By far the greatest thing I've made
I love him
cherry valley forever
todays bird
we're not kids anymore.

祝日 / Permanent Vacation

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Stranger Things

⁂

shark vs the universe
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$LAYYYTER
styofa doing anything

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
Keni
trying on a metaphor
Show & Tell
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year

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Jules of Nature

JVL

blake kathryn
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@koshidedn
By far the greatest thing I've made
I love him
Death Has No Right To You (arkham knight!jason todd x reader)
Summary: You're severely injured, but he's not letting you go. Even if you're not his to lose anymore. (a/n: angstcomfort? not even death can try to drag you away from him. tw: mentions of blood/near death)
Jason has not felt such fear since his time in the warehouse, where the very thought of metal scraping concrete conjures phantom stings in his scars, and a gutting-drop in his heart. After him- after everything he's been through, he was close to believing nothing could ever be worse than the past he buried deep down, which he stifled with hatred-filled revenge.
Shaking fingers cradling your limp head, he can't believe he was ever foolish enough to think life had enough of him to let its dreaded claws loose. He had thought he was done with attachment to his past, to his mantle, to Bruce, to you.
"Please, don't take her away from me." He pleads to no one, because no one ever listens to him when he begs. Not when he was caged in that warehouse, not when he pleaded to be found, not when he pleaded to die.
He knows the scent of death like the back of his hand, coated on his hands when he kills, coated in the haunted look that stares back at him in the mirror. You- you're covered in the scent of it.
I had a son once.
oh simon and your visible and invisible scars. x reader with a bad ending.
Gaz meditates, but you wouldn’t be able to tell with how quiet his breath comes out. Johnny, unironically, counts sheep- a trick his brother taught him for stormier nights. Price doesn’t sleep.
Simon, though, counts scars.
In his head, like he often is, before bed. Reserved for when the heater is too loud or the cement is too cold. When his sparse apartment feels empty, and the bed isn’t nearly uncomfortable enough to convince him he’s earned the right to rest.
Snaggle teeth on the back of his calf, a lightning bolt down his arm, tree grain over his chest. Each a distant reminder of a folly, a man, a death. He never touches them, afraid the tissue will catch on the end of his finger and spread to whatever he touches next. Midas, if gold was pain.
When he met you, he had fifty seven.
You adopted his habit, once you began burrowing yourself into his itchy covers. Sat in his lap, running your fingers over the puckered skin. He’s surprised that when they dance from arm to shoulder, the scars don’t follow. Then again, your hands are nothing like his, are they? Soft. Clean. Warm.
“You miscounted.”
“What?” His broken nose scrunches.
“You said fifty seven. But here,” your hand comes to hold the back of his neck, just before blonde meets winter pale, “You have one more.”
You pull away to kiss his forehead. “It's beautiful. They all are.”
That memory finds him bitter now. Almost a decade old, before the marriage, the son, the divorce. The weekend visitation, for the weekends he’s home. Before his son grew behind his back. Before you started looking at someone else the way he had once looked at you.
Before the empty bed got too cold, too loud, too uncomfortable for his back and his head.
Just before it all, you asked him if he’s collecting scars. He said he’d stop at one hundred. You called him a liar. Said he’d never stop. And you’re right. That's why you left.
Today, he is fifty eight years old. He sleeps alone.
He can’t bring himself to count them anymore.
33,550,336 cycles
plz dont take away his new friends : (
This will be a romantic story like none that has come before
Wish i could see you again
“All shall bid farewell to one, and that person alone will witness the miracle.”
A sinner’s curse
33550336
all dreams become ash at dawn
Pretty Little Babies
S̶̩̦̣̓͊a̸̝̩̐̓́v̴̝̲͋̎̓ẽ̵͚̯ ̸̼̲͋̓͝u̶͈͍͔̔s̶͖̩͜͝,̸̻͑̒ ̵̺̊D̷̩̏̑ẻ̸̳l̵̫͝i̵̤̣̽̃͝v̵̡̭̎̓ë̵̺́͘͝r̴͈͇̩̄͗e̸͇̜͘͠r̸̳̰̽̐̈
puppy love