#so when i fight for something

[babymorte]

i think what sucks about this entire situation is i though they were different. i know i bitch and moan about my relationships whether friends romantic or familial but i don’t know they were different. for the first time i felt like i made a legitimate friend. one that actually cared. all i wanted was not to be lied to anymore. it was never about them not being good enough or not giving me enough clarity or how often we spoke i never cared about any of that. it was where it counted that mattered. the lies, the half truths, throwing others under the bus to protect themselves from the lies they couldn’t keep from telling and i was always left with silence or their projection of their own insecurities and you know what? i was okay with that because i saw through it all and i didn’t care. we had already gone through so much and came out fine so why can’t someone make simple promise of not lying. i saw the person inside and i wanted to protect them because i know what it’s like to go through what they have i mean hell even now our situations are exactly the same. it was just nice to have someone that i thought was on the same page. i never expected any of this.

i never wanted any of this.

i’m okay with being the villain though. if someone has to do mental gymnastics to make me the problem when they can’t face their own emotions and feelings and consequences that is fine do what you have to. it’s not desperation to want what’s best for those you care about or to fight to hold onto them and you’re not a bad person for holding your friends accountable that’s the bare minimum of friendship what’s respect without accountability?

people want to change but are too scared of taking the risks and it’s unfortunate.

they say i’m crazy but they never tell me im wrong and i don’t think people want to be seen for who they are because they can’t fathom being fully accepted mess and all.

and i refuse to believe all of this was a game or manipulation. i think it absolutely delved into that but it was all protection and that is what’s unfortunate.

i won’t stop caring and i won’t stop rooting for their success and happiness and i hope that they can heal and stop with the bullshit because they really do deserve happiness and love and care and understanding from the people they actually want it from instead of just having to settle with what they’re presented with that’s easy.

all i want is for the people i care about to be happy and be the best versions of themselves but im learning that some people no matter how much they say it don’t actually want help or at least not from you which is fine i just wish we could start being more honest with ourselves and the people we claim to care about

[themintman]

Well shit. Lord of screens really WAS cleaved red by blade. Okay then.

[katsinspats]

Tragic: Guy you based your entire villain backstory on doesn't even remember you

[technically-human]

Oh no, he's meeting all of Eggman's standards!

A continuation to this.

[rookanisstuff]

The Dellamortes

[lizzybeeee]

When you spend 20 years attempting to bring down the child slavery, murdering, human trafficking exploitation ring that stole your childhood, murdered your friends, and killed countless innocents only to have them rebrand as 'Noble Freedom Fighters™' off-screen.

[queerdraws]

Fanart for a snippet of my most favorite heartbreaking moment from swordsmans's fic bone-breaker ospreys mate for life (rated E)

[teaboot]

Ollie is 8 weeks old tomorrow and we have made an important discovery:

HIM LIKE BOWLING

[arcanegifs]

ARCANE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS: 2x02 - “Watch It All Burn”

[s0fter-sin]

ghost who works with abused dogs because he can relate to their fear and anger and soap who's terrified of dogs but needs a service animal after he gets shot

ghost who's covered in just as many bite scars and scratches as he is scars from his childhood and the military, but he never holds it against a single dog

he knows what it's like to feel trapped and think you only have one way out

he sits through the barking and the lunges, steadily gets closer as he gently talks with each dog, apologises when he moves too quick and gets bitten because it's always his fault, never the dog's. no one bites for no reason

the pride he feels when he gets to share their blanket for the first time is only matched by the day of their adoption

it’s soap's friend’s idea to bring him to check out a dog to foster while his service dog goes through training. he knows he's uncomfortable around dogs - he never made a production out of it but you can only duck around someone so they’re in between you and a dog so many times before they pick something up - but he just thinks he's not used to them and being around one will be enough to calm him down

soap knows he needs a service animal; both for medical reasons and help with every day tasks but also for emotional regulation. he pings from depression to apathy to white hot rage so quick it exhausts him; he's so tired of blowing up at people just because he can't keep his head on straight

he needs a service dog

but just hearing the barking from outside has him so on edge, he's almost sick from it

a volunteer shows them all the dogs available to foster. his friend gushes over every single one; cooing about how cute and sweet they look, just darling things, encouraging them to jump up on their barrier and play tug with their toys, and “come on soap, say hello”

soap keeps his distance, smiling thinly as the volunteer introduces each dog

but ghost happens to be in one of the kennels working with his latest trouble case

and he can plainly see how terrified soap is, no matter how well he thinks he’s hiding it

he flinches at every bark, his hands fisted at his sides, but his friend just doesn't notice; too occupied with the lab mix he’s playing with. ghost can see just how tight he's winding up, the tension creeping up his spine, his “smile” twitching uncontrollably, and it doesn't surprise him in the slightest when he finally snaps at his friend to “just fuck off, alright!” after he keeps pushing him to get closer to the dogs

the abrupt silence is tight and judgmental; the friend giving him a wild look. soap gives a short apology, still angry even though if anyone just took the time to look, it’d be clear he doesn't want to be, and storms out while his friend apologises to the volunteer; dripping with shame and embarrassment that sets ghost's teeth on edge

he could've stopped a dozen times before soap blew up, should've seen the warning signs that he was getting overwhelmed and afraid long before he got to that point

he spreads out a few treats for his dog, both a reward for his patience and an apology for prematurely ending their time together, slowly getting to his feet. he heads outside to find soap in the alley beside the shelter, swearing at himself under his breath and looking seconds away from punching the brick

and when soap snaps, “enjoying the show?”, squaring up with his teeth bared, ghost just leans back against the wall; open and non-threatening and waits for soap to come to him

just ghost who knows what it's like to be angry and afraid and has the patience to help soap feel more in control of himself, never flinching from his bark or his involuntary bite, as well as help him through his fear in time for his service dog

[just-null]

I’d like to think that the hantengu clone’s darling would actively try to avoid anything with the colors red,yellow,green,or blue to “not send the wrong message” to the other clones

Them: "Choose whatever color you want. You deserve to have all of them <3"

Also them: "Why that color specifically..........."

