#I blame that tumblr post

[hollow-burst]

my touys guy and adoni guy

And Verlaine role models

[inkskinned]

the thing is there's like, a point of oversaturation for everything, and it's why so many things get dropped after a few minutes. and we act like millennials or gen z kids "have short attention spans" but... that's not quite it. it's more like - we did like it. you just ruined it.

capitalism sees product A having moderate success, and then everything has to come out with their "own version" of product A (which is often exactly the same). and they dump extreme amounts of money and environmental waste into each horrible simulacrum they trot out each season.

now it's not just tiktokkers making videos; it's that instagram and even fucking tumblr both think you want live feeds and video-first programming. and it helps them, because videos are easier to sneak native ads into. the books coming out all have to have 78 buzzwords in them for SEO, or otherwise they don't get published. they are making a live-action remake of moana. i haven't googled it, but there's probably another marvel or starwars something coming out, no matter when you're reading this post.

and we are like "hi, this clone of project A completely misses the point of the original. it is soulless and colorless and miserable." and the company nods and says "yes totally. here is a different clone, but special." and we look at clone 2 and we say "nope, this one is still flat and bad, y'all" and they're like "no, totally, we hear you," and then they make another clone but this time it's, like, a joyless prequel. and by the time they've successfully rolled out "clone 89", the market is incredibly oversaturated, and the consumer is blamed because the company isn't turning a profit.

and like - take even something digital like the tumblr "live streaming" function i just mentioned. that has to take up server space and some amount of carbon footprint; just so this brokenass blue hellsite can roll out a feature that literally none of its userbase actually wants. the thing that's the kicker here: even something that doesn't have a physical production plant still impacts the environment.

and it all just feels like it's rolling out of control because like, you watch companies pour hundreds of thousands of dollars into a remake of a remake of something nobody wants anymore and you're like, not able to afford eggs anymore. and you tell the company that really what you want is a good story about survival and they say "okay so you mean a YA white protagonist has some kind of 'spicy' love triangle" and you're like - hey man i think you're misunderstanding the point of storytelling but they've already printed 76 versions of "city of blood and magic" and "queen of diamond rule" and spent literally millions of dollars on the movie "Candy Crush Killer: Coming to Eat You".

it's like being stuck in a room with a clown that keeps telling the same joke over and over but it's worse every time. and that would be fine but he keeps fucking charging you 6.99. and you keep being like "no, i know it made me laugh the first time, but that's because it was different and new" and the clown is just aggressively sitting there saying "well! plenty of people like my jokes! the reason you're bored of this is because maybe there's something wrong with you!"

[homoquartz]

i don't know sorry

[skizz-that-man]

Imp and Skizz talk about kissing each other

[sunlit-mess]

snap out of it

[siryyeet]

In light of my ß appreciation post making its round again, can we also talk about how much the cursive ß fucks

Like look at that. This is the gay sex of writing.

[thegargantuangourdii]

Hehe sketches for nightmare mode

[danandphilupdates]

USA TOUR LIFE! DAN AND PHIL HERE TO SAVE UR DEMOCRACY COME SEE US OR REGRET IT WHEN UR 90 dandphiltour.com TY LOVE U ALL

dan and phil insta post

(videos: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 / extra photo in reblogs)

17/10/24

[itsscottiesstark]

Wouldn't it be great if Tumblr had a feature like "3 years ago today" or something? Like, imagine waking up one morning, opening the app and there's a huge banner saying "Let's see what you were up to 5 years ago today!" and you click on it and it's the most unhinged, thirsty, shameful post about the same middle aged actor you are still obsessed with.

[merlintheactor]

I think tumblr should do more posts about alexithmyia. I think I might have to actually write some posts about it. Damn

[horriblehooter]

GLORSH!

“Ahhhhhhhh…HIC! Mph…ohhhh, that’s…th-that’s a lot more than I…remember…”

The Saurian hissed softly, his serpent-like eyes looking down with a hint of anxiety, and more than a hint of personal embarrassment. Long, clawed fingers reached down and spread out, groping at the upper curve of his swollen stomach, which stretched out through the rubbery material of his costume’s abdomen. A soft whimper left the reptile, as his tail swept upwards, the snakish tail curling and lifting to press at the underside of his bloated, sagging belly. His gut sloshed and burbled in response to all the attention, and the snake bit his scaly lips, repressing another whimper as he could feel the sensitive skin seem to light up from every one of his own touches.

It didn’t help that, not so far beneath his skin, he could feel the heavy, filling mass inside squirm…he could feel fingers brush against his muscular gut walls, feel feet wiggling and almost tickling his tummy’s tough, sticky, slippery lining. He adjusted his stance to make sure he wouldn’t collapse as the weight of his own midsection swamped his body suddenly.

