#but that void wasn't a void

[nerdpoe]

Cale, when he was being placed back into his body after the GoD test, found himself in a weird empty place.

The only thing in it is a pedestal, and on that pedestal is an intricate, golden pocketwatch.

It's open, and has far too many hands. He can see the gears inside it, and even though none of the seventeen hands are moving, the gears are. If he looks closer at the gears, he can start to see...something.

It looked like space. Like a galaxy, hidden in between the gears.

He pokes around it for a bit, but nothing happens. It just sits there, looking shiny and expensive.

He had no idea what this thing was, but...it was probably worth a lot. If it wasn't, the kids would like it.

He reaches out, grabs it, and wakes up in his body, surrounded by shields and people telling him not to move.

Except the next time he tries to use Instant, time freezes all around him; and his body has no ill effects. In fact, he can feel not only his time, but every single version of himself at all points in time.

The drawback comes after he stops using the power; every orifice that can bleed, does, and he faints from blood loss so intense that his regeneration Power can't keep up.

He calls a meeting with Jack and Cage later, to find out what the fuck happened.

She takes one look at him and dives for the bar. Jack takes a longer look and joins her.

"You crazy bastard," Cage says between swigs, refusing to look at Cale.

"How did you steal a god's power?" Jack asks, voice high pitched as he shakily pours himself a glass of wine.

[wherestoriescomefrom]

rian johnson took all that time, put in all that effort to make glass onion a fantastic period piece to the first four months of pandemic, a prescient narrative that anticipates the stupidity of rich billionaires, and then pulled the rug from under us because the world of benoit blanc just straight up doesn't have the mona lisa anymore

[goryhorroor]

horror + cults

[iersei]

come what may, i hope that it’ll be alright

[mecharose]

the ace hate is not an online exclusive thing either. last year I had my (gay) college roommate laugh in my face over "it's so stupid how asexual people think they're queer - not you though because you're also a lesbian :)" the year before that my (gay) friends would tell me over and over "some asexual people have sex why not you?" "you've never tried it how do you know?" and my favorite, one of them would literally just constantly say "i hate asexual people"

meanwhile I just tell my (straight) roommates now "it's like having post nut clarity forever" and theyre like OHH THATS GAS and that's the end of it. forever. do you guys like want me to become a supervillain or

[ivorysodapop]

Design stuff!!! It's a little more drastic bc WWX is DEAD but differences between them also

AU Masterlist

[always-a-king-or-queen]

Miss Pevensie, they say, can you identify these bodies for us? And you try, gentlest sibling, you try your best. But the tears are thick in your throat and the grief is bitter on your tongue, and when you shut your eyes you see fire and steel, twisting together and crushing the breath from their bodies.

You look at your father, and mother, and cousin, still and silent on their backs, bruised and bloodied and unsmiling, and their faces are anything but familiar. Were their eyes open you would be looking into the face of a stranger. You press your hand over your mouth, and you do not cry, and you tell them what they want to know. These are my parents, you hear yourself say. This is my cousin. They nod, they thank you, they direct you forward. More, more, more corpses to identify. More losses to count.

You look at your eldest brother, golden blond hair spread across his forehead, thick like the mane of a lion. There is gravel in his skin and soot on his cheeks and his face is pale, hands folded over his chest and blood threaded into his yellow sweater. Red against gold. For a moment the combination brushes your brain, touches a distant memory of battle and clashing swords, but you blink and it is gone. This is my brother Peter, you say, in a voice choked with grief. The sky looks black outside the window, and your brother’s arm still feels warm when you touch it a final time.

You look to your younger brother, dark hair tousled, blood leaking between his lips. His skin is frost pale, like snow, so white he appears to be made of stone. Shrapnel cuts into his cheeks and sends crimson trails across his face. His hands are clenched, cap askew on hair smeared with blood. They tell you he died with his sister in his arms, body curled around her in a vain attempt to keep her safe. You stare at him with a lump in your throat, and for a moment you seem to see him, silver crown upon his head, smiling with quiet gentleness. It fades, and you whisper, This is my brother Edmund. The tree outside the window seems to wilt a little as you speak. Your brother’s cheek is like ice beneath your fingertips.

