#such a beautiful parallel

[rocketbirdie]

[unintelligible]

[drulalovescas]

the parallels between the way their relationship started and ended might actually be the most beautiful in the history of tv

STARTED AND ENDED ON THE DEVIL'S TRAP

STARTED AND ENDED WITH A HANDPRINT

STARTED AND ENDED WITH CAS SAVING DEAN WINCHESTER

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Sunrise, Parabellum.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[itsmeimcathy]

faust (1858) by charles gounod | le fantôme de l'opèra (1910) by gaston leroux | wuthering heights (1939) by william wyler | la belle et la bête (1947) by jean cocteau | labyrinth (1986) by jim henson | van helsing (2004) by stephen sommers | the phantom of the opera (2004) by joel schumacher | crimson peak (2014) by guillermo del toro | consumed (2014) by david cronenberg | nosferatu (2024) by robert eggers

[tellerficraz]

Girls when beast

"There's something that i see in the way you look at me..🎵"

[deep-space-lines]

The world is growing loud.

It’s time for us to fade away.

[beaulesbian]

- [Nimona]:You should be questioning everything right now. The will of Gloreth, the Institute, the wall. What's it all really for? - [Ballister]: For protecting the realm. - [Nimona]: Oh, you mean from villains like you? Or monsters like me?

[lesbomaticlove]

he's not even disappointed, just tired

[asoftepiloguemylove]

Mikko Harvey Wind-Related in the Wheatfield // Jonny Bolduc open question @jovialtorchlight // Cheryl Strayed Tiny Beautiful Things // @/mkpoet (instagram) // Mary Oliver Count the Roses // Phoebe Bridgers Waiting Room // Fyodor Dostoyevsky // Marie Howe Magdalene Afterwards; "Magdalene: Poems"

[ebogosian]

Interview with the Vampire, 2.03, No Pain (2024) // Wasted Beauty, Eric Bogosian (2005)

[deancasforcutie]

scenes that blew my 17 year old mind right open with the wealth of classical queercoding I could barely comprehend vs deleted scenes that confirm what the metawriters who taught me right all said about Dean and his two boyfriends

we shoulda known the network was ratfucking them and their every heroic effort to get gay past the radar right then and there

[amiablesummer]

Ordinary Things (and how they can save you)

Pat Schneider, The Patience of Ordinary Things // Vincent van Gogh, details from Bedroom in Arles // Wendy Cope, from The Orange // @sunsbleeding //@chloeinletters

[lucidloving]

Joshua Moritz, 'Is There a God-Shaped Hole at the Heart of Mathematics?' // Bluepoch Games, Reverse 1999 // Li C. Tien, "Right Triangle" // Proclus Diadochus // @lothmoth // Lisa Rosenberg, "Introduction to Methods of Mathematical Physics" // Wassily Kadinsky, watercolour abstract // Albert Einstein // see 4

[linipikk]

what a time to be a Silco apologist

not only did he gave us the ultimate banger

He had the vibe in every timeline

[deepspacenova]

BEAUTY VERSUS BEAST

1000 words. Banter. Tension. Hurt/comfort. AU (not as much anymore, I guess).

Note: Had this ready to go and then our actual beast Sylus was announced so let’s just roll with it xx

"Ow. That hurts," he bites out, the lines of his forearms tensing against the pressure of your palm.

Rolling your eyes, you dips the blood-soaked cloth in water and wrings it out before gliding it over the same spot.

“Stop, I said that hurts.” Sylus snarls, yanking his arm from your grasp.

“Well maybe if you’d stop jerking your arm around it wouldn’t hurt so much,” you fire back.

Swiping your hair from your eyes, you ignore his warning growl, grabbing his arm back and holding it toward the icy white light filtering through the velvet curtains.

“You should’ve listened when I said not to go in there.” He repeats, the words grating like stones against each other. But there's something... softer beneath them.

As if you hadn’t heard him the first three times. You snap, “Well maybe you should’ve listened to me, instead of unleashing your damn temper.”

