#i rise from the tumblr grave

[hieravian]

hi so I have indeed been thoroughly enjoying mass effect ng+. I'm about a third of the way through me2 right now cuz I'm taking my sweet time and look at my boy Ronan

he looks so beautiful now <3

it's so nice seeing him with more accurate hair and with his facial hair back

(unofficial patch and morning's more hair v4 were used!!)

I also got a mod to romance Kaidan in the first game and the HEARTBREAK on Horizon like... ow..

[dontsteponthatfish]

At your service.

[fireheartedpup]

🙃 What’s a weird fact that you know? (ask game)

I think most of the things I've learned from the internet would seem strange to people. Like the fact that the US ran a misinformation campaign about the effectiveness of masks, or the fact that some ethnicities are just lactose intolerant.

I don't know if the guy who went to the hospital because he sucked dick too hard was telling the truth, but I used it to divert the conversation with a group of strangers at a bar one time and at least one person didn't believe it was real

[elsaclack]

Yeah okay so like I said in the tags of the last post I’m rising from my tumblr grave to say that the ban on TikTok is symptomatic of a MUCH larger and more terrifying problem. Because yes, on its surface it’s silly dances and asmr and cooking videos and whatever, but in truth and at its core, TikTok single-handedly revolutionized the way 170 million Americans communicated with each other AND the rest of the world. Non-Americans love to point out how America-centric Americans are, but fail to realize that we are purposefully raised in an isolated, insulated environment where we are told from basically day 1 that America Is The Best and not to even bother taking a look around because it’s all downhill from outside of here. TikTok has, for MANY Americans, single-handedly destroyed that notion and allowed them (us!!) to broaden our world-view and realize that actually, things are better in other countries, and it did so in a kind, empathetic, and compassionate way.

And yeah most people wake up to the truth of that on their own as they get older, but holy shit!! The VAST majority of the Americans on TikTok are millennials and gen z (and even some older gen alpha)!! People who are becoming disillusioned with “The American Dream” (said with the HEAVIEST sarcasm) while they’re still school-aged or are just entering young-adulthood!! People who are entering - or TRYING to enter - the American workforce who suddenly have an unfiltered window into non-American lives and are wondering why tf we’re struggling and penny-pinching and toeing the line of poverty while our rich elected officials sit around and fight and argue over everything that actually matters to the citizens they supposedly represent and get richer all the while. THAT is why they’re banning the app, and that fact alone should terrify every single American citizen.

Not to mention the precedent it sets for other social media platforms!! You think some nebulous, unproven, and unfounded “threat to national security” will stop with TikTok?? They’ve already censored Adult Material on tumblr, who’s gonna stop them from coming back and doing it again or getting rid of it altogether for the exact same reason? It’s a blatant act of censorship and a direct attack on the American first amendment right to free speech.

NOTHING radicalized me the way tiktok did. I watched people in my life who were STAUNCH Trump supporters in 2016 AND 2020 wake up to the truth and vote blue for the first time in their lives BECAUSE OF TIKTOK, and did so with al the nuanced understanding that even Democrats are severely failing this country, but are at least better than the alternative. That level of awareness and presence in the average US citizen scares American politicians.

The fact that the vast majority of them - including the ones loudly opposing the ban!! - bought stock in Meta BEFORE the ban was legalized/upheld by the Supreme Court?? That Mark Zuckerberg and Elon Musk were legally allowed to lobby congress to ban TikTok when BOTH stood to DIRECTLY financially gain from their biggest competitor being banned in the US and are guilty of unethically gathering data and selling it to MULTIPLE third parties?? The fact that Trump is now teasing that he may or may not intervene to save TikTok when he was the one who talked about banning it in the first place AND ALSO OWNS HIS OWN COMPETING SOCIAL MEDIA PLATFORM??

It’s the burning of Alexandria. It’s the loss of a significant chunk of culture. It’s the sharp and sudden loss of contact with the rest of the world for more than half of all American citizens. It’s the loss of $240 BILLION dollars in the GDP when the country is already TRILLIONS of dollars in debt. And on an individualistic level, it’s the loss of millions of small businesses and primary income streams for so many individuals and families who found their primary audience on TikTok. Is the app perfect? HELL no. Are there significant changes needed to make it a safe environment for all users? ABSOLUTELY. But that can also be said of ANY social media platform. TikTok openly fostered connection and communication and creativity and compassion that is completely unique to that platform! It made so many people - myself included!! - feel less alone. I get the feeling I know what the general consensus is about TikTok on this site, but the ban on this app should scare the shit out of everyone.

[godjo]

✮ — altar girl.

hasn’t it been written that wherever the fire of evil blazes, a god will be there to douse it? but who saves the damned if a god kindled the fire?

tags — true form!sukuna x concubine/f!reader. 3k wc. explicit smut. dubcon at first (trust me in this one pls). exhibitionism. thigh riding. doggy style. manhandling. rough sex. womb fucking. humongous cock!sukuna (hello???). multiple orgasms. mindbreak. drool. cunnilingus bordering on tongue-fucking. orgasm denial once. he carries you. creampie. lots of cum. fuckton of religious symbolism. physical violence against the reader but not from sukuna. sukuna calls you brat like one time. minors, ageless, and blank blogs dni.

from hunter — not to be dramatic or whatever but i do feel like this fic took a huge chunk off of my sanity … the things i do for sukuna omg … if this flops i will officially retire from tumblr /j + also it's 3 am for me so i didn't proofread the last bits and i prolly got lazy ... ha ha ... ✮

gods exist. 

the annals of history tell us so.

they exist in a way that no mortal can comprehend, for a god is more than a face. they leave their imprints not with their feet but with the rise and fall of dynasties, the ruination of empires, and the death of kings. they materialize as the birth of a deluge and they rise as the reason for war. it is not the body that proves their existence but the carnage they leave behind. 

they have manifested before human eyes through myriad guises, and once again incarnated in the flesh of ryomen sukuna. 

many have met their untimely demise at his hands; he walks the earth with their tormented souls at his feet. from village to village, their numbers increased until a procession of weeping thickened behind him. hundreds of graves mark the land since his advent, and yet the heavens remain deaf to the hysterical prayers for justice. only he can hear the prayers; only he laughs at them. 

they say he is a devil. you say he is a god. because only a god can saturate the earth with blood and emerge unpunished from such transgression. hasn’t it been written that wherever the fire of evil blazes, a god will be there to douse it? but who saves the damned if a god kindled the fire? 

ryomen sukuna, in a form of some twisted mockery, decides to act the part. and so like every famished god, he demands a sacrifice to satisfy his voracious appetite. you would think that a house of gold would placate his hunger for blood, but riches mean nothing to him. his appetite needs flesh and it is flesh he got. 

