#just some thoughts ig

[tsams-and-co-memes]

Currently thinking about the fact that, despite the way they sometimes present themselves, Eclipses (plural, because I'm talking about every Eclipse we've seen on TSAMS) are not inherently violent

They do what they do out of some self-preservation based instinct, and they lash out when they feel hurt or wronged or betrayed by someone. They do bad things, and they can say some really nasty, hurtful stuff sometimes, but so can everyone else. They can be petty and standoffish and defensive, and they can be infuriating at times, but one thing Eclipses aren't, however, is needlessly violent

[cosmic-muses]

I loathe the way colleges will make you use seven different websites, because each class needs their own thing. I love learning so dearly but could you please make it easier for lil' ol' me?

[system-reset]

I would like to talk about the magnus archives and the effects it has had on us.

firstly, we all absolutely loved that podcast, and we have numerous story ideas inspired by it. so none of this is hate or anything.

the most important things tma did for us are

a) made us far more weary of links and downloads online (iykyk.)

b) allowed us to realize the detrimental effects our (mostly unintentional) long term self-isolation may be having on us (that first space episode)

these are useful bits of fear/knowledge to have to have, and have almost certainly protected us from harm at least once.

some of the neutral things we've acquired are:

a (further) distaste for meat

weariness around cameras and such (although, that is in part due to other things)

inability to even consider working as an archivist (this is also partly because of the scarab archives and archive 81, but tma played a large role in it)

then, we've also gained a handful of rather silly fears, and a few habits that can occasionally be a bit distracting.

these include, but are not limited to:

a distrust of doors, and subsequent need to count the doors in our apartment every time we need to go into a room (there are 3 built in doors that follow this worlds euclidean requirements. 4 if you include the balcony door. that's it.)

a fear of and disgust toward worms

a strange fear that there are, somehow, hidden tunnels or rooms in every building we enter

an increase in our pre-existing anxiety around dolls, puppets, and - most strongly - mannequins (doctor who also played a part in that last bit.)

we have, unfortunately, picked up a handful of fears that make our life a bit more difficult as well. further anxiety about being watched, a renewed fear of the dark, an increase in our fear of bugs (mostly ants and spiders, honestly), and an inability to go to quieter parts of town alone, just to name a few. those are all things we had already been dealing with, though, so for the most part it's just a matter of taking extra precautions - no matter how silly it may seem to other people.

mostly tma gave us a lot of inspiration for our own horror stories, and a few silly little fears.

slightly related: I figured out what the others are excited about. and I'm excited about it too now.

[poppy-metal]

MARRIAGE COUNSELING W ART PLEASEEEEEEEE GOD THE DEVASTATION THAT TAKES PLACE ON THAT COUCH

i think about it alot. tashi staying with patrick, her injury never happening. your arts college girlfriend and now you're married and it feels fucking stagnant, your relationship. but neither of you wants to give up. neither of you wants to reveal to the other true feelings.

under the cut because this got long and i have a whole au in my hear around this concept

you're only in counseling because of tashi. because shes still in your lives, her and patrick. and she recommended it to art when they were having one of their 'friend' lunches. and now here you are, because of course art took her advice.

he hasn't said anything, though. despite pleading for this. saying he wanted to save your marriage, that he wanted to love you how you should be loved but he didn't know how.

so here you are, on opposite ends of the couch, with the counselor staring at the empty space between you like that in itself is very telling. you suppose it is, in a way. couples who want to stay together should be unified, shouldn't they? you imagine how it would feel, if art had sat next to you. put an arm around you. squeezed you to his side. would you even be able to relax into him? its been so long since you touched eachother that way.

"so im picking up on some distance here," your therapist says. shes a small woman. almost swallowed by her chair. her glasses are perched on her nose as she gazes imperiously at empty space separating you and art. "not just physical either, though thats rather obviously there. but emotional distance. do either of you wanna comment on that?"

you cut a glance at art, expecting him to speak up since this was his idea - well. tashi's. but he just looks down at his lap, quiet. spins his wedding band around his finger.

you feel an anger so intense it pricks your eyes with tears.

"well, i guess you could start with the fact that coming here wasn't even either of our idea. it was his friends."

and now. here art speaks. his head jerks up and she shoots you an annoyed look. "you don't have to say it like that. you always say it like that. her name is tashi and she is my friend. and it was her suggestion, yeah, but it was a good one."

you look at the therapist - janet. raise your eyebrows in arts direction like, get a load of this guy. your legs cross and you start picking at a stray string from the couch.

