#space fcs

[buchreihe]

( . . . ) this is the story of 𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐍, a loner with a heavy australian accent who suffers from sleep paralysis every single night after reading evil spirits out of a horror novel so he prefers to stay awake as long as possible, living his life out of a coffee mug in the middle of nowhere brisbane.

❝ In books I meet the DEAD as if they were alive, in books I see what is yet to come . . . All things decay and pass with time . . . All fame would fall victim to oblivion if god had not given mortal men the book to aid them. ❞

A librarian more used to reading stories than living in them, Nathan would be an unlikely candidate for hero in any book. But even discounting the power of his voice, Nathan is a formidable foe. Though he might not have many combat skills, Nate is more than willing to learn, and he refuses to be cowed by the dangers he's fallen into. Also called “ Silvertongue ” because of his ability to make characters come alive by reading them out of books - to "paint pictures in the air with his voice" - although he has been wary of this gift.

𝐚𝐧 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐭 𝐢𝐧 : night terrors, regretting every decision he ever made, being able to read people and objects out of books, the fear of being forgotten, realising that the church lied, paranormal events, staying awake for several days and isolation.⠀⠀ ⸻

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐃

[carraville-barlowen]

Jamie, you’re genuinely ridiculous.

GET A GRIP (he did) (twice, if you look closely).

[mcflymemes]

maybe this is controversial but i promise... i promise you. if a certain blog won't write with you, or won't follow you back despite your attempts and your desperation to write with them... there's always another writer, another blog, another section of the community to explore. there are so many deeply passionate writers in this community who would jump at the chance to write with you. you don't have to whine and cry and vague and send anon hate and bully someone because they're selective, singleship, mutuals only, or they just don't want to follow your blog. leave them alone, and go find another person to write with.

[looooochie]

tana and frido! 🌟

and if you guys can, please tag @zowifi . I think she blocked me for some reason but tell her my artstyle is inspired from her, thanks !!

[thistablesknackered]

jesus christ.

[jujutsustraycats]

I don't even know what he's saying but fuck.

[hersidekick]

10 Things Alejandro Balde can’t live without

via GQ Spain

~ curly sponge & afro pick comb

~ football boots - the lime coloured one has the date of his first team debut 14/09/2021 in the ucl group stage

~ sanchoco - traditional Dominican stew

~ prince of bel air canvas

~ bone (honestly dunno what this is for since it’s not subtitled :/)

~ lebron james jersey

~ photos of kids in Guinea Bissau - his paternal home country

~ bracelet

~ speakers & headphones

~ plane ticket to 2022 Qatar World Cup

Bonus: there was a rubik’s cube on the table as well but there wasn’t a section where he spoke on it

[lyllaotterofhalfworld]

Allura upgraded

She’s not new, I just wanted to give her a glow up lol

[acrazybayernfan]

tuchel and his "this is not a thomas müller game"... again, wrong. every game is a thomas müller game if you let him

Perhaps that this is not a Thomas Tuchel job

[bellcza]

no because why do we have to play 3 games next week? couldn’t they have moved tmrw’s game to saturday 😭

frrr because why tf do we have a game on a thursday???? la ligma balls league actually hates us

[cozysip]

*✶   rafael silva  in  911 lone star s4

a  total  of #  52  gifs ( 268x150  )  have  been  added  to  my  rafael  silva  gif  page  [ total  of    #  192  gifs ].  he’s  brazilian  and  was  born  in  1994,  please  cast  accordingly  and  use  appropriately.  all  of  the  gifs  have  been  created  from  scratch  by  me​.  to  access  the  gifs  please  click  the  source  link  and  you’ll  be  redirected  to  my  gif  rules  where  you’ll  find  the  link  to  my  gif  server  (  shared  with  @comfytea​  )  .  if  you  are  going  to  use  my  gifs  like  /  reblog !

trigger  warnings  : none

[a-love-that-transcends-all]

I was hoping to have all 3 of my Freela kids ready by tomorrow, been falling behind because life... but the *STAR* attraction of the three is finally finished! (haha get it? *star* cus she's named after a star AHAHAH)

So this is my official redesign of my Freela baby, Turanga Violet Star Fry.