“have i been too lenient that you’d dare fight amongst yourselves when i’m not around?” his voice reverberates inside the room. low, guttural, and pregnant with malice. it is enough to scorch everyone’s lungs with tension. 

you want to run away from this nightmare. go back to the peaceful bliss of mundanity when sukuna is only a piece of horrifying tale used to frighten children and not an absolute being seated cross-legged mere inches away. you try transporting your mind back to the days before his pillaging, before your village succumbed to his authority. yet his pervasive presence obstructs all your pathetic attempts at nostalgia. 

“look at what you did to the poor girl.” two of his four hands sweep you from your position to his lap, parading you to the rest of tearful eyes looking at him with entreaty. 

and it stings— their eyes. you’re in the claw of a savage hound from hell, ready to be devoured, with only your hadajuban as protection. even in this pitiful state, they offer no sympathy. their tears are for themselves alone despite their cruelty being the reason for your shared plight.

selfish bitches. 

“was it jealousy that caused this infighting? have i not divided my attention to all of you equally?” sukuna continuously taunts, lacing his voice with poisonous prudence. he fools no one and that’s what urges him forward. everyone knows that his seemingly laidback attitude is plain derision. nonetheless, he tastes the lingering hope in each of your faces before dragging his teeth along such pathetic daydreams.

“y… you have, my lord,” one of the women answers, her voice betraying a noticeable stutter. “if you would permit me to speak, i can offer his lordship an explanation for what transpired in the courtyard.”

sukuna emits a languid sigh as he rests his cheek upon his fist. he runs a rough hand down your arm, triggering vibration in the pit of your stomach. his hand is as huge as your face, his fingers long enough to snap your neck with ease. despite the surge of terror, you fight the urge to retch.

after a moment of battling your dread, it’s repulsion that filled you afterwards. repulsion rising from the woman’s explanation for your wretched state. the rest of the women nod their heads along with her account of how you tripped on a slippery stone multiple times, causing your current injuries, as if you’re a toddler who cannot orient her legs properly. 

they will save themselves with falsehood. 

sukuna yawns after the woman’s narration. his set of eyes seeking you after in the silence. 

“this matter is of your stupidity, then? you’ve wasted my time, brat.” he dips his cadence in amusement and disgust. 

anger flares within you, filling your nose and ears with the bitter scent of hatred, yet its heat descended down your throat, dampening your ability to defend yourself. what is one against many? there are twenty concubines in this room and nineteen of them just sold you to your demise for unintentionally raising this trifle to the lord of the land.

all of this— all of this merely because they have immersed themselves in playing a game in which you’ve been excluded since your arrival. after all, you’re just another competition for sukuna’s attention. 

“have mercy, my lord,” you whisper, on the verge of losing your sentience. “i… i mean no disrespect. it’s… it’s stupid of me—”

sukuna drawls, “speak no more of your nonsense. i have heard enough.” 

distressed apologies race past your mouth, along with entreaties that he spares your life. but you should’ve known that a god won’t turn his back on the sacrifice of blood. 

thus, when his enormous body finally moves to encase your fragility, you close your eyes and with jittering teeth have accepted your fate. you wait for the final release of death, a snap or his fist through your heart, but none came. instead, at your feet lay your torn garments, casting your nakedness before the other concubines in a humiliating display. the crisp air blows against your nipples, causing them to pucker tight. the same air turns your blood gelid, your bones immovable. 

“now, let’s see what all the fuss is about.” from behind, sukuna gropes your breasts, swirling the tips of your nipples with his fingers. “i’ll kill anyone who looks away.” the warning is vehement, ripe with threat, that even mere insects won’t dare defy it. 

is this the ultimate act of worship? to be stripped of all your layers? to be eaten?

his lips latch onto the bareness of your neck, sharp teeth dragging across the skin. the silence is thick, saved for the sound of your uneven breathing and the rustling of fabric as the concubines shift uncomfortably on their seats. sukuna’s wet and unusually long tongue starts licking the base of your shoulder to the back of your ear, before placing his thick and robust thigh between your quivering legs. 

your exposed cunt sticks to his skin, pussy folds flapping open. with practiced ease, as if manipulating the strings of a marionette, he subtly guided your movements. he has your pulsing clit riding the ridges of his thigh as if gushing all over will save you from inevitable demise. 

“m… mhm!” no longer entirely in control of your own form, you turn and sway in a helpless dance to his hands’ command. a gasp tinged with surprise and undeniable pleasure, escapes your lips and echoes softly in the confines of the room. you feel the searing heat of the concubines’ gazes drilling into you, a tangible weight of disapproval and something more primal — a flicker of envious fascination.

“for a condemned woman, aren’t you loving this too much?” sukuna takes the reins to your body. with speed that has your heavy tits bouncing, he secures your waist and drags your slick pussy faster and more recklessly. 

pleasure, sharp and electric at first, surges through your core, blossoming outwards like a firework. your cunt clenches and unclenches involuntarily, a delicious tremor wracking your body. the world narrows, sound and sight fading at the edges as every nerve ending sings with a single, glorious purpose. slowly, the intensity ebbs to leave a pleasant afterglow that paints your limbs with a newfound weight.

you’re but a tiny speck compared to sukuna’s imposing body; a feeble creature under the jurisdiction of a god. 

possessive hands have found you in your fleeting refuge, scooping your lower body up like you weigh nothing. with the tip of his finger he traces the curve of your spine, pressing enough weight to flatten your stomach against the tatami mat. 

“even your back is filled with lacerations,” he points out brusquely.

sukuna’s hefty cock drops to the base of your spine, its puffed up cocktip lazily pulsing to leak his thick liquids of pre-ejaculate. it must’ve been a whole arm laying heavy against your spine, warm with a gluttonous desire to ram itself through the sloppy confines of your pussy. 

and you lay there, waiting for his teeth and his claws and his animalistic hunger to devour. he presses his chest to your back, filling your ears with promises that he’s going to feed on you, eat you down to the marrow of your bones— and you’ll love it. 

“look at them,” sukuna hisses as he tugs at your forehead, “i want you to look at them while i fuck you.”

with your flesh you’ve received him like some kind of communion from root to tip. he hammers your cunt with his cock, until the heat of his savage lust reaches the pit of your belly. you feel his warmth soiling your cervix and uterus with every vigorous thrust. 

“oh! m… mhm!”  completely overtaken by sukuna, your thighs can only twitch as he destroys your insides. 