"first words of the session and its to talk about another woman."

arts inhale is sharp and you can feel his eyes on you but you dont look at him. you can't. you wont. you're right, anyway. he can try to deny it all he wants but you know - you know what you are to him. you know where all your problems stem. you dont need to be here to make any grand discoveries over a fact you've resigned yourself too.

"i see." janet says. "and art having a relationship with this other woman upsets you."

"everything upsets her." art cuts in, sounding tired. his elbow is braced on the arm of the couch and hes chewing on his thumb in one of his nervous gestures. he always did that, as long as you've known him. he was a nail biter, he'd chew his lips raw, he'd nibble on straws, the ends of his pens. he was either lost in thought or agitated. your guess was the latter. "nothing i do makes her happy."

"is this true? are you unhappy with art?"

your skin feels hot. you shift around in your seat. the attention is all on you, and it feels like you've done something wrong, even though you know its literally janets job to ask questions.

"more like i know I'm not what he wants and that makes me...... really fucking sad."

art knees almost knock against yours as he turns his body to face you, giving you his full attention the first time today. you cant meet his eyes still, so you look at the faded spot on his jeans. light blue, like his eyes. you wonder how hes looking at you. cant make yourself look up to see.

"what." he stops. seems to gather some thoughts. tries again, with a steadier tone. "what are you talking about."

you try not to roll your eyes. your arm flings out limply.

"just that this whole thing is a joke, art." and you let out an exasperated laugh, even though nothing is funny. nothing has been funny or light between you two in a long time. "we're only here because the girl you really wanted to marry, told you to get your fucking shit together. you didn't ask us to come here because you wanted to mend something, you're here to please tashi. because if playing a good husband is a role she wants for you - well, you want to play it right, dont you?"

its quiet after that. in the silence you cant help but think about those early days. when you'd been full of love and light and art seemed to be really happy with you. you'd go on dates to the movies, walk through the park together with your hands swinging between you. laugh together and steal kisses whenever you could. you felt high back then.

it didn't even matter that art had a crush on tashi, because hell, you had one too, at the time. but she'd started dating patrick, and they seemed to mesh well together. they were both so intense and passionate. back then, you'd been alot closer to tashi yourself. patrick too. you remember the way she'd rant about how much she fucking hated him, pacing around your room and calling him every name under the sun. and you'd sit there with eager curiosity, and ask her why she didn't end it then. if he makes you so angry, why stay?

and she'd get this faraway look in her eyes. kind of wistful. kind of sad. kind of happy.

"because he makes me feel fucking alive. hes like a - like a drug or something. i cant quit. its addictive, you know?"

that stuck with you. it still sticks with you. you remember being envious of that kind of passion. youe relationship with art had always been so easy. you dont think you'd ever fought by that point. you loved art. you felt safe with art. but were you addicted to him? if you broke up - would you feel withdrawal symptoms?

sometimes you layed awake at night and thought about starting a fight - breaking up for no reason. just to see if he'd fight for you back, if the missing of eachother would be so intense one of you would cave.

but somehow you knew that wouldn't be the case. thats just not how you and art operated. if you got angry, he wouldn't rise to meet you, he'd back down. if you ended things, he wouldn't chase you, he'd let you go.

patrick and tashi were fire and brimstone and you and art was ice and you were....... dirt. solid. walked upon. dependable and not at all exciting.

when art had proposed to you after college graduation it wasn't spur of the moment as it had been with patrick when he'd swept tashi up with a ring and a elopement to vegas. it was talked about and agreed upon and you knew it was coming.

you still said yes.

"you think," and arts voice has a barely concealed tremble to it that makes you look up, finally. you're shocked to see he looks wounded. so many of his expressions you can count on one hand - and this - this wasn't one of them. his eyes are dark, stormy. "you think i dont care about our marriage beyond what someone else has to say about it? you really think that?"

you hate the sliver of guilt you feel, because its not a crazy thing to feel.

"yeah, i really do."

because well, that's the truth of the matter isn't it? you and your husband stare at eachother. and it feels like you're looking at a stranger. not the man who's freckles you used to kiss. who's fears you knew. who's hands you know every callous of, every divot and fingerprint.

"it seems you two have very different views of how the other views this marriage." janet cuts in, sounding curious. she taps her pen against the open notepad on her lap. "art, would you like to chime in on why you wanted to come here? even at the suggestion of someone else?"

art stares at you for a long moment. his face is unreadable to you. his jaw works before his chest expands on an exhale and he looks away.

