#“I'm the stuff of nightmares”

[redsray]

Dick Grayson, everyone.

[pigeonstab]

@somegrumpynerd :3c Cross getting his first toy ever

I think it's the kind of thing he brings everywhere cuz it's his comfort item.. and he's never had a comfort item before

[reduxulousoctopus]

he's going to be so normal about this

[cakesmelons]

Drew this instead of sleeping </3

[ricky-mortis]

Hatchetfield @femslashfortnight Day 1: Make It Sapphic AU

[marvelsmostwanted]

This is sad but unfortunately I think this is just going to be the norm for the next few years as streaming services die a slow death.

HBO Max should in theory be able to make money from a show that was at one point the top new series in the US. At the time, David Jenkins said "This is what happens when a major media company invests in inclusive mainstream stories" (agree!) but unfortunately that major media company, like all streaming services, has a terrible business model that can't support that investment.

This is an interesting article about how streaming services are losing money and scrambling to make it back by trying to convince people to buy cheaper, ad-supported options or bundling with other streaming services. Unfortunately for them, I think that's like... all of the options? At some point they're just going to continue to lose money. Making shows is expensive and very few consumers are willing to pay more when they could just cancel and use a cheaper service (or, you know. 🏴‍☠️)

This is also a good article that was written after Shadow and Bone was cancelled by Netflix about whether it could be saved:

"The problem is that while saving shows used to be plausible, at times, the cost of Shadow and Bone combined with the fact that streaming services are really, really starting to cut back on spending means that this would be an extremely tough sell. WB Discovery’s Max is being lambasted for killing finished projects for tax breaks to chip into its massive debt. Disney Plus has done the same thing and has said they will cut back on things like expensive Marvel shows. Amazon Prime is mired in expensive creator deals going nowhere and throwing insane amounts of money at projects they are realizing are not panning out. Paramount Plus losing $500 million a year. NBC’s Peacock is losing $650 million a quarter."

TLDR; Streaming services have reached such a dire point financially that they have to cancel some of their most popular content (Marvel shows on Disney+???? These have seemingly been very successful; it's wild to read that they're "cutting back") in the desperate hope that a new season of something that's cheaper to make will get more attention.

What I gathered from these articles is that steaming services are dying a slow death and sadly, a lot of good shows are going to go with them.

[starswerealigned]

tagged by @meatcrimes! thank you so much for remembering me! it's been quite a long time since i didn't play with these tag games, lol.

rules: search "your name + core" on pinterest, then post the first six photos!

tagging: @disappearinginneverland @liabilitys @wednesdayevenings @vibininthefields @madney @beskadiget @flowersf0rvases @urgeforgoing @goodbyevitamin @dialm4murder @unluckyn @brave-olive

[webonchin]

Had a little baby fever so better idea to give my favorite pair a baby, but ,me being me and taking advantage of the interesting things, I decided that the baby would be a little (literal) nightmare, yes

Bonus

Baby's name is Dusk, I use any pronouns to refer to them.

[gummi-ships]

Kingdom Hearts Dream Drop Distance - The World That Never Was

[somegrumpynerd]

Part 1 of my au where Dream and Nightmare decide to finally try and reach a truce and stop their war

Next part

[theshysoul]

[pigeonstab]

Nightmare Fall outfit

[my-rose-tinted-glasses]

Boys Be Brave! Episode 3

for @lurkingshan💜

[soaked-ghost]

all the stuff I made for that cancelled project... mostly nightmare stuff. about his powers, design choices, and some other junk. but there's also some stuff about dreamtale too.

[lordgrimwing]

Circa early TA 2500

Celebrían loves her star-dust husband. 

She’d loved him since she first saw him—or felt something special at least, even if it had taken her a few years to realize the depth of those feelings. She hadn’t said anything at first, of course; neither had he, though it wasn’t long into their courtship before he admitted (blushing and so sweetly shy for someone nearly four hundred years her senior) as much to her. She’d stayed silent at first because she thought it was a youthful fancy, something she would forget after a few months of knowing and working beside him, and later because he was her mother’s dear friend and Galadriel certainly would not approve (she’d been wrong on that last point, at least once her mother got used to the idea). Now, there was nothing stopping her from sharing her love every day, every moment.

He had an ageless kind of quality about him. His agelessness went beyond the classical elven beauty that went unchanged by time as the centuries rolled ever onward. At first, she was hard pressed to describe precisely what that meant. After so many years of watching how his body changed with the passing time in a way no elf’s ever would, she found the words: he was ageless as the constellations; ageless as the stars that shone before the sun and the moon, before the Trees or the Lamps; ageless as Ilúvatar’s Music.