“you’re soaking wet,” he groans in your ear, deliberately adjusting his pace so he can coat his thick girth all over with your creamy hole, “and so fucking tight.” 

sukuna grunts like a wounded animal each time his cocktip kisses the smooth spot of your womb. a sheen of sweat glazes his body, tattoos aglow in the lanterns, from manically fucking your cunt. he bares his fangs whenever you tighten around his shaft enfolded with prominent and proud veins. 

the once vibrant forms of the concubines, their faces alight with prurient interest, dissolve into a sea of indistinct shapes as fog descends upon your sight. you’ve been reduced to a babbling and drooling mess, unable to grasp the reality that you’re being mounted and fucked to madness before several witnesses.

sukuna extends his hand, searching for your abandoned clit during his primal need to turn your pussy to pulp. 

“there it is,” he breathes against your clammy cheek, satisfied at his discovery. 

“n… no! not there…!” you pant as the last thread of reason frays and snaps. 

a tempestuous force of pleasure sweeps through you, leaving behind a tremor that has shaken you to the core. around you, a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations spins until a guttural moan runs from your lips, delivered by the exquisite torment of rapture. your nails scrape desperately across the tatami mat, clinging at the remnants of spilled sanity. 

sukuna cackles at your desperation to find a moment’s reprieve. the roughened end of his fingers dip into your yielding flesh as he forcefully slams your pussy back to his cock.  

“you’re not going anywhere,” he pronounces frenziedly, his eyes blowing wide. sukuna’s desperation for release intensifies to the point where he’s blatantly manhandling you, brutalizing your cunt and his cock during the process of reaching zenith. flesh meets flesh, fervid thrusts after fervid thrusts, until he feels that familiar coil in his own stomach. 

sukuna plugs your abused cunt with inconceivable amounts of cum. his cock pulses wildly, shooting globules straight to your womb it’s almost physically possible to feel his viscous cum filling every crevice of your uterus. when he’s finally pulled out, ropy cum still links his raw cocktip to your pulsing pussy hole. despite such a mind-numbing culmination, sukuna’s cock refuses to yield. it springs up proudly, aching for another taste.  

“what a sight,” sukuna issues with cavernous and demonic utterance, pertaining to your body lying inert upon the tatami mat. he sweeps the sodden hair from his brow with a lordly air, his pride evident in the contemptuous curve of his lips. 

look at the state he’s reduced you to. his thick ejaculation pools around your lower body because your little pussy can’t hold all of him. with an indifferent shrug, sukuna lowers his formidable body to your level. and only when the malevolent glint in his eyes becomes apparent does the gravity of the situation dawn upon you.

he starts fucking your cunt with his tongue.

you grit your teeth in response as sukuna places your knees upon his shoulders, burying the slimy width of his tongue in your heated pussy. it’s no mere licking— he’s practically shoved his tongue up your gummy walls, toying with the warmth of his cum pooled in your poor cunt while simultaneously licking your puffed up clit. 

“o… oh! c… can’t— please, please!” drool seeps between your gritted cuspids after your hysterical plea.

pearlescent tears warm the corner of your eyes. your sensitivity from his rigorous fucking has not yet abated, but another swell of release approaches at a hand’s reach. down to your heart, the bundles of nerves and veins constrict painfully because it’s too much. you have nowhere else to put the pleasure— the imminent pinnacle will utterly ruin you.

i’m losing my mind

i’m losing my mind

i’m losing my mind—

when ecstasy is but a heartbeat away, sukuna withdraws, denying you the finality your body craves. as if saved from drowning, you suck in and grace your lungs with air only to be propelled back to the brink of delirium when he lifts you up from the floor like a breeze. 

with carnal ferocity, he seizes the meaty flesh of your haunches with two of his limbs, while the others secure your torso. there and there, sukuna slots his insatiable cock in your dribbling cunt; an act that he’s accomplished without effort because you’re so wet, he’s slid right in. 

everyone has witnessed sukuna’s cock abusing your tingling pussy; all can see how he bounces your tingling cunt along his stiff length without strain. 

“yes… squeeze my cock like the obedient girl you are,” he sibilates on your face, followed by a harsh chuckle. “you can’t hear me now, can you?”

the voice is a distant echo, barely perceptible to your waning senses. your body, devoid of strength, limps completely in sukuna’s embrace. he buries his face in the crooks of your damped neck, groaning and babbling as he ruts into your swollen pussy. 

“how come you’re still so fucking tight?”

hasn’t he prepared you for his sheer girth? hasn’t he stimulated your pussy enough to hug his cock smoothly and effortlessly? you’ve already coated his balls shiny with all the slick your cunt has produced, but sukuna’s chest tightens because you’re milking him with a viselike grip. 

yes, it is human that he’s even affected by this carnal desire. what more can he do? he feels faint with exultation merely by fucking you. 

sukuna pumps your pussy to the hilt with slow yet profound thrusts. he bares his teeth down the blade of your shoulder as the maelstrom of release engulfs him completely. battered by waves of ecstasy, he grunts with your flesh between his teeth, the rough sound reverberating deep from his belly.

you must’ve reached the peak with him— you absolutely cannot tell. the only thing that your puddled mind can grasp is the swirl of his potent cum in the pit of your womb and the endless pulse of your cunt as you struggle to accommodate his release. 

petrified and silent, the remaining concubines are as fixed in place as if struck by an immobilizing spell. yet they watch— they watch intently while sukuna’s cock throbs with white strings of cum dripping from your cunt hole down to his balls and thighs. a hefty amount pools beneath him, oozing from where the both of you are connected. 

the envy that consumed them is a silent, suffocating thing, a palpable presence thick enough to choke. this envy deepens as they witness the delicacy with which sukuna has placed your dormant body on his own tatami mat. they grit their teeth secretly, throwing every known curse your way. may your womb not bear the fruits of sukuna’s seed, they vehemently pray. 

for ryomen sukuna, it’s nothing but a moment’s weakness, a foreign string of unknown emotion that you’ve managed to evoke from him. and even though he’s beyond human grace, he’s wasted your body to his own satisfaction, it’s only right to touch you with his claws retracted.

“performance is over, my dearests,” sukuna announces while a smirk tugs at his lips. facing his concubines, he dons his fundoshi haphazardly that it barely covers what it means to hide. 

“w… what will become of her, my lord?” one dares to ask. 

a fleeting, imperious gaze from sukuna sweeps over you before ushering the women from the opulent chamber. “you shouldn’t worry yourselves about such trivial matters. she will meet her own reckoning by my hands.”

a wave of malicious satisfaction ripples through the group as they exchange covert nods. you’re already a dead woman. with poisonous glee, they bow before ryomen sukuna with their faces shaped in unbridled mirth. 

“make sure that my wives are accompanied home safely,” sukuna orders the nearest guards. he tastes their fear hanging heavy in the air just by being in his presence. oh, humans. 

as the group began to retreat, they cast over their shoulders a flurry of flirtatious farewells to the imposing sukuna. however, before they could vanish entirely from sight, his deep voice cut through their progress.