[alesshi]

A farming game set in the db universe? pls?? pls????? You can farm with martial arts??? Many farm locations??? Combat?????

[starry-bi-sky]

im dedicating this to @detectivedarling. i felt inspired after seeing their little ficlet yesterday sadhjfl 🫶

-

Danny's grip on his cane tightens.

"What—"

His voice cracks. He stops, clears it, then tries again in spite of the nausea twisting in his gut. "What are — you, uh, watching, Bruce?" He sounds horribly far away.

Bruce doesn't look at him, his attention laser-focused on the screen. Which is— fine. It's usually not a problem, Bruce gets like that when he hyper-focuses on a case, and unless it's urgent — or he's been at it for hours — Danny sees no need to pull him away from it. He likes the quiet camaraderie they have, it's companionable and unique to the two of them.

He wishes he was right now though. Looking at him, that is.

That way he wasn't watching what was clearly one of Danny's ghost fights. One of the nastier ones, if the collateral damage and rubble on the street is of any indication.

Danny tries to remember which one that is. He shuffles a little closer to the desk, ignoring the rock in his stomach or the ugly weightlessness in his arms. It's not the blood blossoms, that much he knows. He just recently had an injection so it shouldn't be bothering him this soon—

So it's just nerves. Perfect.

Most footage of his fights are— messy, at best. Unusable at worst. Amity Park was obsessed with appearing 'normal' when they first started happening, and typical news stations censor the worst of the fights anyways for publishing, since they can get pretty gory at times. And ghosts move too fast to be caught on regular standard cameras, not including distance and light and—

That is to say— finding usable ghost fight videos is hard.

Danny wonders how Bruce got his hands on this one, and then stops wondering.

The audio is muted, which is - good. Good, because the fight is ugly and chaotic and clearly this was taken on someone's phone. Fuck, he can't remember if he ever saw that before — clearly not. They're hiding behind an overturned car, and Danny grits his teeth so he doesn't tell that idiot to run.

The camera turns up, and focuses on two figures in the air. It takes a few seconds, but when it does, Danny gets hit with a wave of vertigo. His grip tightens and he leans heavily on his cane, he waits for the black dots to disappear.

He- uh, he remembers this fight now. Uh, sort of.

He remembers being twelve at the time, and he remembers some of the injuries he got out of it. His eyelid spasms abruptly. This ghost wasn't one of his regulars, so he doesn't remember whatever name they had, barely remembered what they looked like up until- uh. Now.

Was he always that small? Well— Phantom's never been particularly big, perks of being a dead kid, but— it's - different. Seeing it from an outsider perspective. Was he that small? Or is it just because he's wearing a jumpsuit clearly too big for him that casts the illusion of being small?

Doesn't really - matter. Now. He can't access his ghost form, and he already knows the answers to his appearance.

Phantom is clearly bleeding, viscous and violently green like the bubbles of a lava lamp, clutching onto a limp shoulder that's missing an arm from the elbow down. Half his face is drenched in similar blood, the eye on the drenched side is closed — not because he can't see through the ectoplasm.

Danny's memories of that fight slowly come in a bit clearer. Right. He took a pole to the eye in that one. That had - hurt. A lot. Getting an eye gouged out usually does. It and the missing arm took hours to grow back.

He rubs his eye with his palm for no other reason than it itches.

The other ghost isn't untouched of any injury either, but he's not in a state of dismemberment like Phantom is.

Danny drops his gaze down at Bruce, whose sitting in his chair with his hands threaded together, looking so tense that Danny half expects to meet solid steel if he were to touch his back. His face is - blank. Terribly blank, with an intensity in his eyes that Danny doesn't see often.

He looks terribly distressed.

He opens his mouth, and finds that nothing comes out. His throat is thick with an ugly, tar-like feeling that makes his eyes sting. Kinda reminds him of when someone wraps their hands around your throat and presses. He closes his mouth, then tries again.

"B—" hhhhhh, "Buzz."

Finally Bruce looks at him, one hand slaps the space button on the keyboard, and the video pauses. His expression doesn't shift, but there's a weight in the lines of his face that reminds Danny of a set of weights sagging.

He looks quite like he's grieving something.

Bruce opens his mouth, his voice comes out terribly soft and heartbroken: "He looks like you."

Which is— a terrifying sentence in and of itself. One that makes Danny's legs shake and ignite his ragged, poison-chewed nerves alight with the need to run. An instinctive urge to deny, deny, deny.

How could he? He could say, that's a ghost, Bruce. I'm not a ghost. He could crack a joke, and ask, 'do I look dead to you?' or say something about how he knows that his parents studied ghosts, but that didn't make him one.

He could say that, and he could say it knowing full well that Bruce would see right through it. He'd probably let Danny too.

Danny closes his eyes. They sting, you see? So does his nose, right in the back like someone popped him in the face. And his throat is thick and gross and like someone stuck a spider, the big fat tarantula kind, right down into his esophagus.

He breathes in �� through his mouth, because his nose stings and so it'd be best not to irritate it further with air — and it's terribly shaky and uneven. But it clears a pathway to his lungs big enough for him to say — whisper, really:

"You know, I think you're the first person to notice that."

[rystiel]

that annoying moment when getting left for dead in the trunk of a car in your 20s comes back to haunt you 40 years later (take a shot every time ford says “stanley”)

[crnl-chicken-tots]

[fatedroses]

When you sell your soul to the merchant devils for outfits v-v