DU MUSST DEINEN SELBSTHASS NICHT AUF ANDRE PROJEZIEREN
DAMIT KEINER MERKT WAS FÜR EIN LIEBER KERL DU BIST
Like Tim Speedle from CSI: Miami 😭💔
I seriously love Joan d’Arc. Was she a queer icon? Yes. Did she use Catholicism to support her gender identity? Yes.
Poetry Challenge - Day 9 Saints
i want to come back, living one centimetre above the earth is tiring.
@curiouskilled happy new year.
𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐀 𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄. 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 his body, something far darker pushed into his place. His eyes fade into black, but they’re still open : just he can’t see. It’s a prison, one that’s temporary, inside of his skull; his condition locks him away, & he can’t do anything ABOUT IT. It is panic - inducing each time, the time that passes : when will he escape ? Is there an end ? It feels like an eternity, but Harry continuously reminds himself, that it DOES END. It always does. & he’s good at protecting others from it, at crushing his abilities into the back of his brain until they rest USELESS. He has no choice but to crouch in the crevices of his mind & pray that he won’t be eradicated. He wades slowly forward through a sea of magma, hoping to be freed. What has control of his body isn’t him.
With a jolt, he’s back. His eyes see again : his senses return to him. After a moment of dazed relief, Harry’s subconscious recounts his checklist. What’s first ? Know where you are, Harry. He looks up, blinking his eyes repeatedly; they’re wet, & an exhausted tear drips down his cheek as he grimaces. He’s in his apartment. His living room. He’s on the floor. Okay. He exhales. That’s good. He hasn’t gone anywhere : wouldn’t have hurt anyone. & he looks around a few more times, finding that aside from a broken glass & generally disheveled surroundings, the room is surprisingly intact. He sighs. Are you hurt, Harry ? His thoughts ring out in his psychiatrist’s voice, & he frowns. He doesn’t feel hurt. It rings out in his ears, the aftermath, & his skin tingles uncomfortably. He’s tired, battered but not DYING ( immediately, anyways ). He looks down at his hands. They’re covered in crimson, & Harry’s heart palpitates in his chest. It takes him a few seconds of pawing at his middle & chest before he realizes that it ISN’T HIS.
Breaths rattle out of his lungs heavily, skin chilling quickly in fear. His head lifts : he needs to look. He needs to find out what he’s done. This is BAD. He knows, but if there’s a chance they’re alive, he needs to help.
It takes him considerable effort to stand. His muscles are drained, his head dizzy. His vision blurs in & out as he clutches onto doorways & walls in an attempt to stay upright. He stumbles behind the couch and into the kitchen, rounding the island. Harry’s breath stops in his chest, & he crumples back against the wall as if he were shot. Felicia is lying on his kitchen floor, a blood smear following her fingertips along the tile : Lilo had found her first, & is licking at her face in some effort to keep her awake, paws stained red. Harry is panicking. She’s dead. I killed her. I killed my girlfriend. But she isn’t dead, is she ? & That’s what pulls him out. He can hear her rattling breaths, & Lilo wouldn’t be with her still if there wasn’t a REASON.
He rushes to her. His face is a mess of grimacing, guilty tears as he reaches out, trying to figure out what he can do. Eventually he resorts to getting his AI to call 911, because this is out of his comfort zone of medicine. She’s practically COATED in bruises. He’s probably ruptured her organs at the very least, or worse; he glances up and notices that his tabletop is broken. She went through it. “ 𝑭𝒖𝒄𝒌. 𝑭𝒆 ? 𝑭𝒆, 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒆, 𝑱𝒆𝒔𝒖𝒔— ” He’s practically begging her to stay alive, at least until someone else comes, because he doesn’t know what to DO. Somehow he knows that she’s not going to get up, but he hopes to God that she will. He rests a hand on the side of her face, trying anything to keep her awake. “ 𝑭𝒖𝒄𝒌, 𝑰’𝒎 𝒔𝒐 𝒔𝒐𝒓𝒓𝒚, 𝑰- 𝑮𝒐𝒅- ” He’s so lost, he almost asks his dog what to do. But it seems that, despite the urgency of the situation, there’s nothing for him to do but wait.
you know you really love someone
when you don’t hate them for breaking your heart
more ms paint art of my cannibal dude!!!
hes basically haunted by the kits he’s killed, and thats the first, she never leaves him alone so he never gets any sleep.
I feel so fucking unwanted.
From “Weather Central” by Ted Kooser
Most people can not comprehend what death is like. No one will tell you the sensations a person goes through when they take their last breath. When consciousness leaves you and the only solace you find is in the peace that you can finally rest. No more worry, no more heart ache, fear of failure, and no more pain.
Hisao was tired. So very, very tired. It had been difficult to keep concentration with the elementals and their deafening voices which soon faded over time. He could feel nothing as the darkness enveloped his senses, the last sight he could recall was the silver haired elezen laying sprawled across the broken tiles of the temple floor. He had been suffering loss over loss and to finally do something successfully was all he wanted. He sensed the other’s breath return, but also felt his own leaving him. He could take no comfort in the success of his spell. The ultimate sacrifice.
He wasn’t ready to go yet. He still had so much more to be done, but that thought left him too. The darkness was different than one might expect. The relief that comes with passing through the veil is often depicted as one of warmth and comfort. Yet this was neither. There was no warmth, nor cold. An endless floating abyss of emptiness. There was nothing, but at least it was a state of peace- A strange empty equilibrium, that seemed to stretch on forever.
The idea that one’s life flashed before their eyes was a common thing people always said before they had a near death experience, yet that wasn’t the case here. Hisao tried his best to pull at his memories but they would not come. It was a hollow and lonely realization as his very being began to fade into the darkness. Even he was too damaged to return to the life stream. Not even a memory or a ghost of that singular lost loved one to greet him. This was Death. An uncompromising quiet.
The quiet that lingered for what seemed for eons- in a space
where time stood still, it was hard to gauge just how long he had been there. Just when he felt his consciousness slipping into that stream and all feeling was
lost, there was a flash of bright red light. One by one his
faculties started returning to him as that red light grew brighter and brighter
until it enveloped him. He remembered who he was then. Memories started
returning to him one by one.
The last one was a young raen girl, probably seventeen at best, long dark hair and a gentle smile. She reached out for the Hingan and took his hand, guiding him through that narrow portal, a silent smile as if to tell him his work was incomplete.
I’m not finished yet.
He didn’t remember crawling out of the pool of blood sacrificed, or the pale hand that pulled him free. The giant that had disregarded his own code of ethics to bring the priest back from the beyond. All he knew was that he was tired. A different kind of unconsciousness claimed him this time, but at least it wasn’t the silent apathy of Death’s embrace.
I could rant for hours about the symbolism in this piece and how ironic I find the white orchids in Amanda’s office for someone who literally recommends people for cancellation, but then we’d be here for another year or so hahaha