ohyondermemphis

[ohyondermemphis]

The Prisoner

[ohyondermemphis]

Mother and Father

[ohyondermemphis]

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE 2.03 "No Pain"

[ohyondermemphis]

presented without comment

[ohyondermemphis]

gorgeous gorgeous gorgeous

I'm sick and tired of this drawing so I'm just posting it as it is ( ignore the hands plz )

[ohyondermemphis]

some fucking resources for all ur writing fuckin needs

* body language masterlist

* a translator that doesn’t eat ass like google translate does

* a reverse dictionary for when ur brain freezes

* 550 words to say instead of fuckin said

* 638 character traits for when ur brain freezes again

* some more body language help

(hope this helps some ppl)

[ohyondermemphis]

one of my worst writing sins is abusing my power to create compound words. i cannot write the sentence "The sun shone as bright as honey that afternoon." no. that's boring. "The sun was honey-bright that afternoon" however? yes. that sentence is dope as fuck. i do not care if "honey-bright" is a word in the english dictionary. i do not care if the sentence is grammatically correct. i will not change. i will not correct my erred ways. the laws of the english language are mine.

[ohyondermemphis]

Yeah, everything is shit, but goddamn I also just spent three days searching for a fic I haven’t read in over twenty years and I finally found it.

[ohyondermemphis]

Responding to the ask request ‼️

What if.. tragic seer!harry au... He keeps making prophecies about an incoming but no one listens because they want to stay in their little bubble where there's no conflict and all is peaceful .. I got inspired by the song "Cassandra" by Taylor swift if you've ever heard it <3 the timeline and the characters around harry are up to you if you are interested in this prompt !! Hope you have a great day <3

(Ive not heard the song, but Im familiar with Greek mythology! This, though, is set shortly before 1348 and the bubonic plague that killed 1/3 of England's population)

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Harry fingers the fine embroidery on his robes — a gift from his parents for turning 16 — and tries to banish the images of destruction from his mind.

"Are you concentrating, Harry?" His tutor. An old friend of his parents who he's known forever.

Harry shakes his head. "Sorry, I was. Something about Hastings?"

Lupin hums but a smile twitches across his face. "If I'm boring you, we could take a break? Your father was suggesting you spend some time practising for the jousting competition at the end of the month."

Harry shakes his head, again. There is a sour taste in his mouth, something rancid — not as rancid as the bodies, he tells himself, piled on carts, covered in red sores, and then, out, out, out. He doesn't want to think about the plague he knows is coming, the death.

"What would..." Harry hesitates. He's pleaded with his family over the last year, to close the borders, to ask the alchemists and the cunning folk to find a cure, but they laughed him off easily the first few times, and talked about sending him away after that. "If the population..."

Lupin sighs. He kneels beside Harry's desk, his knees creaking slightly. "We've talked about this Harry," he says softly, like he's being kind. "God won't deliver penance when we haven't sinned."

It's not about sin, Harry wants to say. He shuts his mouth instead.

They won't listen. They never do. They'll suffer for it, Harry knows, and there is nothing that can be done, but he prays every night that this time will be the one they take him seriously.

"Never mind," he says instead, frowning a little. "Keep talking about 1066. It doesn't matter."

The gift — it's not really a gift, it's a curse — came from Riddle. An older boy in the castle, Harry had liked him, liked him a lot, actually. Too much so, that was the problem.

Riddle was manipulative, he'd persuaded Harry into things Harry wasn't sure were allowed, and things Harry was certain weren't allowed.

"I'll give you a gift," he said, smile sharp as they'd leaned in the shade of a tree. "It'll be our secret, yeah? And then you can come away with me."

Harry grinned back and nodded. Seconds later, he was aware of every moment of being, twisting from him in a map of coloured threads. And when he'd looked at Tom, looked at the possibilities, the futures, the everythings, he realised couldn't be with the older boy anymore.

"No," he'd said. "No. You should leave and never come back."

Tom had shrugged, sneering slightly. "You know what you're doing. You'll come crawling back to me soon enough, begging me to love you."

Harry had laughed. "I really won't." He was the seer nobody believed, he was a myth, he knew exactly what the future held and it didn't hold Tom. "Goodbye."

His dreams came true, his thoughts. Things happened around Harry, and they kept happening and they wouldn't stop. Harry knew everything and it hurt in the base of his heart.

(And when the bodies had piled up, no one missed a local lord's son, and no one cared to remember he had warned them.)

[ohyondermemphis]

COUNT ORLOK + tags

[ohyondermemphis]

[ohyondermemphis]

hyperfixation please stay with me long enough to complete the project. hyperfixation do not fade. hyperfixation finish what you started for the love of god

[ohyondermemphis]

[ohyondermemphis]

”Stop romanticizing abuse!” Okay, first of all, I’m FETISHIZING it. Get it right.

[ohyondermemphis]

There are shadows in his dreams, seeking and familiar. Harry finds himself slipping closer to them, bare feet on the cold hardwood, in nothing but that which he was born with, the skin that wraps around his bones, the hair that trails along his shoulders. The things that mark him, the things he carries. The scar above his eye, the cut in the crook of his elbow, the lies marked forever on his hand, the weight of another in his solar plexus.

He feels himself lost in this dream, bathed in the blue tones of a full moon, balcony doors open and the curtains flow in and out on the breeze. He feels himself rise, bare toes skimming the floor and a shadow creeps toward him, a tall hulking thing, hand outstretched, maw gaping wide, wider still to swallow him whole.

His fright is contained, caught in the harsh beat of his heart, like a trapped thing beneath the thin skin between his collarbones. He feels the cool touch of the other, the caress that is skin chilling, and goosebumps rise over his body, tightening his skin, making him ache.

A hand comes out of the ether, the shadows, forms in the cradle of his jaw, and another, pushing the hair from his face, five presses of fingertips across his tilted back face, his mouth, his thin neck.

I swear if I’m able to see Nosferatu this weekend I am writing an unhinged monster fucking Harrymort.

[ohyondermemphis]

I swear if I’m able to see Nosferatu this weekend I am writing an unhinged monster fucking Harrymort.

[ohyondermemphis]

beatbox

(mental breakdown)