cling to him as well, to crush him to her chest and stay here forever, falling back into their old ways as the world continues to go on with its wicked ways.
Bone of my bones, flesh of my flesh. Was I made from your rib, or did you come from mine? You were always the better of the two of us, my sweet, so bright and golden and shining above us all like the sun. You held my heart in your hands and you crushed it, just like that. Do you intend to torture me for my sins? Is that why you've stayed? Or perhaps you still need something to believe in, stubbornly and foolishly so. Perhaps we were both cut from the same, terrible mould.
Standing before him, no longer the Scarlet Pimpernel, not even as Marguerite St. Just, but as Masha — the same Masha who had loved him since she was a girl — she squeezes her eyes shut, choking back the tears that threaten to fall. ❛❛ You shouldn't have done all of that for me. The Pimpernel was nothing more than a fool's errand; I should have never let you find out, not in this way. What must you think of me, being so cowardly? So selfish and arrogant that I couldn't even tell my own boyfriend — ❜❜ She trails then, the hurried, rushed melody a jarring chord in the sweet, lilting cadence of her voice. With a trembling hand, she runs her fingers through his hair. ❛❛ How am I supposed to forgive myself, Percy? For everything? ❜❜
PROMPT¹ ... 1. deathless.
DEATHLESS.
the following prompts were taken from the novel deathless by catherynne m. valente, an american novelist & poet. the novel was loosely based on the tale of koschei the deathless, incorporating other elements of russian mythology, & setting it against the backdrop of the russian revolution. feel free to change the pronouns / prompts as you see fit, but be warned – below the cut, it’s quite long !
❛ the service of your body is not yours to give as you please. ❜
❛ you probably won’t survive. ❜
❛ go. run. don’t look behind you. ❜
❛ i have come for the girl in the window. ❜
❛ i will never be without information. ❜
❛ i will see him with his skin off before i fall in love. ❜
❛ if the world is divided into seeing & not seeing, i will always choose to see. ❜
❛ secrets are jealous things, permitting no fraternization. ❜
❛ no, it’s not like that, when magic comes. ❜
❛ magic does that. it wastes you away. once it grips you by the ear, the world gets quieter & quieter until you can hardly hear it at all. ❜
❛ the sight of it bruised my heart so that i cannot think about anything else. ❜
❛ i’ll be so quiet, i’ll never talk again. ❜
❛ keep me & obey me, for i am your husband, & i can destroy you. ❜
❛ i shall be clever, & i shall not let him go. ❜
❛ it is a new world, & we do not wish to be left behind. ❜
Keep reading
๋࣭ ⭑𓆩✧𓆪🗡ྀ࿔ 〖 and other stories . . . 〗 a collection of dialogue + action prompts inspired by angela carter's the bloody chamber and other stories. some prompts usfw. add +reversed for the muse receiving the meme to perform the action instead. adjust details as necessary.
dialogue :
are you sure you want to marry him?
oh! how you must want me!
soon.
i had never been vain until i met you.
anticipation is the greater part of pleasure.
all the better to see you.
what is that key? the key to your heart?
every man must have one secret, even if only one, from his wife.
all is yours, everywhere is open to you.
but now... what shall i do now?
my darling, i cannot wait for the moment when you make me yours completely.
there is a striking resemblance between the act of love and the ministrations of a torturer.
you are in some great distress.
any bride brought to a castle should come ready dressed in mourning.
oh god. i can smell the blood.
i thought all these were old wives' tales, chattering of fools, spooks to scare bad children into good behavior!
can't it wait until morning, my darling?
who can say what i deserve or no?
i've done nothing; but that may be sufficient reason for condemning me.
i have a place prepared for your exquisite corpse upon my display of flesh.
good fellow? i am no good fellow.
forgive me for robbing your garden!
all she wanted, in the whole world, was one white, perfect rose.
and what else was there to be done?
they are the death of any tender herbivore.
so late! you will want sleep.
you will come back to me? it will be lonely here, without you.
i will come back. soon, before the winter is over.
i am sick and i must die.
if you'll have me, i'll never leave you.
i think i might be able to manage a little breakfast today.
