#Lemme know if I should tag for anything else

[shepscapades]

[Part 1] [PART 2] [Part 3]

The unexpected return of a face Xisuma never thought he'd see again.

[breach-of-conduct]

Jason Todd - Beast World

[agropuff]

i think abt ak jason a lot

[blushily]

forgive me

[wolfythewitch]

How does Wil and Tommy’s relationship develop to the point that Wil essentially sacrifices himself to save him? Since going off what’s been established I’d figure he’d have more of a self-centered (not in a bad way) survival instinct, just because of like how far it took him. I’m not sure if I get why he’d give that up for essentially a stranger, so I’d like to hear what you’re thinking! :)

It's like

It is in a way a selfish motivation, even if it does stem from some genuine kindness

Hmm how do I explain this coherently without it being too heavy

So the reason Wilbur has been going on this whole time is a sort of like obligation to, because he can't waste what his father did for him. He doesn't have much of a will to survive himself, but he can't die, because he doesn't feel he has any right to. He does end up getting somewhat familiar with Tommy, and there also factors in his general kindness, and wanting to help someone he knows. And that's what he thinks he's doing. He thinks he's dying for some greater good. So dying, on his own, out in the wilderness? To him would be a waste. But dying to save a kid, and in some twisted way, carrying on his dad's gift to him to this kid, a life for a life? In his mind, it would be a worthy sacrifice.

If that makes sense. I'm very sleepy rn

It's like an awful mix of survivor's guilt and suicidal ideation and genuine want to do good that boils over when they run into the zombie horde

[ceabu]

fear and hunger au

[lemontongues]

she tells people she does amateur mma to cope with all the board meetings

[lesbianfakir]

They're soooooooooooo ヽ(♡‿♡)ノ

[utterhomestucktrash]

We can hold hands if you tell me your favourite bug 🐛

[agropuff]

what the fuck is his problem

[bratdykebarbie]

I wanna get a girl so so worked up until she’s soaking through her panties and then I wanna whine “fuck, mommy, you’re so wet” in her ear as I look up at her with big Bambi eyes and tease her pretty dripping cock with my fingers and make her go completely feral 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

[solfinite]

i haven't animated anything in a long while lol so i hope this looks alright

wanted to do something silly. watch out for her

[girlstressed]

2019 me: yeah no I have the opposite of an eating disorder hahaha I can’t stop eating ever it’s actually uncontrollable”

therapist: that’s also . an eating disorder

2019 me: what!?!?!? how have i never heard about this

therapist: to put it lightly, people don’t care about eating disorders in fat people

[callmehere-iwillappear]

a brief summary of leo's time in the prison dimension <3 the rest is under the read more, warning for uuhh. Limbs Should Not Bend That Way and also gore(??) it's the same level of detail/intensity as the rest of these drawings so

[spirestar]

Being a million tiny pieces of nothing is a taxing job. Living a little life in each mote and cell, every invisible creature inside a drop of blood and each drop of blood in a stream and all the little bugs that aren't bugs at all that creep inside veins and sleep. There is nothing but the big vat of it all, of life, of living and wishing for dying and living too many times to count. Laughter inside of paper walls that glow like a candle in a lover's window. All the little creatures never go quiet under skin, always with their cicada wings rubbing noisily and their crying, mourning, sobbing. It makes the one they live inside's head feel like it may burst---And here's the doctor to diagnose them, to call them imagination and call them liars. In the warm, gentle arms of twyrine Peter can't hear them, not so much; If every dream of that wretched miracle is a song, he will hear them, but by the god that is his brother and his own hands made one, he wishes they'd leave him alone.

"You just ran into the wall. It's time to lie down." That voice swims in his ears for longer than he realizes, reverberating off the wide walls of center stage. The Bachelor, cast in a halo of light, a beam overhead blazing into the back of his head. And Peter is only backlit, a veritable shadow where he's landed / crashed / fallen to the wooden floor. Where is the wall? Where is his pen? Peter has seen angels in his sleep, has been sung to and flayed and used to create whatever masterpieces they deigned, but never has he touched one in a waking hour; He blinks blearily, the light too hot and bright in his face.

There's a hand on his arm--helping him up?--and that dingy orange light of his brother's watering hole has returned. Iron stings his tongue, thicker than ichor, and he laughs. Helpless. The world is a swirl of nothing at all, the same the same the same, and he is the only fraying end, unspooling himself onto the floor into tangles and knots that no one will ever dare gather up to salvage. Part of Peter misses that light. Dankovsky is all human again. There's nothing more beautiful than humans, mortal and fickle and true. Nothing more terrifying than the divine they create, the divine they empower and revere. Peter should know: He can remember killing god in his sleep, or was that his shadow?

"Bachelor," he breathes, the least coherent bits of him grasping for anything other than the fellow's name. For some reason it frightens him so now. "A wall where there was none--Just picture it." For effect, and perhaps for comedy that he no longer has any grasp of but once did, he knocks a trembling hand against said wall. The one he's clearly left him mark on, if the blood on it is any proof. His nose maybe? He can't really feel the source. "Now, why do you think my brother would do that to me. He knows I hate a cage," a willful smile, "and a jailer. That's not you, is it? Shepherding the little sheep and diseases to sleep?" Peter leans into the arm holding him up, but not because he means to. "Have you had a drink?"

@heartinhands