“guards, before i forgot…” sukuna displays a grotesque smile filled with malice. “kill them all. i want nineteen heads on my feet tomorrow.”

they say he is a devil. 

you say he is a god. 

and despite all the names, sukuna has found himself a place of worship, with you as his altar. 

[isensmith]

I agree that knowing everything he's said about how debilitating his anxiety was on that show that he was never likely to show up and perform.

but i still find a few things confusing:

he could have come and just been part of the audience to support his friends who were there. but if that happened they never put the camera on him or anywhere close to him cause i was scanning the crowds.

he could have done some short recorded bits like Will Forte did, but that apparently didn't happen either.

The ONLY time he appeared in a sketch was the compilation of fake commercials and they showed the "Almost Pizza" one. And here's where it get very strange for me. his one line in that which they showed, i'm pretty positive was not his voice. Now there's no reason i can think of that SNL would purposely cut him out of everything, especially as like you said, he's been part of other anniversary content too so it doesn't look like a bad blood situation. So all signs for me are pointing to it was a choice from Bill. a choice not to be there, or take part in anyway, or to allow his content to be used beyond two 1 second shots of Stefon where he didn't talk. And that's a strange choice that i dont get, but there could be a million reasons and Bill's got his own life that i know nothing about so i expect i'll likely never know.

Do he and Lorne hate each other?

I don’t think so! Especially because he did interviews for some of the SNL50 docuseries that came out leading up to this (and they are fabulous, you should watch if you haven’t!)

He’s been pretty forthcoming about the horrible panic attacks he suffered while on SNL. My guess would be he didn’t want to put himself in that situation.

[the-garden-jack]

Good 2am tumblr, I rise from my grave to give you stardew and I lay back in said grave for another 100 years til I am risen again by a great disturbance

[ohnoitstbskyen]

Sorry if this was asked before, the search system gives me Nothing. Why is it "Oh no, it's TBSkyen"?

I used to have @ tbskyen, then Tumblr had their stupid porn ban and I got annoyed and deleted my account, in large part due to a huge chunk of my friends leaving.

Eventually, twitter got so much worse that I decided to look into reactivating. Turns out I can't have @ tbskyen back because that's gone forever now apparently, so I decided to phrase my username like it's someone seeing a gaunt and horrible revenant rise from the grave to haunt the living.

probably

[cupidofcaravaggio]

i take tumblr for granted bc i make a bagginshield post on here and you eat it up but i make one on tiktok and somebody tells me that they hope tolkien rises from his grave to throat punch me (verbatim)

[lu-is-not-ok]

*rises from the grave*

*trips and falls flat on my face*

Heyyyy, it's ya boy, your favorite chronically exhausted Hong Lu identity that forgor about posting to Tumblr. Hi. Hello.

So. Timekilling Time, huh? Very fun, very exciting, we love focusing on Sinners that are misunderstood both in and out of character. We love Rodya, Hong Lu, and Ryoshu focus. We love Ryoshu's butch mustache swag.

Anyway, allow me yap about it a bit, because I took frame by frame screenshots of the teaser and I haven't yapped on Tumblr in a while. I'll also give a general update on how I've been doing at the end of the post for those who are interested.

The first thing I've noticed in the teaser is Dante actually lays out the exact traits that their choice of Sinners would need. These being (exact wording):

Someone who can support Dante

Someone who can remain laser-focused on the case

Someone who can be free from biased judgement while making rational, quick spur-of-the-moment decisions

In other words, we need Sinners who will help Dante out, are able to stay focused, and who can think on their feet without relying on their own internal biases.

I think it's important to lay those out as clearly as possible, because it makes the selections made by Dante and Verg very interesting, and also kind of funny.

Let's look at Dante's picks - Yi Sang, Meursault, and Faust. These are all, at a surface level, decent general picks, as all three of them are seen as smart and rational. However, if we look at them while keeping the previously mentioned traits in mind, it turns out these three might just be some of the worst picks Dante could ever fucking make.

The biggest issue - none of these bitches can think quickly. Faust is especially notorious for this, as it's consistently pointed out how she always needs a long time to come to a conclusion or otherwise has to pause to come up with answers. We also know Yi Sang is the type of person to get lost in his thoughts and just meander instead of getting to the point. Meursault is a bit of an outlier in that we see that he can think quickly, but if he's not given any orders he's never gonna act on those thoughts. Admittedly, he has been getting better at speaking up over time, but he's still mostly in this "only does what he's told to do" mode of operations.

This is where their issues split up a little bit.

Yi Sang is probably the most likely to be supportive of Dante out of the three - we see that he cares about others and has learned to interfere and give advice when he feels it's necessary (though who knows if he's doing well enough to keep that up after Canto 6, oof). No, rather his other issue lies in the focus department. This is the guy who, as I previously mentioned, meanders all over before getting to the point. Again, like Meursault, he has been getting better at not doing that, but he's still got ways to go.

Faust and Meursault on the other hand have the opposite issue. While they're fairly goot at staying focused on what they have to do, the issue is that they never fucking speak up. They're probbably the furthest from being supportive of Dante. They're most likely to learn info and just keep it to themselves until everyone has wasted way too much fucking time. Hell, Meursault would probably make a decently good detective if allowed to do the case all on his own, but since he's meant to be a part of a group, he's unlikely to help out that much without Dante directly ordering him around.

Now, onto Verg's picks - Rodya, Hong Lu, and Ryoshu. This is where things get really, really interesting. Because we have the reverse situation to Dante's picks - on the surface the choices seem random and counter-intuitive, but if we look deeper, it turns out they all fulfill the requirements surprisingly well.

I'm about to go on a tangent here, but I find it extremely important that we're focusing on this group of Sinners in the first Intervallo between what I consider to be the most thematically different arcs within Limbus. The first half of Inferno has been pretty squarely about confronting one's past, whether learning to face it properly after running away from it (Gregor, Rodya, Sinclair), or learning to move past it after refusing to let go of it (Yi Sang, Ishmael, Heathcliff).

However, looking at the Sinners we have left, it feels like the second half of Inferno might be focused less on the past specifically, but more about the Sinners' general reality. Especially the next upcoming trio of Cantos - Don Quixote, Hong Lu, and Ryoshu - have some heavy thematic focus on the idea of one's perception of reality, especially fitting for the three Sinners with weird eye shit going on.

With Timekilling Time focusing on the Sinners most misinterpreted by others in-character (and out of character), it feels like the perfect intro to this switch in thematic focus - exploring the actual realities of people who are otherwise hard to understand.

