#dissociation warning

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #108 Part 1

He remembered going to bed in his own bed last night. His own bed in his own room. This wasn’t his room, his bed, or even his pajamas. The body he was in didn’t feel quite right either, almost like it somehow knew he wasn’t supposed to be in it. Part of him wondered if he was dreaming but he was way too self aware for this to be a dream. 

This room didn’t look like any of his brother's rooms either. It had a bunch of space themed trinkets, glow in the dark stars on the ceiling, and NASA posters on the walls. None of his brothers were into space as far as he knew so this had to be a strangers room. He wondered for a moment if he was kidnapped or something, but that didn’t sound quite right either. He was in a stranger's body so he must be in this person’s room. He had to figure out exactly what was going on. 

Just as he was considering his options the phone by the table side started ringing. Damian didn’t really know where the tune came from but it sounded catchy. He looked at the caller ID and while the phone didn’t recognize the number Damian did. It was his own, hopefully he’d be able to get some answers. 

“Hello?” He answered.

“Yeah, I’m sorry about all of this. My parents are inventors and one of their inventions backfired big time. I’m Danny” The voice on the other line was his own, a little jarring sure but it to be expected, if he was in someone’s body there was a good chance they were in his body. “My name’s Damian, Inventions? This is quite the backfire. I hope you have a plan to switch us back.”

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’ve got a couple friends looking into it, they’ll be on their way in a bit to help with all of this.” 

Damian was starting to get irritated a little at how this was going. Bringing outside ‘help’ into the situation just seemed more like a distraction from whatever ‘Danny’ had planned for Gotham.

“Right, Damian, so right now you're in my body and I’m in your’s… so, my parents' invention was only supposed to strengthen the soulmate pull, but because of my weird biology. We switched bodies instead.” Damian didn’t have word’s, the whole story sounded ludicrous. But at the same time, Damian couldn’t help but believe it was true.

The weird things about the body he was in, helped convince him and then, suddenly a thought occurred to him. Hesitantly he lifted his other hand up to his neck to check his pulse.

It was unusually slow, “Why’s your pulse so slow?” he couldn’t help but ask. He didn’t want to admit it but he was starting to freak out a little. 

“Like I said, I’ve got weird biology. I’ll explain, but it isn’t a pretty story. I don’t really want to explain all of this but since you're in my body, you need to know so you can keep my parents from finding out. Deal?”

Having weird biology still didn’t quite explain things but hopefully a few things didn’t quite make sense, “You said your parent’s were researching soulmates? Why.”

“Alright, I’ll give you this one but seriously you’ve got to promise to keep my parent’s from finding out about things. They were a little upset that I haven’t found mine yet, my sister found hers so they were excited for me to find mine. Long story short, bad things tend to happen when my parents get excited.”

So from the sound of things Danny thought they were soulmates. That might have been true but there wasn’t a good way for them to prove anything at the moment. For now it would probably be better to go along with Danny’s plan. He didn’t like it but he could probably get a lot of information out of Danny’s friends if he played along. “Alright I agree to not intentionally reveal anything to your parents.”

“Work’s for me. What do you know about ghosts?”

[k4i-ztimz]

👁️🍄👁️

🍄🌈🍄

👁️🍄👁️

📺📺📺

Weirdcore stimboard!!

Since its weirdcore you know i HAD to do backrooms stims cuz if i didn’t my autism would blackmail me /j i honestly really like weirdcore!! Its so nostalgic and it reminds me of when i was just developing the identity i have today!!

Also tagging @v0idsp3rson cuz i thought you might like this! ^_^

[weird-coby-core]

Jul 25, 2024

[beefcliff]

a little comic about having weirdbrain & working on autopilot

this isn't an excuse. i mean, i guess it is. i just want you all to know that i really want to make more comics for you all, i really want to make more art and post it, but i'm sincerely struggling to function. i'm trying to fix that. love, beefcliff

[interstellarsystem]

Cofronting with your in-system partner is very nice because you get to just. Be there with them but different because you're in one body. I'm cuddling in headspace with him while he's got main body control and is scrolling through Pinterest and it's almost like we're in separate psychical bodies in a way. But it's closer in a way too? It's hard to describe but I think in-system relationships should be acknowledged more and not just treated as cringe or lesser.

People (usually outside of system community groups but not always) feel like they have a judgemental vibe towards in-system partners even if they accept other aspects of systems with open arms. Like it feels like some see it as sad to "have no one else". I'm poly and I have an in-system partner and an out-of-system partner and I don't see either of them as lesser because guess what? They're both people, within my system or not. I don't "have no one else", I love both of them a lot and I wouldn't trade either of them for the other.