You look last at your sister. She is peaceful, lips lifted in a smile, hair tangled beneath her head and shoulders. She grips something in one hand— a tiny wooden carving. A lion. Your throat clenches to see it, but you do not know why. Her skin is warm, like sunlight, but there is such coldness in her face. Such emptiness. Blood smears her sky blue dress, and you weep to see it. Blood does not belong on your baby sister. For a moment the red makes you remember her, dancing wild by a fire with berry juice smeared on her hands and mouth, but surely not. Surely such a thing never happened. This is my sister Lucy, you murmur, and are able to say no more. For a moment it seems as if a mist touches the window, and your sister’s skin is hot against your palms.

You turn away, raven-dark hair falling over your cheek, and stare out the window with tears burning your throat. There is no sun, and you think that perhaps there will never be sun again. It has been taken away forever.

(For a moment you seem to hear a voice, deep, gentle, loving. To the radiant southern sun. For a moment you feel the weight of a crown in your hair. Perhaps you are losing your sanity, bit by bit. Perhaps it was shattered the moment you heard the news).

They asked you to identify the bodies, and you did, because they are your family. They were your family. You loved each and every one of them. You loved your mother's soft fingers in your hair and your father's deep chuckle. You loved your older brother's fierce kindness and your little brother's quiet demeanor and your baby sister's merriment. You loved them all. And now you stare through the window at a sky that is heavy with rain and think of flames and twisted metal and the blood on your siblings' skin.

You close your eyes. For a brief moment you think you smell lilies, and salt, and Lucy is laughing and Edmund is smiling and Peter's arms are slung around their shoulders, and then they are looking at you and beckoning and there is a lion with golden eyes and the sun is rising into a damp new sky.

Your eyes open slowly, glazed over with tears that spill down your cheeks like rain.

And for a moment, just for a moment, you remember.

[godisasimp]

[gethoce]

Birth

[ophstars]

Whenever I find myself getting disinterested or lazy with a method that takes some practice to be successful at, I often remind myself that there are people who would literally DIE to have the information I have let alone the method I have of entering the void, so what's two weeks of practice against a lifetime of pure bliss and pleasure? Literally, TWO WEEKS against what? 50, maybe even 60+ years (or forever if u plan on being immortal) of having anything of your wildest dreams.

The reward is FAR too great for you to be lazying around talking about how "oh, it's too hot so I can't attempt" or I'm not feeling it today, I can do it later. " I mean, COME ON, are your dreams not worth even the smallest bit of practice? Not even the tiniest bit of effort? Aren't you tired of going on tumblr every day to find a new success story on your dash, wondering where yours is? Thinking about how you really should've posted your success by now? Guys, it's 2020 FOUR, for goodness sake, and you still haven't entered despite being in the community for how long?

[ariaricottoncandy]

Singing me the tale of the Harpy and the Hare And the Hound.

[icedb1ackcoffee]

Ecologist!Reader aesthetic | Corrupted by Design | Feyd-Rautha x Reader

You stood out compared to the Harkonnens, in more ways than just one. You wore loose clothing: rich brown pants or skirts and deep greens tied around your torso and arms, sometimes flashes of red or blue—all washed out under any sunlight. You carried with you strange jars and herbs, your dark, sunblocking glasses atop your head if not perched on your nose, your waist satchel stuffed with samples—you must have looked completely alien to their more minimalist sensibilities. “You dress oddly for someone from the Imperium,” one of your workers remarked. “Is it your goal to one day turn into a plant, and not just look like one?”

Corrupted by Design (Rated E)

[scoliosisgoblin]

more doodles

[lunar-years]

"I've noticed that sometimes having a tough dad is exactly what drives some fellas to become great at what they do. You know I hear Bono's father was a real piece of work but then again, so was Joshua Tree, so you know 🤷‍♂️" Ted literally should have been banned from ever speaking on Jamie's father again after this one because what a wild thing to say to someone you witnessed being physically and verbally abused by their father ?? 'sorry your dad sucks but maybe you'll be a great player because you were abused <3' UM? Not to mention Jamie JUST told you that actually, his "tough dad" became such a problem that it drove him to do anything to get himself away from the situation including abandoning the thing he's "great at" and thereby tanking his mental health like????

[mrghostrat]

i am sick and have had nothing to do for the past three days and i am so happy you updated :)

it feels so little but i hope you enjoy!!!

[downtherabbitholewithlucy]

|| THE TANG SUIT ||