#stories and stains

[thoughtdaughterarchive]

Coffee stains and piles of cups ringed with tea stains. Mugs of steaming coffee. Bags full of books and pens, receipts and journals, lip balm and hand cream. Well loved books from thrift stores. Hoodies and thick sweaters. Ink stained hands. Smudged lipstick and messy hair. The glow of the laptop screen. Baggy pants and fuzzy socks. Thick fluffy blankets. Days in the library working without seeing the sun. Postcards of travels on the walls and kisses on calendars.

[luckybugsdiary]

I saw this on Pinterest and had to give it my own spin☕

[umbraartist]

Romeo the Cruel

Romeo the Fool

Don’t talk to me or my son

[cuubism]

i feel like dream in human aus is usually characterized as being more stoic and stern while hob is more easygoing, but i think it would be funny to have a university au where hob is the professor who's like "no work is deserving of 100%. find 27 more sources and do it again" while dream is just like "they put their dreams into it, hob 🥺 A+! A+! A+! A+!"

[deep-space-lines]

Full-Size / True Color Version

Sometimes I think about the fact that first living being to orbit the Earth couldn't understand what was happening to her, couldn't understand the history she was making. Laika wasn't a volunteer. The technology to bring her back alive didn't exist. They sent her up anyway. She died, scared and alone, in a malfunctioning spacecraft hastily built to meet a political deadline.

When her heart rate tripled from the stress of acceleration, did she understand the magnitude of what she was experiencing? When she saw the stars outside her little window, did she believe the world had gone dark? In her final hours, did she feel wonder, or just fear?

"The more time passes, the more I’m sorry about it. We shouldn’t have done it. We did not learn enough from this mission to justify the death of the dog. When you understand that you can’t bring back Laika, that she perishes out there, and that no one can bring her back…that is a very heavy feeling." Oleg G. Gazenko

For me, there's some small consolation, at least, in knowing that although her death was unnecessary and cruel, Laika will never be forgotten. I love you, Laika. May you find peace among the stars.

Prints are available here.

[sinnbaddie]

Naruto as a series is perfect if I ignore the lack of change to the systematic oppression and the victim blaming and the child cruelty and the oppressors being forgiven and the clear classism and the regression of character development and the-

[zylphiacrowley]

Left Behind

<previous - next>

[thatonecrookedsmile]

History doomed to repeat itself.

"Man with Vision - Crooked Past"

"One Without Purpose - Unstable Present"

"Mechanical Threat - Doomed Future"

Bonus Version - "Shamed and Disgraced"

-----

My last big art for the end of the year. An idea I had one day, and instead of putting it in a mental drawer with a note to "do later", I decided to take it and do it now. Happy to have made this decision.

Something a little different from what I'm used to doing, and a little different from the things I've done this year. A good test for me, and a great result I would say.

Thank you very much to everyone for the support during 2024. The only thing I hope for 2025 in terms of art is to continue to improve. And maybe try to free myself from the chains of the ink demon so I can draw other things besides aside from the little devil (but I can't promise anything, lol)

May you all have a happy new year, and may 2025 be a better one, for everything and everyone.

Stay well, and take care. ⭐

[nixie-deangel]

okay but retired from the Navy Bradley, who's let his curls grow long and has a bit of a tummy and isn't as defined as he was before/during/right after the mission meeting Jake again about a year later (so he's worked through a bit of his issues but not all of them but also having come to the realization he's actually been in love with Jake for more than a decade), who's now a flight instructor in North Island and smiling all soft and shy while Jake looks struck dumb, boy's walking into shit because he just can not get over how good Bradley looks now and is internally blue screening because he wants to climb Bradley like a try and falling through floors and windows as he comes to the startling realization he's been in love with Bradley for more than a decade.

Just. Soft Bradley, who's let himself go and worked on himself and lets himself come back into Jake's life to see if the spark is there on Jake's side.

And Jake constantly going through it because he's speed running coming to all these realizations about himself and Bradley and what he wants for his life and what he wants for them.

[luckybugsdiary]

In

Marginalia and worn pages: Notes in the margins, dog-eared corners, and books that feel truly lived with.

Intellectual confidence: Sharing well-crafted opinions, hosting discussions, and owning your knowledge.

