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#vertigo
conjobthehellblazer · 2 hours ago
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John is getting a pinup by Kevin Wada I’m so excited!!
Also an interview with Matt Ryan which will be nice.
Side note very excited for Be Gay Do Crimes
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wishingeel · 4 hours ago
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I’m playing this super fun game right now called “am I exhausted because I just got my first covid vaccine dose? or because my anxiety is killing me dead and I just had two panic attacks in the same 24 hours?”
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warnadudenexttime · 4 hours ago
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Oh honey 💙💜
Art credit: @rarazsho
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kimchislug · 11 hours ago
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Vertigo Flowers just came on and I said “I love Nothing!”
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morpheuslikestodream · 14 hours ago
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PUCKER: a Sandman Universe fanfic
*The following is extended and lifted from the Sandman: Seasons of Mist storyline. This is a mere writing exercise and honorary gesture to play within the confines of the world created by Neil Gaiman and all creators, with honor and respect. :) 
There was a woman who achieved glory upon a vent of gushing air. Of course, she had already gained fame, and fortune, but it was the image, the stance – legs slightly bent, knees inverted, arms locked and hands clasping her dress – that cemented itself in the collective. Poor, tragic Marilyn, her fists securing that white ivory cocktail dress as it danced in the wind, like a skinned swan or a hungry lily attempting to devour its host.
Go on. Visualize it. The dress and the damsel wed together over that gushing vent. She would always be tattooed in the eye of your mind, a girl symbol, caught in a flirtatious up-shoot of tragedy. You’ll see her, the image, in commercials and magazines and the chronicles of filmography. She’ll be immortalized in wax. You’ll smile at her as if she were an intimate friend or fond crush from a bygone youth or a pretty face you wish you had, all fulfilled vicariously in that bombshell visage.
And if you could envision her, so could they.
“The gods have come for you,” Susano O-No-Mikoto addressed her coldly, like an art collector attaining their next commission. His hair was black, pulled back into a bun, and he possessed a thin, wispy beard that sharpened into a point. He wore a scarlet robe, delicate and silky, and his eyes, which scrutinized her with an impersonal fondness, appeared to be of some Asian nationality. “As a private individual for the pantheon of my mother, the Queen Izanami, it is a grace, Miss Monroe, to be welcomed into our collection. There is a special wing that exclusively houses Americana and Western iconography.”
Marilyn didn’t understand any of this.
And she couldn’t speak, her mouth failed to beg for clarity. It was the lips, frozen, puckered lips. And the wind, blowing perpetually beneath her, danced her dress like a rabid beast. While the robed man continued, Marilyn’s focus was consumed by the dress, and here she had to convince herself she was more than this accoutrement.
“Come. Follow,” said the god. And while he spoke, she strived to recall who she was. She had entered the world as a woman, yes, and she had taken her grand exit as a star, in the same City of Angels. She had been an actress, the wife of a playwright and a baseball legend and maybe mistress to dead presidents. She was a person, goddammit, of flesh and blood, of rumor and glamor.
None of that mattered at the moment, not in her current situation.
Because Marilyn couldn’t move. She had tried. She really had, but her body refused to budge. She was alive, or she was dead. She was on-stage, or off. There were cameras in the shadows and spotlights from oblivion. Eyes in the flashes of light. And she couldn’t move because, again, her legs were bent, the knobs of her knees pressed together, arms rigid, hands taming the white bastard dress, and that cold, cold air licking her from underneath.
And lips, puckered.
Marilyn felt no trace of self here – wherever here was. Had she died? Was she being punished, because your savior was revoked if you did that act, even if that wasn’t for certain? Whatever had happened had stolen her humanity. Marilyn might have been a wax statue, a fixed caricature, someone’s midnight wank. And perhaps all those were true; after all, she was an icon now, and icons could be many things. Despite that, whoever they were now cared nothing of the personal touches, no, the gods regarded her as a pretty face in the American collective. That’s what mattered.
Puckered lips.
Susano O-No-Mikoto escorted her through his mother’s underworld, strange halls cluttered with armors and museum props. She spotted a display of a toilet that perhaps once sat the rear of a king. In his rambling, he used words like eclectic and hybridization and efficiency. His words were bloated with pride, like an uppity hunter who sought and attained the rarest treasures. But those words meant nothing to Marilyn. She still hadn’t forgotten the kind visage of the woman with raven black hair with the shadow filled with the flapping of wings in flight.