✨🌌✨

*Is named after the Violet Dwarf Star. You know, the star that literally forced Leela to face her true feelings more than ever and trust Fry with the most important thing in the universe, and also made her realise she could not deny her undying love for Fry any longer.

*Pronouns she/her

*Family pet name is Hexy Chicky

*She is a goth punk rebel without a cause

*Angsty Teen (16 years I'd say roughly of age)

*Is besties w/Bender

*Has an ✨ICONIC✨ Witch's Black cat (Fang, Morris and Munda's cat's baby 🥹)

*Her hair has mutations where it glows the colour of the violet drawf star. The glow gets brighter and engulfs her whole hair whenever she is closed to the encyclapod or anything that is in danger and needs to be saved, this includes beings, and whole entire planets. Certain situations one might say.

*She has a connection to the encyclapod and knows where it can be found at any given time. She learns she can communicate to plants, animals, basically anything living.

*Her hair can also change length and texture to best suit her needs. Think like Bayonetta (best video game witch IMO she is boss queen) Violet can use har hair as a weapon to defend herself. She also learns she can grow tenticles at will from her hair, very much like her other two siblings.

*She is a bad ass boss bitch like her momma

*Has big fuck off death stomper boots, just like her momma

*Is an environmental and animal activist like her momma

*Practices witch craft due to her innate connection with nature all that is living.

*Will spend hours debating with her brother Phil and Professor Farnsworth and Cubert about what is science and spirituality, what can be explained and what cannot be explained and try to either thwart them or find a way to bridge the two together.

*Bisexual / Demisexul

🧡💜

The Chicky on her shirt is the chicken she's known as in the family, they all have chicken nicknames cus of the chicken hats. I am working on a family photo of them all as we speak. Thank you so much to the incredible @ladybender for the inspiration for this idea. 🥹

Still working on her story and everything but I finally have her design ready and I am so happy and proud. If you ever saw spam posts on DeviantART of a user called FryplusLeela4Eva2getha that was me and I posted artworks of Violet and her two siblings Phil and Sam. Redesigns of them coming soon! I'm just so happy I was able to get one of them out at least before the drop of the first new episode haha.

💜🧡💜

[looooochie]

I heard devastating news. Marc Guiu, thank you for all you've done for Barça, and thank you for making your friendship with Hector count. Goodluck on your journey in England, may you be well, win some stuff, and let that La Masia talent shine.

Goodbye, Barcelona, Spain.

[morvantmortuary]

the miraculous mr. sunday -

(the magician)

(rarae aves’s slasher oc)

“You know, when I got my name, everyone in town was glad when Sunday rolled in. Nowadays I’m wondering if I need to rebrand. You, though - you can call me Seth. All my friends do.”

age: finally stopped aging somewhere in his mid-40s (5/22/1901)(taurus-gemini cusp) birthplace: A town that doesn’t exist anymore in Western Kansas, USA. height: 6’0” current location: ominously close to the parish line near Greymoon, Louisiana. favorite book: says it’s the great gatsby by f. scott fitzgerald (it’s really the wonderful wizard of oz by l. frank baum) hobbies: travel (anywhere the wind blows, really), oddities and miracles, old-fashioned circus/sideshows, magic, and their history (especially in the US tradition), parties (mostly attending, never hosts much himself for such a gregarious fellow), and any and all forms of theater and performance. being with as many people as possible, far from the empty fields and endless wind. occupation: former stage magician, now fixer for They Who Provide. Aspiring Necromancer.

(what he’d pick as his own walk-on music: I put a spell on you - screamin’ jay hawkins what it actually would be: when the circus came to town — aurelio voltaire fc: david dastmalchian, underrated horror darling of my heart.)