And sometimes, the divine shines through.

***

Celebrían and Elrond are in bed; she is sitting, sketching the crescent moon as it sails toward the far end of the hidden valley while he sleeps beside her. The short summer night is a few hours away from drawing the nocturnal orchestra to a close, and she listens as the sounds of birds and insects shifts toward diurnal patterns. Her charcoal whispers as she drags it softly over the linen page, filling in the last details.

She has many pages filled with drawings like this one. She never grows tired of the view across Imladris from her bed, and she likes to have a little something to keep er hands occupied on nights when she wishes to stay with her husband but has no need of sleep herself. She will show him the sketch when he wakes and tell him all about the pair of bats that play-chased each other outside while she worked.

The mattress shifts. Her hand stills as she looks over at Elrond.

He is still asleep, dark hair pooled around his head. Stars blink in his hair, weaving in and out of existence with each breath as they are so want to do these days when he cannot be troubled to hide them (it hadn’t been like that when they married. Back then, if he did not choose to share his light then it stayed hidden under his skin for the most part, and when he came to Ereinion’s court, he could not choose one way or the other, it merely happened—sometimes at very inopportune moments, which she wishes she could have seen). He sighs in his sleep and twitches.

She watches. Mannish sleep is cyclical, she’s learned, guessing he is entering the phase when his body can move but is not ready to wake up yet. She spent many nights charting the peculiar cycle and knows it well. He should wake in about an hour, perhaps an hour and a half if they are lucky. His sleep had been troubled as of late, and she’d hoped her presence would deter whatever half-forgotten memories were plaguing his rest. She sooths the back of her hand across his forehead as his breath speeds up, brushing their fëar together as she does to share the calmness of her spirit.

He seems to settle after that. For a minute, she thinks that is the end of it, that all will stay calm until he wakes, rested and happy.

Celebrían should know better by now than to tempt Doom, but she is ever optimistic.

A minute draws into two draws into five. She turns back to her drawing, picking up the charcoal stick.

A twitch of his arm and a shiver against her fëa are the only warnings before Elrond is struggling back into wakefulness, gasping like one half-drowned and fighting against the sheets to escape their confines.

Art entirely discarded, she turns back to him, pulling the bed cover down as he blinks, unfocused and shaking. Light pours from behind star-strewn eyes, leaks from the lines in his skin as he sits up. Fireflies flash in each ragged exhale. In the panicked moments between sleep and full consciousness, his elven veneer is thin and brittle.

“Elrond,” she murmurs to him. When she reaches for him, she finds his fëa has completely retreated behind thorny defenses thicker than any briar growing in Middle-earth. She doesn’t touch him yet; his heart is beating like that of a panicked deer, and she may only startle him further. “Peace, Elrond. Peace. I am here.”

Words and spirit infused with all the calm assurance and love she could pour into them, she let her presence wash over him, gentle and safe.

“Celebrían?” The whispered word comes out of his mouth half broken on a sob and repeats off the walls as though they are in a cavern. He reaches out blindly for her.

She takes his hands in hers. “Yes, love, I’m here. We are in Imladris. All is well.”

He repeats her name as he cries. Relief so thick it’s almost cloying fills the space around them. She tries to hug him, but he grips her hands tighter to stop her from moving them away from his. Instead, she rests her chin on his head, tucking him against her as she murmurs sweet nothing to him until he calms. Stars prick her skin like forgotten needles.

“Was it Sight?” She asked at last when he’d dried his face and was no longer leaking light like it would all burst out of him at any moment.

“A nightmare,” he says firmly, resolutely. He repeats the words again with a shudder.

“Of the children?”

It isn’t uncommon when Elladan and Elrohir went off traveling, as they were now, for Elrond’s sleeping mind to mix the twins into his memories of things that had or might have happened to his own twin brother and himself in war-torn Beleriand. Arwen, too, is not spared from his terrors. The great evils of that time are long banished, but that detail is easily forgotten in the throes of a nightmare.

“Orcs,” he shudders but tells her no more.

She refrains from pushing him. She knows he will tell her more if needed to rid himself of the last of the dream. She strokes his stary hair as they sit entwined, waiting for the sun to rise.

[ricky-mortis]

Hatchetfield @femslashfortnight Day 2: Retro