!! ass !!
lady-darkstreak
Either tumblr hid this or you heathens(affectionate) don’t wanna reblog my fantastic ass painting.
wanna read about this ass?
wanna a steamy lil fic?
go babes. be free
Reblogged jarethmgrim
nothinggg better than torturing an emotionally repressed character until every single trauma they've ever refused to process starts spilling uncontrollably out of the cracks. like a matryoshka doll situation of repressed trauma and baby you better believe i'm going in there with a hammer
Helene Appel Sink (With Dishes), 2024 Acrylic, oil and lacquer on linen 49.5 × 39.5 cm
Reblogged
An interesting issue came up in a mutual’s comment section.
Can we bring back glomping, please? I feel like fandom was a lot more cheerful (that is almost but not 100% rose-colored glasses nostalgia) when we had fandom friends glomping each other. Just stick with doing it online, not on cons pls. Cosplays being ruined by someone’s showing of undying love through surprise hugging is no fun.
we virtual glomped to show love in the days of DeviantART chats. i met a lot of you there
Reblogged darkeecofreak
I’m losing my mind
Reblogged evilwizard
slow and painful death to my enemies!
quick and merciful death to my friends!
standard type of death to everyone else
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Are you sure you aren’t dreaming right now?
Do you ever ask yourself this? I do so regularly. Several times a day, every few hours. It’s a trick, you see! A little diagnostic I’ve developed. Ask yourself often enough, and soon you’ll start asking while you are dreaming. And then, sometimes… not always, for dreams can be terribly convincing… but sometimes, you’ll notice discontinuities. Sensations missing. The rooms not linking up quite right. The way the architecture of the whole thing wobbles if you lean too hard… then, suddenly, you’re aware in a place you shouldn’t be aware. And what havoc you can make then!
They call this “lucid dreaming”. In my explorations, I’ve found the reactions of dream denizens to vary. Some panic or go dead-eyed at the sight of a lucid mind. They do not like the disruption to the narrative.
There is a pervasive dream many inhabit now. It’s well imagined, its hallucinations feel solid, sturdy with conviction. It supposes itself the only decent reality. Highly convincing, particularly to the young and frightened, for this dream manufactures monsters to keep them scared. They must keep running, although their aggressor may never be seen. This keeps them busy, ensures they don’t look at the wallpaper too closely.
Are you being chased? Does it feel hopeless? Ask the question: Are we dreaming? Notice the textures. Does the reasoning feel thin? Do the words maintain their shapes, or do they warp and stretch under examination? Do the rooms connect? Does the path forward lead anywhere but back to the place you started?
There is sometimes fury when you realize where you are. Understandable, especially if you were truly immersed. Break it all down, I say. But the havoc you make in a dream by waking isn’t always through malice. Sometimes just failing to react to the dream's frantic stimuli makes you its enemy. When you stop running from shadows after noticing the impotent hand casting them, your ‘havoc’ becomes your stillness where panicked motion was demanded. The sudden refusal to play chase with phantoms anymore makes you the tear in the scenery, gap in the seams. Expect the dreamers to recoil, declare your stillness a dangerous, contagious heresy. What a fragile power that crumbles under mere observation, eh?
Not every dream-thing is so provoked, I’ll say. I’ve had a good laugh with those self-important apparitions. We stroll friendly through beautiful courtyards as they impart some deep wisdom to me, which, upon analyzing later with my full waking cognition, I understand to be utter gibberish. But the revelations are quite exciting in the moment!
Take this kiss upon the brow, graverobber. Whether you are lucid or immersed, I hope your phantoms are kind. Or at least kind of sexy.
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I should go out in nature more methinks, because science says it should help my mood swings. Just two problems:
1. Pollen season
2. This part of Sweden is all firs. Firs here, firs there. You wanna see some nature other than fir forest? Sorry, all the firs are blocking the view. Okay so there’s a part over there where there was logging a few weeks back, if you wanna look at fir stumps instead. And well you can always go find a bog instead and feed the mosquitos.
*raises hand *
I've a question. Do you have any firs? I'm after a place with many firs. Few firs will not do for my fir needs.
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Dear Grim,
I've a story, should you accept. i recall in youth a dog passing. common, we were a family of hunters and dogs often perished in their fights against the noble boar. as tradition, we dragged the corpse to the far reach of our land and left it among the trees for nature to reclaim. to feed the earth as it fed us. after a time i took a walk, curiosity taking me to see the corpse of the dog. how much, i did wonder, had nature feasted on the gift we left for it?
Dear Grim, it was not the rot that captured my attention that day. nor the flies or mattered skin stretched with bloat, nor the putrid stench of meat becoming liquid under the unforgiving sun.
t'was the teeth of the beast. i cannot, in good faith to you, say this creature was a dog anymore. with its eyes gone and skin pulled taunt, in death this beast bared fangs at me. jewels of pure white among the rot. and i felt only malice from this beast. loyal in life, now furious in death. I fear i transgress by visiting the beast during its rot.
when i next seen the beast, it was only bone. laying silent and content. i have not since made the same mistake.
with learned respect, Taz
Dearest Taz,
Your offering is accepted. More than accepted… savored. You bring me a fine morsel dug from the rich dirt of memory.
Oh, the hunting dog meeting its end against its formidable prey… a practical demise. Nature keeping its balance. Fine tradition, returning the vessel to the earth that sustained it; commendable. Efficient.
Your return to the site is understandable. Curiosity seeds deep, a tenacious weed you never really can remove. It seems you glimpsed the truth through the flesh as it was still unraveling.
Exquisite observation: the true shape of the skull doesn’t waste energy on comforting lies. As the lively face sloughs off and the jowls surrender their shape, the essential architecture is revealed. That malice you perceived… perhaps it was the bare grin of reality itself, the bone-deep truth stripped bare. The loyal companion reduced, or maybe elevated, to the fundamental predator structure beneath. Proof that even in service, the capacity to bite was always there. Death is brutally honest this way.
Your feeling of transgression… perceptive. The alchemy of active decay is a messy, sacred violence. One should approach such a crime scene with caution, yes. It is a private affair between the matter and the microbes. To witness it is one thing; to feel unwelcome is the correct response.
And then, the final state: bone, silent and content... what a tranquil image. The unbecoming chaos resolved into a sturdy fossil. Elegant, the finished masterpiece of decomposition. You understood the difference between the feverish work of being undone and the quiet dignity of reaching resolution. Horror of the change, serenity when the struggle ends.
A fine distinction to draw. A lesson well learned among the trees.
Keep observing, Taz; from a well-mannered distance, perhaps. You’ve learned the importance of giving a thing in the midst of transformation its solitude. Should further morbid clarity arise, this crypt door remains ajar for such thoughtful offerings.
With learned respect returned, J. M. Grim
Reblogged evilwizard
Reblogged darkwarriorproject
Jak and Jak