You’re locked in a silent battle, anger and confusion and... gratitude swirling together like the snowflakes outside. You still can’t believe he’d saved you like that — so viciously, so single-mindedly.

“But, um—“ you trail off. You look down, blowing another piece of hair from your face as you press the cloth down once again.

There’s a sudden warmth against your cheek, brushing the offending strand from your face and tucking it away behind your ear. The care of the motion entirely at odds with the sharpness of his tone moments ago.

The shell of your ear is traced by what could only be the heated pad of a finger for just a heartbeat longer than necessary before it vanishes, leaving cool air in its absence.

You look up, eyes wide just as Sylus snatches his hand back. A faint pink tint deepens on his cheeks and he clears his throat.

“Thank you. For saving me.”

“Don’t mention it, kitten.”

Your lips part, a retort forming, but the words catch in your throat. The nickname lingers between them, heavy and electric, sending a flush crawling up your neck. You should roll your eyes again but instead, you find herself holding his gaze.

“I really wish you’d stop calling me that,” you mutter, your beating heart pounding away the biting tone you’d intended.

His lips tip up, eyes flicking to the heat you can feel spreading across your cheeks. “Why’s that?”

“Because it’s ridiculous,” you sigh, focusing back on the wound, though your hand hesitates mid-movement. “I’m not some- some pet, Sylus.”

“No, you’re not a pet.” He lowers down, the sudden proximity capturing your next inhale. He'd been sitting in his chair, elbow resting on the arm for your ministrations, but now his forearms are on his knees, and the faint scent of leather and smoke cloud your senses. “But you’re fierce. And you’re beautiful. And you’re… mine.”

Your hand stills completely, the cloth slipping from your fingers and into the bowl with a soft plop. You look up at him, your heart thundering against your ribs. “You don’t mean that.”

“Don’t I?” he asked, his expression softening. He reaches out again, more confident this time, his knuckle brushing your cheek. “You don’t see it, do you? The way you throw yourself into danger without thinking."

His knuckle traces the curve of your jaw. "The fire in your eyes when you’re yelling at me."

"The way you make me feel like I’d burn the world down to keep you safe.” The knuckle comes to rest below your bottom lip.

“Sylus…” your words get lost in the breath, leaving your lungs in a shaky exhale.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he reassures, your pulse thundering in your ears as his words wrap around her, thick and heavy. His gaze dips to your lips. “But if you want me to stop, you’d better say something now.”

You swallow hard, the air between you thick and meaningful and loud in the absence of your words.

His hand slides to the back of your neck with a firm, almost possessive grip. His thumb brushes against your skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “Good."

Before you could reply — or protest, though you aren't sure you want to — he closes the distance, the space between you vanishing with a tension that feels like the air before a lightning strike.

The kiss isn’t soft or tentative; it's raw, consuming. A declaration as much as it's an action. His mouth claims yours with a fervor that leaves no room for doubt, his hand fisting in your hair to hold you exactly where he wants you. The warmth of his body radiates against yours, his uninjured arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you up onto the chair, erasing what little space had remained.

You gasp against his mouth and he takes advantage, deepening the kiss with an urgency that matches yours. His teeth graze your bottom lip, a teasing nip that makes your muscles loosen and you have to lace your fingers into his hair to restrain yourself, to make yourself remember he's hurt.

“Mine,” he breathes against your lips, his voice a husky growl.

Your mind spins, your heart racing as you try to push back the swirl of emotions overwhelming her. But when your hands grip his shoulders, instead of pushing him away, you pull him closer, matching his intensity with a fierceness of your own.

For a moment, nothing else exists — just the warmth of his touch, the softness of his lips, and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you aren't as alone as you thought.

[flowerbloom-arts]

Change is a two-way street.

(Is my favoritism towards the Damsel obvious enough, or?)

note: TLQ [aka my sona Bloombird] is a butch sapphic and this is yuri