Subdued glamour: Soft silk scarves, delicate gold jewelry, and a signature perfume.

Vintage academia vibes: Secondhand bookstores, leather-bound journals, and old postcards.

Reflective mornings: Quiet rituals like journaling or writing poetry with your coffee.

Intentionally Consuming: Be it books or caffeine, music or social media. Don’t consume just to say you did.

Unapologetic ambition: Setting clear goals for personal growth, academics, and your future career.

Fingerless Gloves and The Starless Sea: A magical world hidden within our own. Gloves to keep your hands warm in the cold weather but still be able to flip the pages your books.

Chunky Knits and oversized sweaters: keep warm and stylish with layers that feel like a warm hug.

Painting rooms and reorganizing: making a house a home and feeling fresh for the new year.

Library Days: spend hours tucked away in a quiet corner of the library, surrounded by fellow readers and studiers.

Curated Chaos; embrace messy but meaningful spaces filled with books and pens, notebooks and inspiration.

Handwritten Notes: Romantic and timeless, 2025 needs to be the year handwriting notes gets popular again. Write them to your friends, your families, your lovers. Write them to yourself.

Out

Trendy disposables: Fast fashion, over-accessorizing, or anything that feels fleeting. ,

Overthinking appearances: Focus on substance and authenticity over perfection.

Procrastination loops: Replace them with small, intentional daily habits.

Overcomplicated routines: Simplify skincare, wardrobe, and study/work processes. ..

Forcing productivity: Embrace the balance of effort and rest, creating space for creativity.

Cluttered Digital Spaces: Make it simple to find what you need. Keep it intentional.

Shallow reads: Aimless scrolling through books just for aesthetic purposes.

Overwhelming schedules: Prioritize what aligns with your goals and values.

Noise without meaning: Avoid excessive social media and superficial trends.

Neglecting the self: Forgetting that nurturing yourself is part of your glow-up.

People-pleasing: Protect your boundaries and embrace your individuality unapologetically.

Avoiding Winter walks: Embrace the cold! Nature and cool air can refresh and inspire you.

[umbraartist]

Fred The Good

Stained glass goes brrrrrrrrr

It has been a minute since I made a full colored piece

[theloveinc]

i mean... i know it's not my business like that but i do have to wonder .... is the [entertainment/anime] industry in japan even remotely worried about the fact that two, internationally popular animangas ended/are ending with really, really abrupt endings? like............ does that not concern anyone? in regard to mangaka health/burnout mostly but Also the fact these endings are lowkey... ass?

[noobiestnoober]

Blood-Stained Kisses (Ripper Stefan x F!Reader)

🩸 Blood-Stained Kisses 🩸

Stefan Salvatore (Ripper Version) x Reader Dangerous Tension | Angst | Emotional Turmoil

“You should fear me,” he whispered, his bloodstained forehead pressed against yours. “Why don't you?”

🔹 A kiss born of ruin. 🔹 A heart too stubborn to let go. 🔹 Two shattered souls clinging to the last flicker of humanity.

The abandoned house groaned and shuddered around you, its old bones creaking beneath the weight of the raging storm outside. Wind shrieked through shattered windows, flinging rain and debris across the splintered floorboards. Every draft carried the metallic, nauseating scent of blood, thick enough to choke on. You crouched behind a broken doorframe, breath catching painfully in your lungs. Your heart hammered against your ribs so violently it threatened to betray your hiding place.

Footsteps. Slow. Measured. Predatory.

Each step echoed through the hollow ruin of the house, drawing closer with agonizing certainty, until it was the only sound you could hear above the howling storm. You pressed your trembling hand over your mouth, desperately trying to silence the ragged rhythm of your breathing.

Praying he wouldn't find you. Praying he would.

A dark shadow stretched across the cracked floor in front of you, ominous and deliberate. You didn’t need to look to know who it was. You could feel him—his presence like a storm within the storm.

Stefan.

But not the Stefan you had once known. Not the boy with the soft laugh, the heavy, haunted eyes, the tender hands that once touched you like you were something fragile and precious. No—this Stefan was a specter of violence, bloodstained and brutal, his shirt torn open and soaked in dark patches of crimson, his breathing ragged and shallow. His golden-green eyes, wild and feral, gleamed in the broken light like those of a predator cornered and desperate.

