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WELCOME 

to matthias shaw’s trading and mercenary company, or rather- my humble store. i’m the aforementioned matthias, but m’ friends call me silk. how can i help ye this fine evenin’? i just received a shipment of the finest velvet and glassware, very hard to acquire…

                             …or is it m’ other services ye’ll be needing?

dnd character written by rhys, good for most settings.

template                    psd

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Alchemy museum in Prague.

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not dead, just...who knows?? i haven’t looked at this tumblr in a long time. i guess consider this a very low activity blog,

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whaddup i’m rhys and it took me getting this haircut for it to really sink in that i’m trans. not the preference for a male name or anything. getting this goddamn haircut.

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Luminol and Hydrogen Peroxyde 

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          plus side of using magic to clean the store: no hauling buckets of dirty water around, or scrubbing futiley at the ceiling before throwing your back out. downside of using magic to clean the store: you still felt like you’d done everything by hand.

          and as he released the wave of blue across the shop floor, he sunk onto a nearby chair and shrugged his suddenly too hot jacket off. it was amazing to watch the dust disappear, and the most stubborn stains evaporate; but he didn’t pay much attention as his head flopped back, sweat dewing his brow.

          “if you would get me something cool to drink, i would appreciate it.”

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Eternal Darkness - Sanity’s Requiem is one of those treasured games, an example of Lovecraftian horror crafted with (twisted) love and care and stands as an example of a horror game done right. It featured at the time a unique ‘sanity’ meter that lowered when you witnessed horrifying monsters or events, slowly eroding over time, and as it did so several illusions began to surface–ones that fucked not with the character’s perceptions of reality, but the players. Bugs crawling across the TV screen, blue screen of death, the threat of your memory card deleting all its memory–that kind of meta-level 4th wall-breaking effect did much to get into your mind and set the atmosphere of creeping horror that is ever-present in the game.

When the sanity meter ran empty, this audio began to play, and the game stopped pulling its punches.

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“ i feel as though i’m just here to disappoint ”

[ x ]

          he would never complain, ever, about julian’s feelings; no matter how wrong they were, the man was still going to feel them and he couldn’t help it. but spirits, it got tiring repeating the same mantra- you’re not, your brain’s being mean, i want to help-

         but trying to keep both their spirits up was just exhausting when there was seemingly no end to it. he wasn’t a therapist. hell, he was barely a hedge witch when it came to healing. this was above and beyond him when he had his own terrible emotions to bare.

         “julian...” would he be forgiven for this? “i’m not- i can’t help. it’s too much. nothing i say or do helps you and- you’re a doctor, right? you gotta recognize that you need...actual help. i can’t keep us both afloat here. i’m barely treading water, and you- please, jules. please get help.”

please stop hurting me so.

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What has restlessness been for, the darkness  asks, as if that were the question, when the darkness  itself is its own question, the most honest one left,  as far as I can see, that’s worth asking, that I keep  meaning to ask, then faltering, not at all out of fear,  I think—I don’t think I’m afraid—but being fire, and restless.

— Carl Phillips, from “From a Bonfire,” Wild Is the Wind

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collection of prompts  /  starter sentences  /  what have you taken from private  /  unpublished works of poetry written by the blog moderator .  feel free to change things  (  such as pronouns  )  as needed !

“ i finally recognize my own reflection ” “ these clothes cling to my body like cobwebs ” “ you left your body somewhere far behind ” “ you know it works every time  ,  half the time  ,  when you get lucky ” “ get the hell away from me ” “ the taste is regret ” “ you never learned to say you’re hurting without forcing someone to hurt with you ” “ you have the audacity to act surprised when your bridges burn ” “ you’re too old to still need a nightlight ” “ still scared of the dark ? ” “ you know them  ,  or you don’t ” “ it doesn’t matter because they’re dead ” “ you’ll join them one way or another ” “ here’s how to relax your muscles ” “ i don’t bother telling anyone the results anymore ” “ they don’t bother asking ” “ i think someone switched the contents ” “ you spend so much time considering what it must be like to be someone else that you forgot to consider what it must be like to be someone at all ” “ i don’t know what to say ” “ you are either a fool or a genius or maybe both ” “ for once i feel like maybe i’m not letting anybody down ” “ he doesn’t believe you ” “ i can’t tell if there’s something wrong or normal with me ” “ the empty container of cup noodles digging into my side is almost pleasant ” “ let them take your place ” “ you are not a king nor were you ever one ” “ i am ready to go home ” “ your mother wept the first time she held you in her arms ” “ you are a miracle ” “ you are something damned ” “ there are not enough apologies in this world to make up for your closed casket funeral ” “ gods will always know the difference ” “ i want to ask my father if he was afraid ” “ maybe never getting to say goodbye is the closest you’re allowed to get to a blessing ” “ the gods will never know the sound of my forgiveness ” “ i just woke up here one morning ” “ i don’t know how to tell you i don’t know where she is ” “ there’s someone here who misses her ” “ i should just be able to bottle up my pain ” “ i feel as though i’m just here to disappoint ” “ if you look closely you can see the snakes shifting beneath the dirt ”

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what shape does your pain take?

A picture. A single image reminding you of someone or something you've lost, something you don't want to live without. You can't seem to move on, to accept life has changed, to live again. You're trapped in the picture, in the past. Maybe this was a lost family member or friend, maybe this was a sickness that isn't going away, maybe this was sinking into depression. But you can't help but remember how life was before, how life after will never be the same, and can't help but feel that nothing in the future will be able to fill the hole the past left. Nothing lasts forever... Right?

yoinked from: @brightlikewukong

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Powers: Pyrokinesis

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Gillian Flynn | Sharp Objects

Alice Notley | Along a Spectral Trail | Songs and Stories of the Ghouls

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I look for omens everywhere, because they are everywhere to be found. They come to me like strays, like the damaged, something that could know better, and should, therefore—but does not: a form of faith, you’ve said. I call it sacrifice—an instinct for it, or a habit at first,        that becomes required, the way art can become, eventually, all we have of what was true.

— Carl Phillips, from “Custom,” The Rest of Love

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