“You wouldn’t believe the kind of opportunities people just… throw away.” Seth Sunday flicks a vintage lighter open and closed as he speaks, almost without realizing it. He hasn’t needed it for decades now - no point in smoking when you don’t always need to breathe. it’s mostly there for him to fidget with, truthfully. “It’s not every day Destiny prostrates itself at your door, you know. You’d have to be awful conceited to act like it’s just going to hang around while you get your shoes on.” He laughs, and it’s a cold, hard little sound like something stunted from a lack of sun despite the warmth of his smile. “Me, I came up the old fashioned way.” The lighter flicks closed. “I saw my moment, and I didn’t wait for ‘my turn.’ I found my own way in. I gave everything I ever knew for just one chance. And now look at me.” He pulls another hand from the pocket of his long, oddly patterned black coat, but there’s something… unfamiliar about it. The fingertips are dark, as though they’ve lost blood and then been dipped in ash. The nails look like they’ll snag on any ephemeral trace of you they can reach. “You know the secret to getting everything you ever wanted?” he says, gazing almost admiringly at his warped digits. 

The longer you look, the more you’d swear the air over his fingertips starts to ripple. As if something is stroking the very fabric of the space around you, toying with the individual threads. 

When his eyes find yours, you feel like you’ve been shoved down a flight of stairs in the face of all that bottomless blackness. His smile isn’t so warm now. “I do.”

a history, of sorts:

Seth says he doesn’t remember his birth name. The one written in a mildewed family Bible in the middle of godforsaken nowhere, Kansas, on an overcast spring day in 1901. He doesn’t need to remember it. That child - later, that man - is dead. Has been for more than a century now.

He’d seen to that himself.

Seth’s parents were immigrants, would-be homesteaders in a countryside drenched in blood they were willing to overlook for the cheap promises of a government looking for labor. Then they were farmers. Farmers with shit luck in multiple regards: first in their curse of an eldest child, a sickly daydreamer with no stomach for the grisly aspects of tending livestock and no fortitude for planting crops, who spent good money on books and useless picture show tickets when it could have gone to food. Then in the fact that his mother got pregnant, again, far too late to save his parents’ marriage or for their struggling household to support more mouths.

But for a few years, the scrappy little family seemed to catch a break. For one blissful bubble after Isaac and Ezekiel were born healthy and hale, and there was a wheat boom in the wake of the first World War (the ‘Great War’, the war to end all wars, it had been called. So much for that.), it seemed like everything might just turn around. Father was strong, Mother was healthy, and Seth was set to inherit a thriving farm when it was his time. Seth hated every minute of it.

He wanted more. He was meant for more. He wanted to be one of the people from his childhood in the center of the three rings on his one and only visit to a circus, or someone in the glow of stage lights, on his brief ventures into the city for errands, or one of the ghostly faces on the giant shimmering screen in the lone little theater three towns over. The farm was the handcuffs he couldn’t manage to unlock, as easy as the traveling magicians made it look. He didn’t want younger brothers, or aging parents that clearly preferred them and not him, or the responsibilities of the supposedly cherished oldest son. He didn’t want to be born and die on the same plot of land, buried somewhere the cows could graze over for the rest of eternity, his name only ever meaning wasted potential. He’d tried to enlist for the Great War, tried to get sent abroad like other boys he knew. He was a little young, but he was tall for his age even then, and he almost - almost - got away to see the world.

But his father, a cheap bastard if he’d ever known one, had somehow scraped together enough money and their best cow to bribe the recruiters who came to town looking to look the other way. He wouldn’t dignify pretending it was done out of love, either. His father was a pragmatic man. He’d known that it was only ever about keeping enough labor for the farm, especially with his mother newly pregnant at the time.

His life as he knew it was only ever in service to those around him. Their choices defined his. It was enough to make any man see red, after so many years.

Then came what would be known to later generations as the Dust Bowl, and Seth’s world turned black.

The crops withered up, and so did the cows. Dirt swept through the skies in curtains so thick it blocked out the sun. There was no surface in the little ramshackle house that wasn’t covered in it by nightfall, no matter how much one swept or wiped or screamed. For years, it felt like his every breath was studded with grit. He had nightmares of being buried alive in the miserable barren plot that used to be the pasture.

