Now That Phase 4 Is Officially Over; Can I Just Rant About The Fact That They Cast CHRISTIAN (freaking)

I think Septimus is the seventh child, but sixth son. Una is the firstborn, right? Though, that is an interesting detail I hadn't noticed :)

I just remembered a little detail from the movie Stardust that amuses me… at the end of the film when Tristan discovers he is the heir to the throne of Stormhold, the ghosts of the dead princes turn to white orbs and float upwards- all but one which, if you watch closely, you’ll notice turns red and floats down towards the fireplace.  I like to think that that’s Septimus being sent to hell for being a murderous lunatic (he IS the SEVENth son after all… ahem ahem.)

There’s a quote from Bert where he says he‘s “known big bird since he was a little bird” and the thought of it makes my heart cry so here’s that

Friendship with sun started

(via)

not to be all “think of the children” but the fact that companies can openly admit to using methods to intentionally form addictions in children and we’re not killing their ceos in the streets yet is astounding

hope is a skill

Rhys Ifans as a pirate

Last art of the year to celebrate the end of 2022!

Chose to draw a scene from one of my favourite movies: Stardust! Tristan and Yvaine dancing is a sequence I adore 🌟🌠💙

✨do not repost my art | Reblogs are love✨

Reblog if you have mourned the death of a fictional character.

If you do not reblog this, you are in fact lying.

There Is An Angel Who Sits Upon My Shoulder Who Goes By The Name Of Death

Preface: For the last day of mental health month, I wanted to share something I wrote that deals with some rather dark struggles. Struggles that I know others face as well. Struggles that I hope might be eased for just one person who reads this, even if only in the smallest way.

There is an angel who sits upon my shoulder who goes by the name of Death, And though I cannot always see him, upon my neck I can always feel his breath As he whispers to me relentlessly, deftly using my soul’s own Shibboleth.

He is my phantasmagorical companion from which there has thus far been no escape, One who has no single voice nor form yet is somehow always horrific in his shape When my mind’s eye sees him lying in the darkest shadows of my brain's path-illogical landscape.

For while it may be hidden, we are locked in eternal battle, one to which we both are bound, And though the clashes rage on deep within, the fighting furious and yet without a sound, The hardest part is not the fighting, it is the feeling that there will never be any respite to be found.

This war is one without casualties but still with victims–its battles waged within the mind– But even having entreated aid from all my demons with any values I could trade in kind, I have yet to even dream of any type of peace accords to which we would both agree to bind.

But what I have paid in pain to learn in this seemingly Sisyphean struggle is that one cannot sit idly by, That every new assault of his is but an opportunity for me to learn new tactics that I can in future then apply. Thus I have vowed: Whatever new mental munitions he has in store for me, nor what deadly schemes I must yet defy– Though I know, like you, I too will one day meet my end, it shall be he who will be the first to die.

-- @thoughtsfromb4