i have lost my pearl, my pearl beyond price.
if you are so careless of your treasure, you should expect them to be taken from you.
for all my pride, my heart is heavy.
if you wish to give me money, then i should be pleased to receive it.
i shall twist a noose out of my bed linen and hang myself with it.
you are a woman of honor.
nothing human lives here.
we have dispensed with servants.
take off my clothes for you, like a ballet girl? is that all you want of me?
all cats are cynics.
you read my thoughts, my love.
the woods enclose. the wood swallows you up.
all will fall still, all lapse.
it is easy to lose yourself in these woods.
i thought that nobody was in the wood but me.
there are some eyes can eat you.
sometimes the birds, at random, all singing, strike a chord.
eat me, drink me.
dive in and fetch it for me.
now you are at the place of annihilation.
and she is herself a cave full of echoes, she is a system of repetitions, she is a closed circuit.
can a bird sing only the song it knows or can it learn a new song?
beauty is a symptom of disorder, of soullessness.
a single kiss woke up the sleeping beauty in the wood.
be he alive or be he dead.
coffee. you must have coffee.
welcome. welcome to my chateau.
i rarely receive visitors and that's a misfortune since nothing animates me half as much as the presence of a stranger.
this place is so lonely.
now the village is deserted.
often i am so silent that i think i, too, will soon forget how to do so and nobody will ever talk any more.
i must apologize for the lack of light.
you have such a fine throat, like a column of marble.
i am condemned to solitude and dark.
i do not mean to hurt you.
i will be very gentle.
and could love free me from the shadows?
i've been waiting for you in my wedding dress, why have you delayed for so long.
you will feel no pain, my darling.
so delicate and damned, poor thing. quite damned.
the end of exile is the end of being.
it is a northern country; they have cold weather, they have cold hearts.
the devil is as real as you or i.
do not leave the path.
you are always in danger in the forest.
they are as unkind as plague.
fear and flee the wolf; for, worst of all, the wolf may be more than he seems.
besides, aren't you afraid of the wolves?
actions :
clasp. from behind, the sender places their hands over the receiver's eyes.
opera. through opera glasses, the sender watches the receiver.
choker. the sender fastens a gemstone necklace around the receiver's neck.
carriage. the sender locks the receiver in with them in their train compartment.
spine. the sender presses a kiss to the back of the receiver's bare neck.
cigar. the sender leans in and blows smoke in the receiver's face.
ermine. the sender wraps the furs around the receiver tighter as the snow falls.
keys. the sender silently enters the room and listens to the receiver play piano.
harem. the sender undresses the receiver before a collection of mirrors.
lazy. the sender brings the receiver breakfast in bed.
call. the sender calls the receiver and bursts into tears upon hearing their voice.
note. the sender discovers a love letter sent to the receiver from a previous lover.
death. the sender finds the receiver with the body of their latest victim.
hospitality. the sender watches from the shadows as the receiver take refuge from a storm in the sender's seemingly abandoned home.
servant. invisible, the sender feeds/washes/cares for the receiver.
hearth. the sender and the receiver talk past midnight by the fire's light.
hands. the sender falls to their knees before the receiver and kisses their hands.
bouquet. the sender has a hundred white roses sent to the receiver.
reunion. the sender lays eyes upon the receiver for the first time in an age.
bad luck. the sender hangs their head having lost a bet to the receiver.
voice. the sender sends their valet to speak their desires to the receiver.
powder. the sender dresses/makes up the receiver before an important night.
stallion. the sender grabs the reins of the receiver's horse and leads them away.
weep. the sender cries at the sight of the receiver in such a state.
dry. the sender brushes a tear from the receiver's cheek.
flush. the sender pinches the receiver's skin, watching it redden with blood.
prey. the sender guides the receiver's hands as together they skin a rabbit.
song. the sender sings and the receiver is spellbound, their feet following their song's command.
caught. the sender locks the receiver into a cage.
green. by the sender's command, the growth begins to take over the receiver.
tarot. the sender tells the receiver they are doomed to a sad fate.
stain. the sender touches the bloodstain on the receiver's white negligée.
wild. the sender rides hard through the night, chasing the receiver.
thirst. the sender sinks their teeth into the neck of the receiver.
china. the sender pours tea for the receiver and offers them biscuits.
blemish. the sender explores the receiver's skin and finds the mark of a witch.
wolf. the wolf reveals themself to be the sender before the receiver.
muzzle. the sender kisses the monstrous mouth of the receiver.