Anyway, back to discussing how Rodya, Hong Lu, and Ryoshu fit Dante's requirements.

Supportive of Dante - this is the requirement all three fulfill pretty well. Let me explain.

Rodya is probably the most obvious - she's a hypegirl through and through, and happy to take the reigns in some way or another if nobody else is able to, as we see in Canto 2. She's often one of the first people to point out when someone is not doing well, and shares a lot of her insight if in the mood, but she also knows when discretion is necessary.

Hong Lu is a fun one here - he's extremely perceptive and insightful, often sharing his thoughts with very little prompting. His only issue is that he tends to backpedal when he feels like he said something wrong, or generally just words shit in weird slightly offensive ways. He's supportive, he just doesn't always talk like he is.

Ryoshu is one I find most interesting here, as a lot of people seem to miss this about her character - despite her short temper and peculiar manner of carrying herself, she's actually pretty understanding and helpful towards people she's on amicable terms with. She always explains her acronyms if asked (and when she doesn't it's usually because people stop asking or Sinclair translates instead), she listens when told to stand down or otherwise do something when asked of by Dante or Sinclair, and the reason she tends to stay quiet is because she only speaks when she feels what she has to say is important.

Staying focused - this one is a bit harder to judge, but I'd say the only one who might not fulfill this one is Hong Lu, but only by a margin. Ryoshu is shown to get so focused she gets impatient when she can't get to the point, and Rodya always has her goal in mind even when she might act like she doesn't. Hong Lu is a bit harder to judge, as he seems to be the type to prioritze gathering information and satiating his curiostiy over the main goal, but in a case like this that might just be a massive plus.

Unbiased quick thinking - again, all three fulfill the quick thinking part very well. Rodya shows it constantly throughout Canto 2, Hong Lu shows it best in social interactions, and Ryoshu just doesn't want to waste time and so she naturally thinks quickly as well. It's when we come to the unbiased part that things get extremely interesting.

As individuals, Rodya, Hong Lu, and Ryoshu are all very biased people. Rodya sees the world from the perspective of someone who suffered in the poor Backstreets. Hong Lu sees the world from the perspective of a rich Nest dweller coming from a family of dubious morality. Ryoshu sees the world from the perspective of (probably) an ex-Ring member obsessed with the art that is reality. Their backgrounds color the information they take in a lot.

However... this means that as a group, all three balance each other's biases out. Rodya's cynicism gets balanced out by Hong Lu's idealism, which is balanced by Ryoshu's realism. Their backgrounds couldn't be more different, and thus give the widest possible perspective when put together.

I think this is the point Verg is making with this selection. Dante's selection is the easy way out. It's people that Dante already knows how to deal with, and would rather pick even if their skillsets don't fit the situation. Verg is making Dante learn how to work with Sinners who might be harder to deal with, but have skillsets more fitting for the situation at hand.

Dante can't keep half-assing everything by always turning to the same few people. Every Sinner in the group has their use and are smart in their own unique ways. They have to figure what every Sinner's strong point is, otherwise they'll end up putting everyone in danger by relying on people who are simply not good in a situation while ignoring those who could help.

So... that's what I think.

Anyway, personal general update - I'm still alive! And also very swamped with college and constant exhaustion. So, things will have to change a bit moving forward.

Number one - I will not be returning to old analysis requests. There's too many at this point, and I just don't have the time to sit down and write longass posts whenever I want anymore. However, that isn't to say E.G.O and Sin analyses will never return! I have plaaans for what I want to do with those moving forward, it just may take some time to materialize.

Number two - I'm generally just more active on Discord than on Tumblr. Yapping on Discord feels more natural for me, as it's just... less formal than making a full post I guess. So, if you want to discuss things with me, or if you're on a server that you think would do well with having me yapping in there, feel free to shoot me an invite link in replies (or in DMs if you don't want it to be public)!

Number three - Go check out the Absolute Pride Resonance event on Youtube! I'm not a part of it maybe next time wink wink nudge nudge, but you should still check it out cause it's a bunch of cool people doing very scuffed streams, as is fitting for the scuff Project Moon is known for.

Alright, that's it. I still don't know how to end Tumblr Posts. Bye.

[vilebird]

FUNERAL AFTER A NEAR DEATH EXPERIENCE

a painting of a pale sky and bright blue sea crashing onto dark rocks and foaming. it's oriented the right way. - Day, by Frederick Judd Waugh

"and the man looks me in the eyes and he points to the blue-orange vault over heaven's gates and he says the face of everyone you miss is up there and i know i know i can't see them but i know" - And What Good Will Your Vanity Be When The Rapture Comes, by Hanif Willis-Abdurraqib

"i've cut myself off. i can feel the place / where i used to be attached. it's raw, as when you grate / your finger. it's a shredded mess / of images. it hurts." The Door, by Margaret Atwood

"i found you / i found the door / but when i stepped through / there was no floor" I want you, by Mitski

a still from a video of a bright setting sun against a dark orange sky and dark blue sea, with the caption "don't cry" - The Green Ray (1986)

"i feel dead. / i feel as if i were the residue of a stranger's life" - The Lost Pilot, by James Tate

"the shuddering moan of blood, a song to calm the sacrificial, the loss across the river. the way a dying animal will look at you is seared into me. we tie together and all over again." - i cant remember what this one is sorru

"i am feeling numb. it's a curious feeling, and i get it all the time. my attention to the world around me disappears, and something starts to hum inside my head. far off, voices try to bump up against me, but i repel them. my ears fill up with water and i focus on the humming inside my head. / i am inside my skull. it is a little cave, and i curl up inside it. below it, my body hovers, unattached." - Madness: A Bipolar Life, by Marya Hornbacher.

"-though we're dry and waiting. part of me died here so another could go on. the body i raised-" - When They Say you Can't Go Home Again What They Mean is You Where Never There, by Marty McConnell

text: "there'll always be a few things / maybe several things/ that you're gonna find / really difficult to forgive" image: a black silhouette of a minotaur sitting on top of a pale pillar rising out of a pale maze, looking out at an orange sunset over an empty desert beyond the walls of its maze. the text is black letters on white pasted in strips over top. - Up the Wolves by the Mountain Goats and Minotauro by Jordi Garriga Mora. collage put together by @scatterghosts

"i know there are things i haven't survived." - Lord of the Butterflies, by Andrea Gibson

"it seems to me that the dead only return for love or for revenge. who did you come back for?" - White is for Witching, by Helen Oyeyemi

a painting of a bright white bird on a background split between dark blue and black - Promised Land (2013), by Michael Creese

"and with or without your support, i will continue / what im trying to say is you never know what you've been through / til you pause and cough it out" - Cough It Out by The Frontbottoms

