#such good imagery

[tangylemonade]

Oh my good oh my good oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my g-

JASON TODD doesn’t sleep well. never has. maybe it’s the nightmares, maybe it’s the way his body never really learned how to rest. either way, you wake up to the weight of him pressed against you, the vague scent of gunpowder and leather clinging to his skin. he’s warm. always runs a little hot, like his body doesn’t know how to cool down. he’s half-draped over you, one arm thrown across your waist. he must’ve come in late—didn’t even bother to strip out of his gear completely. the holsters are gone, but the compression shirt stays, bunched up just enough for you to feel the bare heat of his toned stomach against your back. you squirm, trying to stretch out, but his grip tightens.

“where you goin’?”

“nowhere,” you mumble. “you’re crushing me, jay.”

he grunts, but doesn’t move, just buries his face against your shoulder, lips brushing warm over your skin. his movements are languid, the night having not shaken off of him yet. fingers drift under the hem of your shirt, rough palms skating over softer skin, tracing circles over your ribs.

“what time is it?”

“too early,” then, after a beat. “go back to sleep.” but jason doesn’t stop touching you, hands wandering, slipping lower, teasing at the waistband of your shorts. he’s testing you, waiting for you to stop him, but when you don’t, his lips curve into a smile against your skin.

“you planning something?” you yawn. he hums in response, noncommittal.

“thinkin’ about it.” he presses you down into the mattress, his mouth at your jaw, your throat, your collarbone. calloused fingers skate down your stomach, dipping lower. a soft, content sigh escapes you.

“relax, baby,” he murmurs, voice like gravel. “i got you.”

and you let him.

[shepscapades]

Surely this will have no negative consequences whatsoever!

[north-noire]

I know exactly who you are, William.

[turturros]

The First Omen (2024) dir. Arkasha Stevenson

[organizationhimself]

if you've ever played a game where """choices matter""" and weren't exactly taken with the one (1) different line of dialogue you got--scarlet hollow.

if you've ever lied to a character or went against your character's principles or wrecked a pottery shop just to see what would happen, and were disappointed when nothing did--scarlet hollow.

if the first time you got arrested for ransacking a random house in fable you hooted in surprise and delight--scarlet hollow.

if you liked disco elysium literally at all even a little bit, SCARLET. HOLLOW.

also play slay the princess if you haven't and it's not too violent for you (tw for gore and death and body horror, all of which is usually impermanent in case that has an effect on what bothers you like it does for me)

[book-of-summer]

God loves you.

[nipuni]

😔 Oh Crowley..

[theriu]

It has just occurred to me that tumblr's mascot should be a tumbleweed. Think about it:

We're considered a ghost town by the rest of the internet.

Everybody has seen posts (tumbleweeds) from here even if they don't know where they come from.

Tumblr people can seem quiet for long stretches only to descend en masse on topics of interest.

(imagine this house is Dracula Daily or Goncharov)

And of course because it's only one letter away from tumblrweed!!!

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Stanley wasn't sure if he was supposed to be dead. He wasn't all too sure if he was supposed to be alive, either.

He was... somewhere. He didn't know where exactly, but it didn't matter. Nothing really seemed to matter all that much in this strange place. Compared to the unfathomable expanse of nothingness that surrounded him, everything else practically paled in comparison. Still, Stanley felt as though this all-consuming abyss that kept him prisoner within its dark maw deserved a name; at the very least, a title. Yet, it didn't feel right to call this place anything. Death too egregious, and Life too extroadinary; either terms felt far too extreme to his liking. There was nothing particularly hideous nor amazing about where he was. He was simply somewhere in-between.

For as long as he could remember, Stanley's world was just that. This somewhere; this in-between of not quite Death and not quite Life. This empty, greedy abyss that seemed to swallow him whole, stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction. There was no sky, no ground, no anything; only the daunting dakness engulfing his every senses and leaving him horribly, hopelessly blank.

That wasn't all there was to it, however. This... somewhere, it was more than just a lifeless void.

Stanley wasn't sure if he could find the right words to properly describe it. He didn't think he could ever come to fully understand the feeling himself, but. Somehow, the abyss felt... hungry. Unimaginably, insatiably, and unbearably hungry.

The hunger seemed to eat away at Stanley, tearing off pieces of him chunk by chunk, piece by piece. With every blink, another part of himself seemed to disappear into the ravenous darkness around him. The void never took much at once, only pieces; nigh imperceptible impossibly tiny crumbs of what made him- so little that they should have hardly mattered in the grand scheme of things. But Stanley noticed. He noticed every particle, every atom that was taken away from him by this greedy hunger. The darkness was eating him; digesting him.

It was as though hunger was all that mattered in this somewhere, this stomach; the world itself a single immense digestive system. He could practically feel the void's biting hunger pangs reverberate through his bones. It was so hungry, so hungry.

The dark ate him slowly, ripping him apart from inside out and outside in. It took his flesh first; stealing away the muscles and fat beneath the skin, leaving behind nothing but meager skin stretched over bone. Sometimes, not even his bones were given the luxury of being spared, and he would find himself with an odd dip in his side where the abyss had taken a rib or two; or with half his face lopsidedly sagging into a limp mess with no muscles, fat, nor eye socket to properly hold up the skin of his face onto his skull.