"i guess i - i just didn't realize how..... stagnant things had gotten until it was pointed out to me. harshly." he winces, and you wonder exactly what tashi had to say to him. you haven't talked to the other woman for some time. contact fizzling out after your marriage to art. he flicks a glance to you, then away again. "im not the best at being aware of shit going on around me." his hand comes up to rub nervously at his neck. "i guess you could say im good at brushing things under the rug. going through the motions. that sort of thing."

janet nods like this makes sense to her. well, great, you think. you know my husband more than i do.

"you're not a fan of confrontation, are you?"

art actually laughs. a genuine one. one that brings a dimple to his cheek and flashes his teeth. you stare at it, like its an exotic animal, and you wont see it again. quickly you catalog the expression in your memory, so you dont forget what he looks like when hes happy.

"yeah, no." he shakes his head. "but I think thats part of the problem. I've obviously let too much shit get put under the rug and now its so full other people are noticing."

you look down at your hands, lips pressed together. your face burns at the knowledge that tashi and by extension - patrick - know your marriage is in shambles. how embarrassing, to be caught lacking in such a momentous way. to come up short and have your husbands friends know about it. you wonder - does he talk about all the ways you make him miserable with them? does patrick shake his head, say, "she's sucking the life out of you, man." does tashi look at him with pity? like hes some poor abused cat that needs to be let in from the rain?

the rain of your marriage.

the rain of you.

you're the storm. you're the problem. you're not enough. art needs fire. you're not even dirt, you're glass. and you can feel yourself breaking.

"that clearly hit a nerve, my dear." janets voice is soft. soothing. she hands you a tissue and you realize you'd begun to cry. "do you want to explain what you're feeling about what art said?"

"i...."

you dab dab dab at your eyes. sniffle. look around the room, trying to collect your thoughts. they feel like flyaway dandelions. you dont know which of them to grasp.

a warm hand settles over yours in your lap and you startle. its arts hand. warm and calloused and tan, covering yours. the gold glint of his wedding ring winks at you, the engraved words etched into them, "my soft epilogue". a shortened version of your favorite qoute i think we deserve a soft epilogue, my love.

at the time, that's what art was to you. your life before him hadn't been easy. being with art had felt like coming home from a long day and falling into a soft bed. it had felt like being able to land after weeks of being made to fly.

you turned your palm up, so he could slide his fingers between yours. he squeezed your hand.

"i think, i. i think i just think - I'm a failure." your bottom lip wobbles. you look at your enterwoven fingers and it makes you so sad that you haven't done the simple gesture of holding your husbands hand in months. "the two most important people in your life are. are so passionate and loud. and i see. i see how happy they make you - and i cant - i cant b-be that for you. we aren't - im not - you dont need me. im not a limb for you how they are. you could extract yourself from me and be. be happier."

your breath shudders out of you.

"you don't need me." you echo.

you wait for him to pull his hand away. this is more than you thought you'd share. some of it you weren't even aware of till the words were spilling from your lips. but they ring true.

without patrick and tashi art would drown. without you..... he'd float just fine.

"and that's important to you." janet says. a statement not a question. "you want to feel needed by art, and you feel as though you aren't. that his needs are met better with his friends than with you."

you nod slowly.

"baby." the word sends a shock through you. not the word itself but how its said. art calls you baby all the time, in a monotonous kind of way. routine. now he says it softly. with feeling. he lets go of your hand in favor of cupping your cheek, still damp with tears, turning your face to his. he looks pained. "of course i need you. i know i haven't been good at showing it. i just - you shut down - after we got married. you've been like a fucking ghost. like you dont want me to touch you. like i could dissappear for all you care and you'd just carry on. i don't know. but i need you, okay? i. need. you."

both hands cup your face, he makes you stare right into him. the conviction in his voice takes your breath away. theres a fire burning there you've thought long put out.

"obviously we have shit to sort out, and we will. but you've got to. you've got to know that. tashi only pushed me to do this because she how - how desperate i was. that's all."

you inhale deeply. exhale. swallow hard. tears cling to your lashes. you reach a hand up to clutch at one of arts wrists. eyes fluttering automatically when you do. you feel grounded again. less like you might float away.

"okay."

"yeah?"

"yeah...." and you smile. it trembles across your lips. but its there. "we'll sort our shit."

art lets out a relieved breath. kisses your forehead, lingering there. the gesture so tender you get emotional again. you want to crawl into his lap, have him wrap you in his arms. you want to feel held by him, like you used to.

"our time is up." janet sets her pen down. smiles. "but i think that was a wonderful first session. i can see the love between you hasn't faded, and that's more i can say for alot of couples who come to see me. keep your chin up."

[justarandomhelluvablog]

"Why do Asmodeus and Beelzebub get to be good people while Mammon is flat-out terrible?"