"painting all the mirrors black / i won't see you staring back / i'm getting lost forever / searching in the broken glass / trying to ignore the past / and put myself together" - Mirrors by 8 Graves

"saint calvin told me not to worry about you / but he's got his own things to deal with / there's really just one thing we have in common: / neither of us will be missed" - Saint Bernard by Lincoln

"so many bright lights to cast a shadow / but can i speak? / well, is it hard understanding / that i'm incomplete?" - Famous Last Words by My Chemical Romance

"being in a completely normal nonthreatening scenario & environment and thinking 'i have GOT to get the fuck out of here' with the intensity of some trapped neurotic prey animal" - tumblr post by user @greelin

"but you know me / what can't i conjure into hysteria / and longing? / any place is a funeral as soon as i get there. / of course i'm the disaster / but you're the one foolish enough / to learn my name." - The Next Time We Talk on Facebook, by Clementine von Radics

"if your wounds are still open, trust / they are the doors to an answer, / and walk through." - You Better Be Lightning, by Andrea Gibson

text: "what a tremendous thing to learn from" image: black text on white strips across a blue-orange gradient - i forgot this one too sory

"when the body remembers, it bucks wildly / when we try to heal, the phantom smell returns / while in the shower, you break down / while you wash your body you realise it is not your body / and at the same time, it is the only body you have" - Bless the Daughter Raised by a Voice in Her Head, by Warsan Shire

"that was the thing. you never got used to it, the idea of somebody being gone. just when you think it's reconciled, accepted, someone points it out to you, and it just hits you all over again, that shocking." - The Truth About Forever, by Sarah Dessen

"the spirit is so hurt / it don't know the / body / it / looks in / the mirror / and asks, who is it?" - On/My/Aging, by Carolyn Marie Rodgers

"could we sit together in new bodies, shoulder to tender / shoulder, / the lovely and the thorned, the bitter and the failed, / the grave to the left of us, the sea to the right?" - 8, Always a Rose, by Li-Young Lee

"the fact of the matter is / you survived, / it's what you do. / death and you / walk side by side / all sigh and scythe / you stay alive. / and you have the right / but struggle to believe. / you're still allowed / to be alive. / it feels inappropriate." - It's What You Do, by Lena Oleanderson @lena-oleanderson

a painting of a bright orange sky at sunset, sun nowhere to be seen, over a pale sea crashing onto dark rocks and foaming. it's oriented upside down. - Night, by by Frederick Judd Waugh

[galvanizedfriend]

Klaroline Fic: The Wolf IV [3/13]

Summary: Five years after the downfall of the Mikaelson family, Caroline returns to New Orleans to fulfill the promise she made to Marcel: one day, she would be back for the man he has been keeping prisoner in the bowels of the old compound, and she would not be leaving without him. But the plans to abandon the city's eternal loop of tragedy behind once and for all are thwarted when a new enemy with unexpected old ties resurfaces, threatening not just Eve's life, but Caroline's as well. -- S04E03 Where You Left Your Heart ✨ Morning comes as an oppressive affair to Klaus.

After years withering away in an underground hole, watching the sun rise again makes him ill at ease. This infinite stretch of blue over his head, so brutally bright, is an assault on his senses. Makes him feel exposed. Even his lungs protest the crisp and clear air, thick with dew and the smell of lush trees on the cusp of summer.

It’s so… pure.

For five years, Klaus' entire universe was reduced to the barren space of a meager salt circle, surrounded by nothing but darkness. There was no solace in that glorified grave, no respite. Every second he spent there was laden with a crushing sense of despair that devoured what little soul he had left.

All of this vastness, this breathtaking beauty, so rich with its light and vibrancy... It doesn't feel real anymore. The richer and livelier the world around him gets, the harder it becomes to anchor himself in the here and now.

He should be glad it's over, exultant to be out of that awful place. Instead, Klaus feels… Unmoored. Adrift.

No wonder he couldn't shut his eyes for a bloody second all through the night. He has never been much of a sleeper, but he is still weak with the traces of dark magic ravaging his system, a weariness that weighs heavily in his bones. No amount of blood bags seems capable of dispelling the fog of exhaustion strangling his mind. And still, no matter how ardently he wishes for a few hours of blissful unawareness, Klaus cannot sleep.

All of his attempts have been wretched failures. The moment he dares to shut his eyelids, his head splits in half. He gets transported back to that dungeon. Swallowed by darkness. Swamped with misery. Taken with a paralyzing fear that when he opens his eyes again, it will be to find out that this has all been just another hallucination, an elaborate trick of his fractured mind.

What should have the soft and tender contours of a sweet dream is permeated with suspicion and unease, warped into a nightmare.

He resists the mental exhaustion, grinds his teeth against the way sunlight feels like pinpricks on his skin, fights the urge to resort to old habits and withdraw into the house with a bottle of bourbon to numb himself out. It's awful, but the sheer unpleasantness of it comforts him.

Pain he knows. Pain he can endure. His oldest and most honest ally.

It's only everything else he's having a hard time trusting at the moment. Read the full chapter here -- Started writing, had a breakdown, bon appetit. 🫠 Thanks v much to my lovely friend @definedareasofuncertainty for not telling me to fuck off when I kept sending her requests to re-read things she'd already read twice! ❤️ And for being so supportive and making me believe I didn't have to start over from scratch for the third time. 🥲 Also to the very lovely folks who have reached out to me through tumblr or AO3 to talk about this fic during these FIVE MONTHS HIATUS (what the actual fuck, when did five months happen?). You are lovely and amazing and ily! As always, your comments/messages/kudos/reblogs mean the world to me! ❤️ My brain is rotten but I did my best, hope you enjoy it!

[k8fics]

me when i rise from my tumblr grave just to write fanfiction abt my favorite hyperfixation

[adrift-in-thyme]

Febuwhump Day 1: Vocal Chords (Wild & Twilight)

Read on Ao3

I didn't get a chance to hop on Tumblr for the last few days so I'm posting these now to catch up!

CW for burn wounds, axe wounds, and a spell taking away a character's voice

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

The forest is quiet, save for the soft hoots of owls and far off chirps of keese. Wild walks on silent feet, careful to avoid fallen branches and piles of decaying leaves. Autumn remains year round in the Akkala region. The air is forever seized with a damp chill, the earth forever laden with the burden of fiery foliage.

Its beauty cloaks danger as the hills of Faron hide flashes of distant lightning. 

In this moment, that danger feels closer at hand than usual. 

No sooner had the Shadow’s latest portal deposited the heroes in Wild’s time, than the reports had begun pouring forth. 

“Monsters!” One positively petrified looking man at the stable had cried, wringing his hands. “Mysterious and horrible! They twist the mind and take what they cannot return!”