He crouched low, moving with a deadly, liquid grace that sent every instinct in your body into a frenzy of panic. Yet you stayed frozen, your muscles locked, your mind too tangled in memories and fear to obey the primal command to run.

Stefan's gaze raked over you, devouring the sight of your fear, the tremor that visibly shook your body. But there was something else—a glimmer of recognition, a flicker of grief buried deep behind the hunger twisting his features. For a long, endless moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the pounding of the storm, the sharp staccato of blood dripping from his fingertips, and the deafening roar of your heartbeat.

He leaned closer, close enough that you could see every detail—the flecks of blood drying against his lips, the haunted crack in his stare. His forehead pressed against yours, the touch cold, damp, and so heartbreakingly familiar that a sob almost tore itself free from your throat. A violent shiver raced down your spine as his presence engulfed you.

When he spoke, his voice was low and frayed with hunger, thick with despair. "You should fear me," he whispered, each word scraping against your skin like broken glass. "Why don't you?"

Your whole being screamed for escape. Every muscle in your body begged you to run, to fight, to survive. But your heart—your foolish, reckless heart—refused. It clung to the remnants of the boy you had loved, to the memory of gentle hands and whispered promises.

"Because I know you're still in there," you whispered back, your voice trembling, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

For a fraction of a second, Stefan's body stiffened. A tremor of emotion flashed across his face, too quick for anyone who didn't know him as you did to catch it. A ghost of the boy you remembered flickered into existence—and then, just as quickly, vanished.

His hand, slick with blood and trembling, rose hesitantly. He brushed the back of his fingers against your cheek in a touch so heartbreakingly tender it stole the air from your lungs. You leaned into it, reckless, desperate to anchor him—to anchor yourself.

"You're wrong," he rasped, but even as the words left him, his touch lingered, trembling.

Before you could gather your courage to say anything else, Stefan closed the agonizing gap between you. His mouth crashed onto yours with brutal force—a desperate, fevered kiss laced with the bitter tang of blood and sorrow.

It wasn't a kiss born from love. It was a kiss born from ruin. From hunger. From despair. From the desperate, broken need to remember what it meant to feel something other than the endless, gnawing void inside him.

He kissed you like a drowning man clawing for the surface, all ragged breath and bruising hands. And you—despite the terror clenching your chest, despite every rational warning screaming inside your head—kissed him back. Your fingers curled into the tattered fabric of his shirt, feeling the sticky warmth of blood against your skin, grounding you in the terrible, undeniable reality of him.

The world outside the broken house faded to nothing. There was no storm, no ruin—only Stefan. Only the broken, battered remnants of a boy and the girl foolish enough to love him still.

When he finally tore himself away from you, gasping, his forehead resting heavily against yours, you realized you were both trembling. Caught in a gravity that neither of you could escape. His breath hitched, raw and unsteady, and you could see it—the war within him, the hunger battling the humanity he fought so hard to bury.

"I'm not worth saving," he breathed, as if trying to convince himself more than you.

You closed your eyes, resting your hands gently on either side of his bloodstained face. "Maybe," you whispered. "But I'm still here."

For a heartbeat—a single, fragile heartbeat—he let you hold him. You let him fall apart in your arms as the storm raged outside, lightning flashing against the ruined walls. The broken house cradled your fragile moment of madness, of tenderness amidst ruin, sheltering two shattered souls clinging desperately to what little remained of their humanity.

[dragonbma]

“They must have flipped it. Your skills are latent.

Oh… The desolate dirt, the raw, scorched earth. It’s a trophy of your worth.”

“This mess that you've made, it's a six-foot grave.

It's a home for your lonesome bones that remain.

We'll disappear, but you'll stay here to rot as The King of The Dark and Forgot…”

P.S. Can’t believe MC:SM season 2 is another year older. 🎂

Yeah, I’ve said it before but I can’t shut up about how the cage looks like an upside down enchanting table.

[blueskittlesart]

being in art school and having basically 0 knowledge about christianity whatsoever is so funny at this point i think you could tell me literally anything was an allegory for jesus and i'd just believe you

[arsenicflame]

every time i think of izzy hands i just have to 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 for a second