Keep Venezuela in your thoughts ❤️🩹
Venezuela was hit by two earthquakes yesterday, a 7.2 and a 7.5. Many parts of the country have been reduced to rubble, and areas of Caracas have been flattened. Their infrastructure has already been under immense strain. Here's how you can help:
https://www.gofundme.com/f/emergency-relief-for-venezuela-earthquake-victims
https://thehouse-project.org/products/support-the-house-project-make-a-difference-today
MORE DONATION LINKS:
Yummy, one of Venezuela's biggest rideshare and delivery platforms, is currently matching 25% of all donations up to $100,000. This is one of the fastest and safest ways to get emergency funds to ground operations.
Suma tu donación y ayuda a quienes más lo necesitan.
Cáritas Venezuela is the Catholic Church's local humanitarian arm. They are actively deploying food, supplies, clean water and medical care to those most affected.
«Ayúdanos Ayudar» Tú puedes ayudar a sostener el trabajo que Cáritas de Venezuela realiza mediante el esfuerzo de más de 30 mil voluntarios
mmm margot and percy soup
*le smooch*
Well, Literary Crush Month is at it again, but this time with Percy and Marguerite from Baroness Orczy’s The Scarlet Pimpernel!
The Scarlet Pimpernel is basically a PSA for marital counseling. For those of you who aren’t familiar, The Scarlet Pimpernel is one of the first alter-ego crime-fighting vigilante heroes. By day, Percy Blakeney poses as a witless and fashionable fop. But by night, he becomes a master of disguise–saving innocent aristos from the guillotine and being a generally clever do-gooder. The only problem is–his darling wife Marguerite appears to have sent an entire family to the guillotine out of spite and she may or may not be conspiring to catch him too. Sink me, what drama! But appearance isn’t everything, of course–and the story centers around Marguerite trying to clear her name and reunite herself with the enigmatic Percy (plus intrigue, blackmail, Chauvelin, etc..). P+M (Mercy, Perguerite?) are a super cute couple once you get past all the ANGST and AGONIZING FRUSTRATION. And I love how they basically end up *ahem* smooching at the end of pretty much every book that they star in.
There are a whole bunch of books in the series, and I’ve only read a few–but they are fun, rather cheesy, and oh-so entertaining. There is a 1982 film version which is *awesome* (it has a baby Gandalf in it!) and a musical with a terrible plot but amazing music! You will probably see more of these two this summer since I am using some scenes from the musical as a story project:)
@ thedrawingduke on twitter + instagram + tumblr
a new vivrez.tumblr.com meta is coming soon (the crowd boos)
gotham nights are brittle, she does not rest even in the slumber of early summer. his safe house, one of many, was cold and quiet, bare of humanity and chipping bare in every corner, it's his least favorite, a sure place to punish himself. only few had the coordinates to be here, and even less dared trek the back streets and down creaky steps to find him. jason, more often than not, hid here when he knew he could spend a week or more in silence. behind him decorated clean counter tops with half - empty bottles of distinguished alcohol and burning cigarette buds, the scent lingering, sure to follow, lacing on the fabrics of her clothing. it's obvious, by darkened circles and ruddy cheeks that he was not well... as well has he pretended to be. and he had half a mind to leave her stranded in the abyss, have her pretty - self turn back and find respite somewhere else lest he have peace of mind until morning. some bitter, sour rot began to ferment on his taste buds, sarcasm bubbling from the midst of his own throat, threatening to spill over and cause a scene before he could allow generosity to flood forth first.