“No one’s seen anything like it before!” Said a woman, running a comb through a horse’s silken mane. “We’ve always dealt with monsters around here — you know that better than anyone, Link — but these…these don’t belong to our world.”

And so, the heroes had split up into groups of twos and threes and began their journey to the very corners of Akkala’s wild woods. None had been able to guess what exactly they were looking for or what they would face in the end. But such mystery was nothing new to any of them. And it had never stopped them before. 

The prospect of the discovery had been a bit exciting at first, if also tinged with fear. Now, however, Wild finds that his eagerness has diminished. In this place peppered with the fallen corpses of guardians, freckled with water settled long enough to attract bothersome clusters of mosquitoes and gnats, it feels as though the world holds its breath.

He walks forward, Twilight by his side, padding softly upon giant paws, and the beasts and creatures of his overgrown land watch with bated breath. Awaiting the imminent crash of thunder.

Wild reaches out, places a gentle hand on Twilight’s back. Upon his fur, droplets of suspended water have fallen, turning the thick, dark layers cold and damp. A huff of breath through the chilled nose that nuzzles him creates a wisp of fog that takes its time dissipating.

“They’re here.” 

It is a murmur, almost a whisper. Wild is no stranger to the feeling that the disturbing of a quiet place is a sin most severe. Many a time he has hardly dared to breathe lest he awaken some monstrosity, harm some delicate beauty. But the sensation now is different. The air is electric. To speak aloud, to shout, would be to invite death.

“I don’t know what they are, but I can feel them. Can you smell anything, Twi?”

The rancher lifts his nose to the air, takes a few audible inhales. Then, to the ground he goes, nostrils blowing small bubbles in the puddles beneath their feet.

He walks forward several more steps before his ears prick up. 

Wild’s breath catches. “Did you find something?”

Twilight ducks his head in the affirmative. Wild draws his sword, hefts his shield firmly into his grasp. Together, they start forward. 

For what seems an eternity, all is quiet. Not so much as a squirrel or a fox dares to raise their head above the waving grass. Birds do not sing in the trees. Even the Guardians, often prone to rising revitalized from their shallow graves, remain still as the death that binds them. 

Perhaps, that is why, when the sound finally comes, it is deafening. 

It explodes from behind the two heroes in tongues of ravenous blue-white flame. Pain accompanies them, so cold it sears. 

With a shout, Wild tries to lunge sideways. But his foot catches on a smoking log. He stumbles over it and his own feet, lands with a sodden, sorrowful splash. 

Quickly, he shoves himself upward on arms that tremble. His back burns. The smell of burnt flesh and charred hair wafts nauseatingly.

Somewhere, someone is crying. Their anguished sobbing fills in his ears, mingling with screams so terrible he feels their echoes in his soul. 

The hairs on the back of his neck rise as Wild does. Wiping tears born of smoldering foliage and pain, he stumbles forward. Already, flames have begun to surround him. Even the rampant puddles cannot douse them. 

He cannot see their attacker. He cannot see Twilight.

But he can hear him. Over the sobbing, over the screams, is a distinctively sharp yelp. 

Laughter splits the air like a cleaving axe. 

“Twilight!”

Wild tries to say his name, tries to shout it. His lips form the word, his tongue moves to push it forth. Yet nothing escapes. No sound of his own pierces aching ears. 

Already raging panic shoots up to a fever pitch.

He begins to run. 

“Twilight! Twilight!”

Speech is an art he can no longer perform. His body is uncooperative. His breath comes so fast it escapes in hiccups. 

Eyes glare from the cerulean gloom, eyes that see too much but lack the means to do so. A dark hood, a gown of splotchy gray, a lantern that swings like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. The figure comes forth as though from nothing and drags its claws across his face. 

Wild backs up, spluttering, tasting iron. Behind him, someone giggles and it sounds like the cry of one in the throes of death. He does not have time to turn. Something sharp slices through bone and sinew, muscle and veins, and nestles mercilessly into his shoulder blade.

His mouth opens in a scream from which there is no sound. Wild whirls, slashes blindly. The axe falls and slices further as it does so. The ground tilts beneath him. His strikes do not make their desired contact. Air meets them, air thick with smoke and flame.

And from it come countless other lanterns. They bob like barrels on the turbulent waters, approaching with relentless determination.

Any emotion he had harbored before is gone now. Terror is all that is left. 

Wild throws himself into a spin attack. His surroundings blur. Heat eats at his face, his body. Fire licks at the edges of his cloak. 

The lanterns retreat slightly. 

Again, laughter sounds. 

Again, pain splinters through him. 

Wild crumples with an axe in his thigh. 

Find Twilight. 

It is all he can do now, the only command he can give himself. It is enough to make him rise, enough to make him draw his own weapon of flame. Balls of fire surge forth, bouncing gallantly in every direction. Their searing crimson is welcome in a sea of cold. 

They must hit something, because a screech splits the air. Encouraged, Wild swings again. 

This time, he sees it hit. From the hands of a creature sewn like a haunted doll,

drops the axe that had very nearly relieved him of his head. 

He flings more flame, sees an opening, and moves towards it as fast as his shredded leg will allow. 

Blood rains in his wake, replacing the vibrant crimson of the leaves that have long since turned to ash. Agony lights up his every motion. There are tears in his eyes, pounding in his head. Still, the creatures come. Their lanterns converge, signaling their surrounding him on all sides. With reckless abandon, Wild swings at them.

“Twilight!” It would sound like a sob if it was able. Yet, still no sound escapes.

A spell of some sort, it must be. His jaw aches from its bindings.

Where…where is he?

He does not want to imagine the rancher lying limp in a bed of flame. He does not want to think of him suffocating on smoke. He cannot entertain the idea that Twilight has perished amongst the very stuff that sends him into a panic. 

Gasping, Wild stumbles, falls. Claws find him instantly, ruthless in the way they pierce him. They scrape his flesh, expose his bones. He chokes. His weapon falls from his hand. Just as fast, their nails are in the back of his hand, digging through and into the mud beneath. 

He looks up into the endless darkness of their gaping eye holes and sees death. There is no escape from it. He wants to run, wants to fight. But no strength surges miraculously within him. No salvation flits down from the heavens in hues of gentle, glittering pink. Nothing arrives to shatter the spell that holds him speechless.

Wild closes his eyes, grits his teeth. He begins to drag his hand through the claws, ripping through his palm. Spots of deepest black and brightest white explode against his eyelids. He opens his mouth and…

Screams. 

His eyes fly open. His breath sticks in his throat. Through the stars exploding in his vision, through the tears and ash, dirt and blood, he sees him.