Just when he thought he’d choke to death on it, his father beat him to the grave, leaving him and his fragile mother alone with his two boisterous brothers. He was the man of the house, now, and it made him want to claw off his own skin.

So much so, he thought it was worth trading someone else’s to escape. It’s no surprise that certain folklore has a habit of dispersing itself, even through a country as vast as this one was already. Tales whispered in half fear, half hope by the desperate circulate like much-needed storms, especially when those storms refuse to materialize.

It was Seth’s idea to go to the crossroads, but he let his mother think it was hers — a half-remembered story from the old country, rather than something strange he’d found in a book long forgotten under his bed. The little family trekked there together, walking the miles in shoes close to worn through, and only just reaching the nearest junction when his father’s cracked pocket watch read midnight.

Seth had been chosen to ask for the family’s salvation, for the ability to carry them all on for another year — he had the best English of the family, and what else would a demon speak in a land like this? But when something emerged from the darkness like it was a curtain, asking in a voice like smoke what he wanted…

Seth spoke up for himself, for the first time in his life.

He only felt a little bad when he saw what the demon did to his mother. But he couldn’t deny his own glee when he saw what happened to her precious twins. Before a quarter of an hour had passed, Seth could make fire appear at the tips of his fingers, could make coins appear from thin air. The things he could do would have caused his idol, Harry Houdini, to break into a nervous sweat. Everything he’d ever dreamed of as a lonely boy in the fields, he could do at his own merest whim.

Seth ditched his human name, and at the demon’s suggestion, adopted the surname of Sunday. “The Miraculous” had been his own touch. It was finally his turn to be the miracle he never was to his folks. And for decades, he was. He was beloved in the small towns he stopped in, his own traveling show, with a rotation of beautiful assistants at his beck and call over the years. Nothing was ever too good for him, he could dazzle his way into anywhere he wanted.

As long as he kept things square with They Who Provide, he was living the good life.

…But times have a habit of changing. As the world grew, magic - both real and sleight of hand - shank in its influence. For all his caustic nature, Seth Sunday was ill-equipped for a world that finally matched his inward cynicism. And what did They Who Provide need with some little nobody from the middle of nowhere, when they had entire established families, generations of magic, at their beck and call?

After decades of earning his keep by tying up his benefactors’ loose ends, Seth finally heard something very interesting: A whisper of a family down south that was refusing to hold up their end of their contract.

A family with power over Death itself.

…Well. If there was an open spot to fill, and no one there to fill it, Seth saw no reason he couldn’t throw his own metaphorical hat in the ring. After all, he has plenty of experience keeping demons satisfied. What’s three more names to add to his list of sacrifices?

There was always something to be said for reinventing oneself when your act was getting stale. He could see himself growing into “The Miraculous Master Lazarus” just fine.

[out-of-heaven-and-hell]

Also is this is a good time to mention that I'm thinking about rewriting Lute to make is so that she was formerly human as well rather than born in heaven

[handgiven]

spirited away sentences: @butlerbarrow — ❛ wait, where are we going? ❜

"how long have you worked here?" the gardener answers with his own question, and with a slightly lopsided, though well-meaning, smile. he shakes his head, in sheer disbelief. other than that, he walks calmly, not rushing, rather taking it all in, though the path is familiar, it is ever made new by each passing day. the scents change as do the flowers, as does the sky, as do even the oldest trees. he touches one while he walks past it as if greeting an old friend, and slows down a little there, to look at thomas over his shoulder.

"i can't believe you've not once been to the outhouse." he can, actually. all those rigid rules, all the dance steps that everybody performs, all the time, he has seen plenty of it to believe it, though never enough to truly understand it. oh thomas. poor thomas.

something stings in his heart, and he looks away, lest the other see his smile disappear from his eyes for a moment. it's a sunny day, it's perfectly lovely outside, and he wants thomas to enjoy it. break out of the rules, find a space to step out. give him that much.