❛❛ makin' your lack of security my fuckin' problem i see. ❜❜ maybe it's the heated days and sweaty nights, the endless monsoon uncommon for the city or the dull ache radiating in his lower back. left arm supports an ugly bruise, colored deep purple and worsening by the hour, and he has no care to baby it; all exposed and open, in her face. weight slides from the frame of the door, a heavy sigh escaping past his lips. god, when did he become such a softy .ᐣ best case scenario she finds disgust in his melancholy. can sense some sort of fucked - up emotional turmoil taking place between the ears, can feel jason about to vomit a storm of bitter nostalgia, and leave on her own accord. he let's her through, creating space between them. ❛❛ fuuuuuuuck. goddammit. ( hand runs over his face, taking time to rub the sleep from his eyes ) whatever. how long are you plannin' on stayin' here .ᐣ i got enough food for one. me. ⸻ and you can stay on the couch in the bedroom. i'll take the couch. ❜❜
Resurrection is like a metamorphosis of sorts — to sprout one's wings and take flight, albeit in a much gnarlier fashion. Crawling out of the chrysalis of the grave and standing here now, Marguerite can't help but feel out of place. She still hasn't grown accustomed to this new body — changed in ways she can't quite discern — still feels uneasy whenever she tries to walk; to talk; to breathe without a weight pressing down on her chest. The year without the Scarlet Pimpernel in her life had left her out of practice, and once the mask had called to her once more, it did not take long before she would try to salvage any aspect of her old routine, eventually leading her back to Jason's safehouse, nestled snugly on Gotham's outskirts. A wave of nostalgia washes over her, and for a moment, she allows the memory to consume her, leaving her stuck in the threshold of the past and present. Even after so much time, he still hasn't changed; still headstrong and brash, just as she remembered Surely, then, he wouldn't turn her away.
❛❛ The place looks ... different, ❜❜ she muses, eyes flickering around the space before settling on Jason. ❛❛ Tidier than the last time I was here, at least. Do any spring cleaning while I was gone? ❜❜ Timbre light and airy, she shifts until the coarse brick walls dig into her back, a slight breeze blowing in through the open window. She can't help but be drawn to his company, despite her better judgement. Vigilantism is a scar that they both share — a wound that continues to fester, no matter how many years pass. He had known that better than anyone else, having built up so many walls and turned his back on the world, with unfinished business that still had yet to be resolved. Even with his coldness, however, Marguerite can't help but want to tell him everything there and then, to spill her guts out until she was too weak to stand, leaving behind something akin to a corpse or shell.
❛❛ Not long, just for the night. Don't worry, I won't take up all your time. I just ... [trailing off, she shifts once again, as if she were trying to make herself smaller, nails digging into the half-healed scabs on her nailbeds.] I just needed to see a familiar face, that's all. ❜❜
A big thing that I've wanted to focus in on with my blog in recent months is reconciling with the derivative works of Pimpernel; not just adaptations or with prequel works that Baroness Orczy wrote, but with other reimaginings of the story like Pimpernel Smith from 1941. The role of the Scarlet Pimpernel is one that's existed for many years. It's ever-changing and shifts with the time the mantle is being reutilised in, as well as with who is donning the mantle at that time. Marguerite's not the first person to don the mantle, nor will she be the last, but the legacy and mythology of the Scarlet Pimpernel is something that haunts her every move. She has very, very big shoes to fill and that leads to a lot of self doubt on her part. I essentially am treating the Scarlet Pimpernel as being a folk hero like Robin Hood and the like. Every version of Pimpernel is valid and has happened at some point in time before the events of my main verse, from the original novel's French Revolution, aristocrat saving hero to Pimpernel Smith's second World War hero, and each version of the story adds something new to the mythos of the Scarlet Pimpernel. It's like how every version of Miku is canon to some extent, whether that be in a continuous timeline or in an alternate universe. In this sense, we can also treat the story of The Scarlet Pimpernel as being a cycle, with said cycle continuing whenever a new Pimpernel appears. It will always happen at some point in time, with the same basic framework, even if the details are slightly changed (think of that one quote from Deathless). How does that work when it implies that there have been two Marguerite St. Justs at different points of time who just so happen to have gone on to marry Percy Blakeneys? How is that possible? Is it reincarnation or trickery? Don't overthink it too much yet.