“N-Nara?” the Saurian whispered at last, almost timidly. “Are…um…are you…uninjured?”

The squirming intensified briefly…then a voice came from the curled-up shape inside the stomach.

“Yeah, I think so,” it answered. It was the voice of a young female, and it was…surprisingly casual, considering its owner had just been swallowed alive like a limp fish. “Doin’ good out there? Not givin’ you a bellyache, right, Hakari?”

“Not yet,” mumbled Hakari, unable to deny that the taut, stretched flesh did feel a bit uncomfortable…not helped by the knowledge that his best friend was the one kicking inside that big belly. His gut let out a deep, garbled growl, and Hakari rubbed over it with both hands to try and settle it, lest the muscles seize up and squeeze Nara more than either liked.

“Sounds like your gut likes me,” giggled Nara, as if she wasn’t inside a carnivorous shapeshifter’s digestive system.

Hakari cracked a small, feeble, worried smile.

“It’s not the only one,” he joked, but the smile soon fell. “Um…are you…sure about this?”

“Yup!” came the reply, followed by the feeling of a hand gently stroking over the stomach wall from within. “Wouldn’t have asked for it if I wasn’t.”

Hakari shivered, feeling a quiver of happiness ripple through him. His tail wiggled, flexing beneath the underside of his stomach for a moment, the tip curling up to cup his belly before twisting downard once again, the rest of the limb pushing into the overhang subtly.

“How��how long do you want to stay in there?” Hakari breathed out, feeling somewhere between pain and pleasure as he winced from a the sensation of his stomach rhythmically churning against Nara’s side.

“Eh. As long as you feel’s safe, I guess”

“Great! Then let’s get you out now-”

“Hakari. This is a trust exercise.”

“Right, and…and you trust me, don’t you? S-So there’s no need to-”

“Who said it was meant to teach me how to trust you?”

Hakari’s jaws snapped shut. His forked tongue flickered out of his mouth. Just once.

“I’m gonna be okay. I believe you. Just…lemme simmer in here-”

“Oh, please don’t use that word…”

“..Maybe for…I dunno, an hour? You’ve said your metal-ball-whatsis-”

“Metabolism.”

“Whatver…you said it’s kinda slow, soooo…an hour ain’t gonna hurt, yeah?”

Hakari squirmed.

“I…I don’t think so,” he peeped, timidly.

“Then one hour in your belly. And after you let me out, I promise I’ll give you all the rubs you could want from the outside. Sound fair?”

Hakari blushed. It was strange to see so green a face gain so much pink suddenly.

“I…suppose that sounds…amenable.”

Nara chuckled and patted the gut wall.

“Good snake,” she teased.

Hakari would have blushed more…but at that moment, his face twisted up in a grimace of discontent. He pressed on the side and the upper curve of his stomach as a soft, almost puppyish whine left him, the pressure making him turn greener in the proverbial gills than usual…then his eyes shot wide open, and his jaw rattled as it flew open. Saliva spattered everywhere, flecking off of his tongue and past his tonsils, as he let out a deep, rumbling, heavy belch.

“BUUUUURRRP!”

Hakari’s blush returned, twice as red and twice as bright, as he slapped one of his hands over his mouth in embarrassment. His gut let out a greasy, low sound that almost sounded like a sigh of relief.

“Um…ahem…p-pardon me.”

Nara just laughed, making the stomach around her wobble. Hakari gave a flustered smile at the sound.

“Good one, lizard lips!” cheered Nara from within.

“Um…actually, I’m more closely related to the subgroup ophidia than laterata or other such options…heh heh…”

“…I dunno what any of that means, but never change, Hakari. Never change.”

Hakari’s smile softened. Using his tail, he patted the side of his belly, a look of affection in his eyes.

“I don’t plan to.”

-------------------------------

An early birthday present for @belliesandburps! Starring his shapeshifting serpentine ninja Hakari, looking a bit bashful with a rare bellyful of prey...especially when that prey works up some beastly belches he has no chance of muffling. ;)

Hakari's design here is based on concept sketches I made after some back and forth with B-n-B, since he mentioned wanting to update his snek boi's design a while back. Hopefully this is still somewhat up to date.

Happy Birthday, B-n-B! Hope it's a good one, and wishing you lots of cake for you and your favorite anime bois of choice to enjoy. 🎂

Also, big thanks to @twistedtummies2 for writing up the blurb to go along with the art! Go check out his stuff, he deserves the love.

