IT — Good Omens — OW

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magnificenttrashstuff·a year agoText

toxzier:

how can you be an aethiest?! like how can you NOT believe in god when RICHIE TOZIER IS RIGHT THERE

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magnificenttrashstuff·2 years agoText

marvel-lous-things:

Venom: The time has come for me to return to my homeland. I must come to terms with the fact that I am no longer required here. I have lead a good life on earth, but alas, my shattered heart belongs elsewhere. Somewhere where my presence is valued, where I’m not treated like vermin, where I’m actually respected for the fearsome creature I-

Anne: Eddie call you a parasite again?

Venom, through tears: TH RE E TIM ES

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magnificenttrashstuff·2 years agoText

wecanbe-heroes:

Markus: the stars look beautiful tonight…

North: yeah they do

Markus: you know who else is beautiful?

North: *blushes* who?

Markus: Simon

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magnificenttrashstuff·2 years agoText

incorrectdetroit:

Markus, talking to Josh, North and Simon: It says here that 1 in 4 people is gay.

Markus: so it means one of us is gay.

Markus: I hope it’s Simon, cause he is cute

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magnificenttrashstuff·2 years agoPhoto

deviant-yn200:

“Companionship,” he says as he takes the cloth off the first in one smooth motion. It’s a simple oil painting of sunlight penetrating a large gaping hole in what looks like an old run-down ship. The focal point of the opus are the silhouettes of two people standing closely side by side, watching the gigantic ball of fire begin its descent into the water beyond.

Markus steps over to the next one, removes the cloth.

“Dreams,”—a myriad of stars swimming in a dark velvet of night; however the focus is obviously the person with the bittersweet smile, who seems to shine even brighter than all the luminous cosmic bodies.

“Harmony,”—two silhouettes resting their foreheads against each other, the black melting around their wrists to reveal two android hands, glowing a bright blue, connecting and syncing with each other.

“Loss”— dirt, grit, ashes in the air. A limp hand from someone cut out of the picture, lying palm up on the ground. Another hand a few inches beside it, pinkies close enough to touch, but don’t. Both hands are in perpetual parallel lines; always near, yet will never connect.

-

him, in colors  by  awkwardspaceturtle

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