Because greed can't be good. Bottom line. You can make arguments for lust and gluttony not being inherently harmful, but not greed.

The very basis of greed is intense desire for something (not just money) with disregard for others. You can be lustful and still love (ex, feeling sexual desire for your partner). You can be gluttonous and still be responsible (ex, going out to a party on your weekend). But you cannot be greedy and care about others.

Being the embodiment of greed inherently means you cannot care about other people. That's why Ozzie and Bee get to be Ozzie and Bee. That's why Mammon will only ever be Mammon.

[turtleblogatlast]

No but like every time I think about Splinter and what he had to go through just to keep the boys alive, my heart hurts for him so badly. Is he perfect? No not at all, but none of them are and by god does he love his sons.

The fact that all of them are alive, and grew to thrive despite the circumstances surrounding them is a testament of how much Splinter loves his boys. He raised four babies following the most traumatic time of his life, all alone with nothing but the sewers to house them (to hide them.) I feel like he’s not given the credit he deserves for all he’s done.

And I get that it’s easy to hold up his flaws and faults when it comes to parenting, I myself like looking into them because flawed characters are super interesting and said flaws make them more realistic and engaging, but he tries, and again, so many others would have given up on the boys or failed along the way but Splinter didn’t.

He’s their father, for all his faults he did his damndest to make sure they survived.

[extraaa-30]

Honestly, even if Aziraphale wasn't being coerced (or at least not 100%) is it such a bad thing to believe there is still something in heaven worth saving?

Remember, this is the same angel who saw a demon in Eden and was benevolent and kind and open-minded enough to believe (against conditioning!) that there was good in him too.

You don't get one without the other. Having that intrinsic kindness (which as we know is an Aziraphale trait, not an angelic one) means being kind to all. Not just the ones who "deserve" it.

That's a trait that's often exploited by abusers, and I don't think Aziraphale is in for a great time rn. But it's just not fair to be mad at him for seeing good where others don't. That's how he met Crowley. It's one of the reasons Crowley loves him.

The wing in the rain thing? That's not something you turn off. It's why he gave Jimbriel hot cocoa, even after Gabriel harmed and belittled him for 6,000 years. Because yes, he'd made bad choices, but now he needed help. (Here's something to think about: would heaven do the same?)

If the angel who fell in love with a demon (against conditioning) happens to be vulnerable to the idea of giving a system that harmed him another shot, I won't be mad about it. Where do you draw the line on what is too imperfect to be saved?

Of course, kindness without discretion risks letting harmful behavior continue unchecked. You need knowledge of good and evil to understand what is worth protecting. You need to constantly interrogate even your most firmly held beliefs about right and wrong.

You also can't just interrogate without forgiveness. ("You're testing them... You shouldn’t test them to destruction.")

Luckily, Aziraphale is just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing. And Crowley is, at heart, a good person. They need and complete each other. And they'll be okay.

[nex-has-gender-envy]

Oh no, Venom haven't understood the point of movie. . .

It's fine guys, Eddie will explain it to him later

Got inspired after seein ACTUAL og text to this panel and Venom deadass saying "mojo dojo casa house"

[dovesick]

mothman in the glittering night

[cuties-in-codices]

whenever i'm on instagram looking at accounts that do stuff similar to what i do over here (i.e. posting medieval art and manuscript illustrations) i'm like... damn y'all live like this?? 🤨🤨

they'll post the most interesting images that get 1000+ likes, but then you look at the comments and at best it's like, 1-6 people leaving some fire and heart eye emojis... meanwhile whenever one of my posts on tumblr (with the exact same kind of content) reach that number of notes there'll be 50+ witty and/or deranged jokes in the tags, at least as many references to fandoms i've never heard of, people tagging their mutuals like "hey look at this", several people engaging in serious discussion around the subject of the depiction, asking or answering questions, people taking the images as mini creative writing prompts, adding memes, etc...

idk, there are so many people doing cool and interesting stuff on instagram but it just feels like such a fundamentally dead place to me. it's so divided into 'content creation' and 'content consumption' with little space in between for any real social interaction to take place... i don't like this genre of self-congratulatory tumblr posts about tumblr culture but honestly i wouldn't know where else to go 🤷

[maladaptivedaydreamsx]

not me immediately getting jude from this

who did you guys get? 👀

[camellcat]

some doctor who cyanotypes I made for my photography class that I just realized I never shared

[mishy-mashy]

Me if DFO isn't canon

[andr0nap]

gung-ho-woo's

+ a very rough size chart

just for estimates, i cannot be bothered to do the height calculations

[poems-of-a-lover]

when guys stretch and their shirt rides up a bit. agh.

[harbingersecho]