The hunger took without mercy, without order nor preference. It ate anything, everything, as long it helped abate the forever stabbing, starving desperation that painfully twisted and tore at its non-existent stomach. It never really was satisfied.

It got worse when it started eating his memories.

Stanley despised the thought of losing more of himself than simply his physical body to this greedy void. However, what terrified him far more than the notion that this insatiable hunger could breach even his mind, was the fact that he couldn't remember which memories it took.

Stanley couldn't remember much; before the darkness; before the endless hunger. He liked to imagine, though, of what he could have been before. He'd probably had a warm home, warmer than the cold, cold abyss. He'd probably had a loving family. Probably. He couldn't remember.

Everything turned unsure when his own mind started failing on him. Stanley tried to cling to what little he knew. He had his name held tight in his iron clad grip, repeating it to himself like a mantra. He would try and keep track of time, but it was all in vain. Time didn't seem to matter in the face of hunger. Perhaps it had been years since Stanley's arrival; hundred, maybe even thousands. Or, perhaps it had only been a few days, weeks, months. Stan once had a fleeting, terrifying thought that maybe Time too was already victim to the darkness' insatiable hunger.

However, as much as Stan could forget his past, his identity, and life, perhaps the most tragic loss to him greater than anything else was the memory of Him.

He was important to Stanley. He couldn't remember why, but he was. There was nothing of Him left in his memories. No face, no name; not even why He mattered to him in the first place. All he knew was that the loss of Him had struck him with such profound heartache and sorrow that it had left him weeping helplessly for so long, unable to move and rooted in one spot for days, weeks, years. He couldn't remember how long.

Stan was only snapped out of his comatose stupor by His hand.

It was all that was left of Him, other than the knowledge of His past existence. It was warm, a glowing red hand that pulsed almost reassuringly within Stanley's own, its long six digits curled tightly and firmly around his hand, never once faltering in its grip. He couldn't remember a time when he didn't have it. He's had it clutched within his own cold, rough palms like a lifeline since forever; every step he took and every move he made done hand in hand with Him.

Desperately, frantically, he held onto His hand, never once letting it go. Losing the hand meant losing Him for good, and he wasn't sure if he would be able to cope with the consequences of that all alone.

However, ocasionally, even the the comforting presence of His hand was unable to keep his mind anchroed for too long, and Stanley would lose track of his memories. Plagued by odd laspes of utter emptiness, Stanley would suddenly forget. His own name, his face, everything he knew and remembered would slip withut warning between his fingers like sand; streaming down, down, down and getting lost in the gaping mouth of the void below him. He would wander aimlessly with no real destination in mind, simply roaming somwhere, anywhere.

He would come across all sorts of sights during these odd episodes of his. He'd crossed paths with hundreds upon thousands of partically decomposed remnants of once living, breathing organisms; All of them endeniably, for the lack of better words: dead. He'd walked past entire forests; enormous clusters of tall pine trees completely uprooted and floating in a massive mass of rotting leaves and half digested bark. He'd walked past countless animals, big and small, all in various stages of digestion. Animals always seemed to rot away faster than anything else, and Stanley wasn't so sure what that meant for him.

Once, Stan had somehow even found his way before the destroyed remains of a universe.

It was dead. There was no other way to describe the state it was in. He hadn't even known it was possible for entire universes to simply... die. Stolen away from its rightful place in the starry night sky.

The scene was everything he'd thought impossible to take place in this all-consuming abyss. It was extroadinary. A veritable bursting cacophany of light and heat. It was as though the universe's explosion had been paused at just the right moment, frozen in time at the very moment of its heat death. Its particles flickered, undulating softly and shifting ever so slightly like looking through a warped window. If Stanley stood still enough, and listened closely, he thought he could even hear the softest sound of the shattered screams of the broken remains of the universe ringing silently in the air. It was as ethereal as it was haunting.

The thought of the unimaginable power required to be able annihilate entire universes just like that... It scared Stan.

Stanley may not be sure of anything anymore, but as he watched the debris swirl gently in the blinding epicenter of the shattered universe from afar, he knew with a certainty that he didn't think he possessed anymore, that he did not belong here.

Part 1/2

[xylographica]

“a little Cherokee in me”

This self portrait was the result of my wanting to do a piece on the phrase 'i have a little Cherokee in me,' as both a critique of blood quantum and of the type of people who say those types of things. These people aren't interested in actually connecting with Cherokee community, learning our history or language or art, they just want a fun fact to share to make them look more interesting. I've been reconnecting for a couple years now, working to learn as much as I can of our language and culture, and connect as much as possible to community, which is what it means to be actually Cherokee.

[crazymecjc]

always the pawn in someone else’s game. ♟️

[forcemascpropaganda]

Time to step up your sewing skills !

And a big thank you to @t4ttop , who sent me a lot of ressources and advices <3

[tubbytarchia]

The bloodied moon cried for you, but you only heard the stars The weeping moon then bled for you, but you only saw her scars

[discard-celestia]

USE MOUTHWASH / DO NOTHING

[life-of-a-rat]

there are a million TMA time-travel AUs where the S5 crew goes back to an earlier season, but where are my S1 goes to the future AUs???? please????

edit:

there's more to this AU now!

check the "tma reverse time travel au" tag to see it :D

part 1 / part 2

[localechoes]

my prophet and me