“…we hope to continue down this line,” continued the god, “acquiring you, we can acquire others. John F. Kennedy is in Hell. But his effigy is strong in the artifacts of his demise. Lee Harvey Oswald could be ours. The grassy knoll itself harbors a sentience all its own as well. The prospects of our ambitions are limitless. It is said…”
And when Marilyn refocused, Susano had stopped to inspect her, his breath – scented with the promise of storms – was cold and brutal, and a pointy finger tapped his lips, the vaguest hint of a smile on his arrogant face. She felt no love from him, no real love. Not like the love Jesus and the Lord promised her as she grew. And she had been a good person; she deserved better than to not have love. And yet the man, who might’ve been a god, cared nothing for her as the person. He only desired the spirit of what she was. But a transcendence within a certain collective didn’t change her stature. It wasn’t her. All the little details of who she was were sprinklings upon a personal mythology that only bred the impersonal. The world, cultures come and gone, could only see her in the stars. 
And as for the little details, did those matter?
No, not to him.
And then he was gone.
When Marilyn was alone, “They have you too,” rumbled a deep and heavy voice from the room. “You are beautiful, as I was, although you are not as beautiful as the one I carried to the top of the world.”
Marilyn winced, startled.
“Be still, woman. We are family now, and I will protect you if I must. If I can.”
“Where am I?” Marilyn piped.
“The assimilation of the American Pantheon. The Underworld. Hell. Who can know for sure?”
“Who are you?” Her voice trembled. “Who’s there?”
“You remind me of her,” said the deep voice.
“Of her? Who?”
“You look like her, in your fashion, a pair of eyes and pretty hair. The one I carried to the top of the world. I was king there, before I fell, before I was forced to fall, although I confess I attained immortality in that moment, I think. At least, I’d like to look at it that way. The tragedy, the descent.”
“Are…are you…the devil?” Marilyn stammered.
Ignoring her, “They can fear you and love you and cry for you. When the tears are shed is when we become idols.”
She needed to see the face. She had to. “Oh, Mister,” she pleaded, “please come forward.”
And the beast revealed itself.
Marilyn would’ve screamed if her lips were puckered, if they could ever alter. Her frozen stance did not permit. Instead the dress blew more frantically. * “I must take my absence. Opportunities abroad bless us. The gods of Nippon and her highest majesty, the Queen, my mother Izanami, must not squander the chance in attaining most fruitful grace. If the key belongs to our kingdom…” the Asian man in his fancy gowns who smelled like a thunderstorm or a coming rain shower departed from the room through an entrance that didn’t really exist. In the silence of an attic filled with antiques from Atlantis or Wall Street or Hollywood, the white-haired star with her puckered lips kept her gaze down, until sheepishly she dared to lock eyes with the gorilla. And the gorilla rested his black hands upon his massive ape pecs and exhaled forcefully from nostrils that flared out in angst and boredom.
“I would have found the stars,” King Kong said after some time.
Marilyn raised an eyebrow, oh?
“I could have climbed forever.” Kong drummed his fingers on his chest. “It wasn’t me who was limited; it was only the ladder in which I ascended. Just me and her, the one that wasn’t you. I would’ve reached for the moon, then the stars themselves, and whatever is above that. I was limited by them, because a monster could only ascend so far and then they fall, and then they love you. In death you gain humanity; a posthumous flavor of idolatry and what you represented. You become your fall because that’s how people remember you. Not the details. It’s all what you could have been; all the what-ifs. And that’s how a star is born. That’s how idols rise.”
And the gorilla was done then, crossing its arms, and saying no more. In the silence, Marilyn felt a quiver in her lip, a tear in the corner of her eye. If she could unpucker her lips she would’ve smiled fondly at the beast and his words. After some time she glided towards him, her hungry frilly dress shooting up around her, and she moved next to him and the two touched, so slightly. Time faded then. It came in and out in waves and blurs. And sometime a hole opened in the world and a vast shadow filled the space for a moment. The sound of wings beat around them.
“Hey, down there!” called a perky voice that was kind, yet filled with urgency. “Things are a mess around here. It’s a Hell thing. Anyway,” the girl trailed, “I’ve got lots of work, you know, and, well, if you wanted to perhaps transition in a sense, I’m here. I’ll always be here, even if I’m not. Ok? But the doors open. Mister O-No-Mikoto’s dreams of attaining Hell are dead. I took them when the fiery torch was passed on to another pair of angels. And besides the mighty storm god of Nippon is in a bit of a predicament. Sorry. Talking too much.” Like that she was gone.
After a moment, hesitantly, King Kong moved to his feet. He climbed the walls and reached towards the ceiling exit. And before he departed, he looked towards her. “Come. You are not her but I can carry you to the top of the world, again.” And he took Marilyn in his grip and they ascended together towards the stars. “The winds are on your side,” said the King, “and he was a god of storms. Perhaps there’s irony in that. Or perhaps we shall rise as high as the gods allow.”