Twilight lunges in a blur of gray, stark against the pearly flame. Jaw wide, eyes flashing, he leaps at the creatures. Blood spurts through the air in furtive arcs, rising from the torn throats of the dead. It drips from his maw as he whirls on them like a beast possessed. 

Though they try to tear at him with claw and axe, he is far faster. He weaves between them with expert precision. One after another they fall until all that remains of them are their lanterns and the crackling flames. And even these are smothered by the sudden coming of rain.

Dismal drizzles transform into a true Akkala onslaught within seconds. Smoke rises in graceful plumes. The scent of it melds with moisture and blood. It burns Wild’s throat and eyes.

Twilight limps towards him. The wounds he had fought through before now weigh heavily upon him. When he transforms in a cloud of shadow, he nearly collapses.

But he manages to make it to Wild’s side, to kneel beside him. What little energy the champion had clung to flees so quickly he practically falls into Twilight’s waiting arms. The steady beat of the rancher’s heart fills his ears. Relief floods in, turning leaden limbs weightless. It is almost enough to push aside the nauseating cacophony of screeching pain.

Almost.

“You’re alive,” he croaks, and the relief increases so much that it is dizzying. His lips form the words, his tongue pushes them forth, and they fall audibly upon the smoldering remains of their battle. 

The spell, it seems, has broken with the collapse of the last opponent.

“Oh, cub.” Gentle fingers brush back wayward strands of hair. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize they were behind us. They must have cloaked themselves. And then I tried to find you, but with all the smoke I couldn’t smell you and I couldn’t hear anything and…”

His next inhale hitches. He holds him tighter. 

“I thought I’d lost you.”

Wild presses his face into the rancher’s chest and tries to drown out the agony. 

“I thought I’d lost you too,” he breathes. “I tried to call for you and I-I couldn’t. Twi, I couldn’t speak.”

He doesn’t mean for it to escape as a choked sob, and yet, it does. The pain pulsing through him, the remnant screams of his terror — it is all too much. 

“I know those monsters,” Twilight says, voice hoarse and unsteady. “They’re from my time.  But they’ve never been that powerful before. They’ve never had spells. The Shadow must’ve enhanced their abilities.

“But to have taken your voice…oh, cub. I’m so, so sorry.”

A tear slithers down Wild’s cheek, nudging aside dirt and grime to make its way to his neck. It joins the blood pooled in dark splotches upon his tunic. He clings to Twilight as his consciousness slips through clawing fingers.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers, words slurring as he begins his descent. “I’m just glad…that you’re here now.”

[the-star-rigel]

Jason (from the Greek Iásōn, “healer”) Peter Todd (from the German Tod, “death”) - I hope you find your way out of that grave.

dc comics + The Oresteia, Aeschylus / Lady Windermere’s Fan, Oscar Wilde / Grief Lessons: Four Plays [tr. Anne Carson], Euripides + Batman v1 #385 / Batman: The Cult #3 / For Example, Mary Oliver / Batman: Legends of The Dark Knight #100 / Batman: Under the Red Hood / Eight, Sleeping at Last / Red Hood and the Outlaws: Rebirth / Batman: Urban Legends #10 + ? / On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, Ocean Vuong / Red Hood and The Outlaws #25 / Slay the Princess / pinterest + Batman #422 / Batman #424 + Rilke's Book of Hours: Love Poems to God, Rainer Maria Rilke + Batman #428 | A Death in the Family / @/metamorphesque, tumblr / American Teenager, Ethel Cain / Anecdote of the Pig, Tory Adkisson / interpretations of A Death in the Family + The Oresteia, Aeschylus / Nightwing: Secret Files and Origins #1 + the Haunting of Bly Manor + Red Hood and the Outlaws #23 / @/petrichara, tumblr / I Didn't Apologize to the Well, Mahmoud Darwish / Infinite Crisis: Secret Files + pinterest / Ruin and Rising, Leigh Bardugo / Red Hood and the Outlaws #26 / The Cruel Prince, Holly Black / pinterest / Red Hood: The Lost Days / Sue Zhao / Red Hood: The Lost Days part II + Red Hood: The Lost Days #4 / I See Boats Moving, Fernando Pessoa / Oedipus the King, TV Tropes / @/devilsmoon, tumblr / Red Hood: The Lost Days + Speeches for Dr Frankenstein, Margaret Atwood / Saving June, Hannah Arrington + embroidered patch / Slay the Princess / unaligned, @/hamletmaschine + Batman: Under the Red Hood / Batman: Under the Red Hood + Batman and Robin #11 + South and West: From a Notebook, Joan Didion / The Good Fight, Ada Limón / Batman: Under the Red Hood / Grief Lessons: Four Plays, Euripides [tr. Anne Carson] / Batman: Under the Red Hood / Slay the Princess / Under the Red Hood / Slay the Princess / @/sainticide, twitter / The Truth About Grief, Fortesa Latifi + Batman: Under the Red Hood / Batman: Under the Red Hood / Ten Legs, Eight Broken, mandana on tiktok / War of the Foxes, Richard Siken + Under the Red Hood + Batman #428 | A Death in the Family / The Unabridged Journals Of Sylvia Plath, Sylvia Plath / Under the Red Hood + Batman #428 | A Death in the Family / @baitmeat, tumblr + Batman: Under the Red Hood (Deluxe Edition) / Origin Story, Desireé Dallagiacomo / Vive, Vive, Traci Brimhall / The Dogs I Have Kissed, Trista Mateer + Batman: Under the Red Hood + Three Jokers / Red Hood and the Outlaws Rebirth #9 / @/sainticide, twitter + Red Hood and the Outlaws #10 / Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve, Taylor Swift / ? + Robin 80th Anniversary 100 Page Super Spectacular / Ep. 4: Joseph Campbell and the Power of Myth -- 'Sacrifice and Bliss', Joseph Campbell / White Knight #7 + Heaven, Mieko Kawakami / Forest Fire, Mitski / Red Hood and the Outlaws Vol. 2 #9 + Batman Annual #25 + Free Will Astrology, Rob Brezsny / Letter XV, @/lucidloving / Red Hood and the Outlaws Vol 1: REDemption / briscoepark + The Civil War, Anne Sexton [compiled by @/lovejoyparadox here] / @/soapstore, tumblr + I Await the Devil’s Coming, Mary MacLane + Claire C. Holland / @/havingrevelations, tumblr / Meditations in an Emergency, Cameron Awkward-Rich + Deathstroke #34 / Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides [tr. Anne Carson] + Red Hood and the Outlaws

[ch41ns4w-1ns4n1ty]

I rise from the grave to bring you this horrid shitpost

hi tumblr, im not dead (woah) anyways, !!MADNESS 12 SPOILERS AHEAD!!

some extra space just in case..

Plus, the image that inspired this shit