[thekintsugikids]

saw patrick striptease in albany and haven’t stopped thinking about it since …….

[mochiwrites]

gentle touch of morning

( a small scarian epic au piece <3 reblogs do more than likes! )

It’s funny. 

Over the twelve long years Scar spent fighting, leading his men into battle, the thought that kept him going was his eventual homecoming. Every waking thought was of his husband and son, and Scar’s reason for living, for breathing, was his family. As he sailed rocky waters, faced monsters and gods alike, lost men after men, Scar wished for nothing more than to be home, to awake with his husband sleeping beside him. 

But as he stands in his home, the one he most intimately knows, Scar feels… wrong. Out of place. He’d woken up early, savoring the sight of Grian’s sleeping face (he could never get tired of it), and felt so restless that staying in bed for any longer seemed impossible. So Scar took to walking around his home. 

He and Grian built this place up, together. The memories are some that Scar looks back on fondly. He could never forget it, no matter how much time he spent away from it. Scar only fears that it has forgotten him. 

Scar takes easy steps, walking and reacquainting himself. He notes the pictures, most of them being of his son. He hardly sees Grian in any of them, perhaps one or two, less than a handful. And the ones that Grian is in, his smile doesn’t light up his face. It makes Scar frown. 

He wanders for a bit, traversing each winding hallway with careful movements. It’s as if he fears the house may collapse at any moment, or some attacker may jump from the shadows, perhaps a god will catch him off guard and finish him off. Not even in his home does he feel the full safety he’s supposed to. These walls feel foreign, unfamiliar. Even if he can picture everything clearly in his mind, knows this place like the back of his hand. Scar still feels like a stranger. 

Eventually, he finds himself in the kitchen. He pauses in the doorway, catching sight of another person. 

His son. 

His little Pitta. 

Well, not as little anymore, as a young boy at fourteen. But to Scar it still feels like he’s just an infant that he could cradle in his arms. Another thing time robbed him of. So many missed moments, opportunities, to watch his son grow. And while Scar knows that there are still many years to come, to see, a piece of him mourns the time he lost.

For a moment, Scar keeps quiet. He watches his son, taking in his dark brown hair and hazel colored eyes. He’s the striking image of both Scar and Grian somehow, even if they aren’t related to him. But Scar loves him all the same; would move mountains to give him whatever he needed. He can’t help but wonder what kind of person his son is, what he likes and dislikes. Does he resent Scar for leaving? Does he consider Scar his father, or a stranger who left a loving husband alone for years on end? He doesn’t want to find out. Not now. 

Scar stands there until he can’t anymore, finding hazel eyes landing on him. He watches the way in which Pitta’s eyes light up, turning all shiny and bright when he notices his father. He turns away from the counter, abandoning the slices of bread he had taken out. He smiles, and gods, does his smile look like Grian’s. “Papa!” Pitta greets, the timbre of his voice cheerful and soft. 

“Hey, Pitta,” Scar returns, heart melting each time he’s reminded that he’s finally returned home. He never thought it would happen, that maybe it’d take him longer, or maybe something would strike him down on the way back. But against all odds, fourteen years, and Scar is home. His son stands in front of him. 

“What’re you doing awake? Is dad up too?” Pitta questions, raising a brow at him. 

“Uh…” Scar blanks, unsure of what to say. It’s not like he’s going to tell the truth, Pitta shouldn’t have to worry about him. Scar has already caused him enough pain, there’s no need to cause more now that he’s actually here. “Gria— your dad’s still asleep,” he stammers. The words feel awkward on his tongue, like they shouldn’t be there. This life of domesticity… he doesn’t know how to go about it. It isn’t just some enemy he can cut down. 

The very thought makes him nauseous. 

“Oh!” Pitta blinks at the response. “Well, that’s… good.” He nods to himself awkwardly, and Scar hides a grimace. 

He… really doesn’t know how to interact with his son. 

There’s this dark curdling of doubt in his mind that begins to creep up, settling over him. He’s afraid. Worried that this is one thing he’ll never overcome. It’s a familiar feeling, an old friend, a once enemy turned begrudging shadow. It’s a feeling he experienced in battle, traversing home, taking his castle back from scoundrels that dare to stain it. But there is a new fear that joins it, overwhelming like a tidal wave. 

Does he even know how to be a father? 

Scar feels his breath sharpen just a tad, skipping a beat and hastening. He can feel hands curling around his throat, beginning to press into his skin. He feels it tightening on him, the grip firm. The pressure starts off as something light, until the fingers of Fear dig deeper with each shakingly quiet breath. It gets stronger and stronger, straining his lungs until he can feel his throat being squeezed, choked. 

