KIROKAZE
Fai_Ryy
bliss lane
Sweet Seals For You, Always
occasionally subtle
titsay
Show & Tell
tumblr dot com
untitled
Love Begins
$LAYYYTER
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
NASA
Xuebing Du
Cosimo Galluzzi
Monterey Bay Aquarium
Origami Around
❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
The Bowery Presents
seen from Uzbekistan
seen from Ukraine
seen from Netherlands
seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Argentina
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Venezuela
seen from United States
seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from United States
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seen from Vietnam
@blue-fluffy-dragon
her eyes were the sickly green of the sky before a tornado, and to his horror he discovered she could throw cows around just as easily
to his horror? weak shit. outta my way gayboy im boutta get it
all of our trobles seem so small from up here
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he was bracing himself for bad news
something about lestat saying over and over again that he would never threaten to rape claudia
something about that of all the awful things he's done being the most repugnant to him
something about him deflecting when louis asked "so never before"
Something about the scene of Lestat's turning overlapping with Louis reading that part of Claudia's diary
Something about how he never asked to be turned, never stopped saying no to Magnus
Something about how Lestat is a victim of both his makers
"you don't like mpreg?" i don't even like fpreg
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now i don’t know enough about omegaverse to say anything definitively but from what i have seen it certainly looks like it emulates insects much more than wolves.
like if you’re looking for an animal with strictly defined castes and extensive use of pheromones you are looking for ants i think
INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE 2.8 | THE VAMPIRE LESTAT 3.3
louis to lestat: please help me i know i didn't call when you were shot but i really need to know if this girl i've been paying to roleplay our dead daughter is actually her meanwhile armand to daniel: would u ever want to hang out like socially
This is a century-long lie. You hung her portrait over our coffins in New Orleans. It's sick. You're sick.
We're unnatural beings! And this-- this is the half-human soul that you conveniently whip out whenever you want to win an argument!
What argument you got for fucking your mother? It's sickness. Maybe the source of all your sickness. But my god! Seek a professional!
episode 6 of THE VAMPIRE LESTAT
can you imagine being a parent in the pokemon world and your kid comes home with one of those straight up basically human pokemon. i know those motherfuckers can talk.
its morning. i see my childs Throh getting some oj from the fridge. 'morning', i say. he doesnt catch himself in time and says 'morning' back. he freezes and we both stare at each other knowingly. 'throh,' he says, but its too fucking late
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i appreciate asexual perverts but they get enough attention tbh. shoutout my asexuals with no hoes boring as hell no kinks no dirty magazines no riske drawings just completely winning the idgaf war
Thousands of starfish had washed up on the beach, and a little girl was diligently throwing them back into the water, one at a time.
A man came up to the girl and said, "You'll never save all of them. What you're doing is pointless. It doesn't matter."
The girl threw another starfish into the water. "It mattered to that one."
The man snorted and walked away.
The girl kept throwing starfish, one after another.
To throw one starfish back into the ocean takes a trivial amount of effort, but to throw ten, or fifty, is much less so. The girl had not learned much of biomechanics, but she began to feel the strain in her back. Her skin had softened from the seawater, and the starfish themselves were abrasive. Her fingers had pruned. Her shoulder hurt. She was cut, twice, on her fingers, as the same storm that had stranded the starfish had also brought up broken shells and crab carapaces. The skin of a starfish was like sandpaper.
She tried switching hands, and could throw the starfish less well, and it wasn't long before she had mirrored all her injuries. She was bleeding, though the blood wept rather than flowing, briefly staining the starfish pink before they were tossed into the ocean.
It seemed as though there were just as many dying starfish as when she'd started.
After three hours, the girl was sunburnt. A passing man had told her that she should stop what she was doing, and had offered her some water, which she took, but he hadn't helped to throw the starfish back.
The girl's hands were cracked, scraped, and raw. Saltwater found the wounds, but she'd gone numb, and her motions became more mechanical.
"It mattered to that one," she thought to herself, "It mattered to that one," over and over, like a mantra. Her muscles ached, but the ache became familiar. When she'd started, her throws had been beautiful things, guided by purpose, but now they were sloppy and threatened to pull her off balance.
She did fall, more than once, landing on sand that was filled with jagged debris, and sometimes she was slow to get up. But she did get up, because there were more starfish to save, tens of thousands of them.
Night fell, and it was harder to see the starfish, but they were still in need of help. She was tired, and the cuts on her fingers had multiplied. The skin had been wet for too long, and in one place, on her palm, where she had gripped a thousand starfish to throw them, a piece of white skin had come off.
Still, she kept throwing starfish.
Her mother didn't find her until after midnight.
"Hi mom," said the girl. Her voice croaked. She had been saying, "It mattered to that one" under her breath for long enough that her vocal cords had strained. She threw another starfish into the ocean.
"You need to come home," her mother said.
"These starfish will die without me," said the girl.
"I know," said her mother. "But you need to come home, because if you keep doing this, you'll collapse on the beach, and like a starfish, you'll need to be rescued too."
The girl stooped down, back aching, and picked up another starfish. Many of them had died by this point, but there were still uncountably many that lived. The rough skin of the starfish grated at her tender skin, but she rose and threw it, arm protesting, and watched it fall down into the water.
Her mother grabbed her gently by the shoulders. "I'm bringing you home," she said. "It would be better if I didn't have to carry you, but I will if I have to."
"I don't want to be the sort of person who leaves starfish to die," said the girl, shrugging off her mother. But a part of her did want to be carried, because she'd walked for miles along this beach, one stooping step at a time.
"I know," said her mother. "But to survive, you have to be. Save as many as you can, but take breaks, get good sleep, eat well. Then go back and save more."
The girl swayed where she was. She was close to passing out, though maybe it was because her rhythm had been interrupted.
Her mother held out a hand, so they could walk together, like they'd done when she was smaller.
And it was then that she noticed the scars on her mother's hands, the calluses and rough spots, the places where cuts had healed. She had seen her mother's hands many times before, but had never asked why they were that way.
The girl slipped her hand into her mother's and began to cry as they walked back home.
literally drinking a beer by the lake and still opened tumblr. some of us are beyond saving
truly some people have no genre savviness whatsoever. A girl came back from the dead the other day and fresh out of the grave she laughed and laughed and lay down on the grass nearby to watch the sky, dirt still under her nails. I asked her if she’s sad about anything and she asked me why she should be. I asked her if she’s perhaps worried she’s a shadow of who she used to be and she said that if she is a shadow she is a joyous one, and anyway whoever she was she is her, now, and that’s enough. I inquired about revenge, about unfinished business, about what had filled her with the incessant need to claw her way out from beneath but she just said she’s here to live. I told her about ghosts, about zombies, tried to explain to her how her options lie between horror and tragedy but she just said if those are the stories meant for her then she’ll make another one. I said “isn’t it terribly lonely how in your triumph over death nobody was here to greet you?” and she just looked at me funny and said “what do you mean? The whole world was here, waiting”. Some people, I tell you.
Why would he cross an ocean to rehearse a play that would burn his daughter alive?
I've recently rewatched the trial episode of Interview with the Vampire and come out with two thoughts:
1. That is one of, if not The best episode of television
2. We've never gotten a straight answer to Louis's question
*spoilers for iwtv up to S3, E5* You have been warned.
Lestat loved Claudia. That's not to say he was never abusive towards her (she killed him for a reason), but his love for her is easily proven.
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Victor Frankenstein after achieving the impossible and building a fucking person from scraps of the dead: Oh god, ew, ew it's ugly! Yucky! Yucky! Gross! Ew! Ew! Yucky! Yucky! Gross! Ew!