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I have a severe vertigo today and a concert in 3 hours and I literally don't know what to do. I went out just to fetch myself something to eat and going down the stairs was an adventure itself.
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heroesdelomniverso · 21 hours ago
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¿Que te parecen los Eternos de Marvel? ¿Has leído los cómics? ¿Te ha gustado su diseño en el MCU? A nosotros nos parece un gran proyecto. Si te gustan los Eternos y quieres rolear con alguno de sus personajes o algún personaje de Marvel, DC, Vértigo, Valiant, Top Cow, Millarworld o cualquier otra editorial de cómics únete a nosotros. Empieza tu aventura desde el principio.
https://heroesomniverso.foroactivo.com/
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dessinelle · a day ago
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Vertigo, a Voltron comic - Pages 28-29 (Updates on Thursdays!)
(Please click for better resolution)
SPECIAL BONUS UPDATE!!! 
Please note that there won’t be an update next week bc I need to produce new pages in real time, but after that we will be back to regular Thursday updates. 
I hope you guys enjoy, I worked really hard on these. Please don’t hesitate to comment!
Note: For those who are new to this comic, there’s a pinned post on my blog with links to all previous pages.
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jlaclassified · a day ago
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Shade the Changing Man by Chris Bachalo
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jlaclassified · a day ago
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Brother Power the Geek by Keith Giffen and Malcolm Jones III
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grayvier · 2 days ago
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Ok if I'm dizzy my phone is probably making it worse
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swan-of-fabletown · 2 days ago
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Keira: Why do you insist on badgering suspect like you’re a one-man lynch mob Bigby: Guess talking the top doesn’t help, does it?
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Bigby and Keira started to walk out of the Fourth floor towards the lifts. Keira: Sure if you call threatening is talking Bigby: If we have done it your way, Bluebeard would have dance around the issue for an hour, while you made nice, kissed his ass and then thanked him for the opportunity Bigby thinks Keira would be a nice fable to Bluebeard and get the answers so easily Bigby seemed to forget while Keira has to do annual The Farm resident checklist with Bluebeard, isn’t one of her favourite things to do with him when Bluebeard keeps making threats to the residents. 
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pageofqueens · 2 days ago
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“A shriveled husk! Mmmm... I like that.”
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petty-d4bblr · 2 days ago
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John Constantine and Zari Tarazi together so far have some parallels with Dani Wright in Jenkins' Hellblazer run and I am here for it.
1) Calling him out on his saviour complex BS:
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2) Not putting up with his tendency to assume everything is his fault (he is usually right, though):
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3) Dishing out stellar cheek while in bed:
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(Also Martian reference seemed appropriate)
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ashtrayheart9 · 3 days ago
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VERTIGO
youtube
Me atrevo
A confesarte que hubiera prendido fuego
A ese recinto que se salgan los de dentro
Que me apetece disfrutarte un poco más
Qué lento
Voy a doscientos y es que ya no encuentro el miedo
Y aunque ahora el golpe sea de dos y ahogue el hielo
Combatiremos entre llamas mi verdad
El vértigo que siento al verte
Sería natural si no fueras real
Y si no te tuviera en frente preguntando
Que si soy de alguien más
Dame
La solución para conseguir que me calle
Que deje de ir sobre seguro y amarrarte
Con todo lo que se puede tambalear
Quiero
Perder el miedo cada vez que haya algo dentro
Poder decir que nos lanzamos al momento
Que no sabemos si todo nos quemará
Y siento vértigo
Me miento
Y busco excusas para no salir del juego
Para no ver que te estoy echando de menos
Y que me muero por oírte preguntar
El vértigo que siento al verte
Sería natural si no fueras real
Y si no te tuviera en frente preguntando
Que si soy de alguien más
Dame
La solución para conseguir que me calle
Que deje de ir sobre seguro y amarrarte
Con todo lo que se puede tambalear
Quiero
Perder el miedo cada vez que algo dentro
Poder decir que nos lanzamos al momento
Que no sabemos si todo nos quemará
Y siento vértigo
Vértigo
Vértigo
Vértigo
Dame
La solución para conseguir que me calle
Que deje de ir sobre seguro y amarrarte
Con todo lo que se puede tambalear
Quiero
Perder el miedo cada vez que algo dentro
Poder decir que nos lanzamos al momento
Que no sabemos si todo nos quemará
Dame
A solución para conseguir que me calle
Que deje de ir sobre seguro y amarrarte
Que no sabemos si todo nos quemará
Y siento vértigo
Vértigo
Y siento vértigo
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