“Papa?” Pitta’s voice breaks him from the spiraling thoughts, from the overwhelming fear sneaking in. 

The hands around his neck relax, and the terror recedes, sinking back into the depths of his mind momentarily. He allows himself a moment to breathe, a chance to suck in a soft breath and recenter. His vision clears, and he becomes aware of the way his heartbeat pounds in his ears, loud like a drum. 

He manages a smile, “I’m uh, gonna go check and see if our Sleeping Beauty is awake.” Keeping his eyes trained on his son, Scar tries to maintain his light smile. He takes a few small steps back, slipping into a casual mask. He’s gotten quite good at it over the years of putting on a brave face. “Be right back.”

Pitta watches him, brows creasing in concern as he goes. “Oh… okay,” he answers, sounding resigned as Scar retreats. 

Scar turns around, and brings himself back to the beautiful olive tree where his Grian is fast asleep. The sun shines down on him, cutting through the green leaves. The light spills into their bed, painting a halo in the soft yet sandy blond locks of Grian’s hair. He rests in their bed, eyes shut and face relaxed. His body is curled somewhat, the blanket tucked just over his shoulders. 

Staring at him, taking in the near angelic sight, Scar takes a few breaths to calm himself. He walks over to their bed, sitting down on the edge, right beside Grian. He contents himself with just sitting there, watching the rise and fall of Grian’s chest. It feels a little easier to breathe, with the love of his life right here, peaceful. Scar can almost allow himself to pretend he lives in a world where he never went to war, where he never had to leave his family behind. He can almost allow himself to pretend he was the husband and father he should have been. 

Chest aching and overflowing with doubt and regret, Scar reaches out. Tenderly, Scar brushes some of Grian’s hair away from his face. He ever so softly tangles his fingers in the silky strands as he rhythmically cards through his hair. Scar’s expression softens, chest swelling with love for the man before him. He drags the pads of his fingertips along Grian’s head, feeling the soft locks under his touch. 

He can’t imagine what it was like, doing so much alone for so long. Scar has always believed Grian to be strong, the strongest person he knows. But this? Scar doesn’t think anyone could compare, not even the gods. 

Not in the way it matters, at least. 

His thumb idly strokes Grian’s cheekbone, loving and sweet. “I’d be lost without you, my light,” he murmurs. Because it’s true. Scar would’ve given up a long, long time ago if he didn’t have Grian and Pitta to come home to. Grian is his rock, his eye of the storm, his compass. Scar is caught within Grian’s orbit, forever wrapped up in him. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for this man. Grian kept their home in one piece. He raised their son. He handled whatever it was that Scar couldn’t in his time away. Grian held out hope for fourteen years that Scar would come back to him. 

Scar owes him everything and more. But most importantly, Scar owes him his love. And by the gods will he offer every last ounce of it, every drop. Scar is a man. No general, and certainly no hero. He is just a man who wants to pour his heart and soul out for his spouse. Scar is just a man in love. 

Beneath his touch, Grian’s face twitches, and he begins to stir. “Mmm… Scar?” he mumbles, still groggy and waking up. 

“Good morning, my love.” Scar smiles at him, brushing away a particular curl of hair before stroking his cheek. “Sleep well?”

“‘ink so, yes. It was warm with you,” Grian answers, leaning into the hand on his cheek. “What’re you awake for?” 

Scar pauses, if only briefly. “Uh, well, y’know. Just admiring my pretty husband while I have the chance,” he answers, which isn’t entirely a lie. 

Grian looks at him with clear suspicion, but doesn’t push. Instead, he sighs quietly as pushes himself to sit up. “You can do that when I’m awake too,” he teases, leaning to press their lips together. Scar is more than happy to sink into it, using the hand on Grian’s cheek to angle his head slightly, deepening it. The kiss is sweet, loving. It’s slow and patient, carrying the patience of fourteen years within it.

When they pull away, Scar rests their foreheads together. “I guess I can, yeah,” he agrees softly. “Mind if I take a few more minutes to admire him?” 

Grian smiles, kissing the corner of his mouth in return. “I suppose.”  Scar simply smiles, and gods is he happy to be home. No amount of fear could ever leave him unhappy to be back with the loves of his life. Never. 

[talk-nerdy-to-me-thyla]

Lisa Frankenstein fans rise up

[fastianini]

Valentino Rossi & Marc Márquez

[ happy (belated) 9 year anniversary to sepang 2015 aka the one weekend everything went wrong, everything changed and that still haunts motogp to this day <3 ]

history of man by maisie peters

[sliipppy]

Everytime someone calls Duke Thomas "the normal one" a bat loses its wings.