Having an in-system relationship like that can be so... Healing, too. Like not only are they there a lot of the time compared to out of system partners so you have more support but you get to have such a close bond with someone in your own brain. And considering you have to share the body, I'd rather be friends with my headmates at least so it doesn't feel like I'm stuck at a horrible office job for the rest of my life. Dating someone just means you're closer to another aspect of your system and really it in our experience makes us feel more... Unified when there's complex positive relationships between us. For some systems it's actively a part of healing from trauma to get to be friends or at least tolerant of your headmates and sometimes it leads to dating which can be a huge benefit whether you're going for functional multiplicity or integration or anything. Of course it's not the only way to heal, that would be silly to even imply, it's just... Really not a thing that should be so looked down upon.

It's not cringe to "only be able to get with your headmates" because they tend to know others in their system better than most people outside of it on the basis of sharing a brain and being aware of things like inner thought processes. For some people they'd even prefer to only date their system members and that's great and shouldn't come with the sentiment of "they can't get with anyone else, that's sad".

[exhaustedwriterartist]

Regular Leo and Our Other Halves Leo. My little vent outlets:

I head cannon Leo disassociating, reliving events, and having a truly hard time forgiving himself post-movie.

Joys shown through my boy. Art block is starting to hit hard, but I've retaliated by drawing my feelings in two mediums.

[tardxsblues]

Doctor Who 9.12 Hell Bent || 10.03 Thin Ice

[gimmick-therapist]

i dropped my croissant on the floor, now im sad what do i do??

[ Efkyzex ufvj. ]

[ ...Efkyzex jyflcu. ]

[blue--ingenue]

"Carve"

Author's Note: This work contains heavy themes and potentially-triggering topics including self-harm, depression, anxiety, and suicidal ideation. If any of these topics are triggering to you, please ignore this work! Please take care of yourselves, and don't read further if reading about these topics may harm your mental health.

Summary: Scorpius shouldn't be here. He's living a life he doesn't deserve to live, and every day he wishes the blood curse had taken him instead of his mother. The cuts won't bring her back, but maybe they can help him find relief.

Read on ao3

The day Astoria died a piece of Scorpius died with her. Her family’s blood curse ate away at her from the inside, and with each trip to St. Mungo’s Scorpius could hear the death knell just a bit louder than before. It didn’t matter that his mum had been deteriorating for months now. Or that he’d spent most nights curled up in her hospital bed as she stroked his hair and promised that she loved him and Draco so very much. He knew the logical progression of the disease. Since the first day of the summer holiday every minute not spent at St. Mungo’s saw him shut in the Manor’s library. By the end of the first week he had a routine: browse through the rows, cart armfuls of books to his favorite window seat, and tuck in to search for any hint of a cure. 

His mum’s death was sudden. One moment she was gazing at him, half-lidded eyes crinkled in amusement as he read to her, and the next - 

He felt the moment her hand went limp in his. He heard the last rattling breath that passed her lips. But the detail that branded itself into every nerve ending was the instant the light left her eyes. She’d been gazing at him with that same sleepy look, eyes drifting closed, and gone unnaturally still. The life in her eyes snuffed out, a candle flame snapped out of existence by the uncaring winter wind. He didn’t remember much after that. He knew that at some point, he’d screamed his lungs raw calling for a Healer, asking for Draco, and deliriously begging for his mum. 

The days between her death and the funeral passed in a similar haze. He’d read about trauma from a muggle bookstore his mum had taken him to years ago. She’d taken him out for lunch. They sat by the window of a cozy sandwich shop, and Scorpius had swung his legs back and forth from his perch upon a barstool. She ordered him sweet fizzy drinks that popped and fizzled on his tongue, little pieces of breaded chicken shaped like dinosaurs, and little sticks of salty fried potatoes. It was the best meal he had ever eaten. (He left that part out while telling his dad about it later that evening. The house elves did their very best to serve Scorpius’ favorites every day, and he didn’t want to hurt their feelings.) She took him to a bookstore afterwards. The shelves were arranged neatly, books organized into rigid rows and uncracked spines. It was nothing like Flourish And Blotts, with its precariously-leaning book towers and antique tomes stuffed into every crevice, but he enjoyed it all the same. Most of the titles had to do with muggle concepts he couldn’t begin to fathom. In the end he chose a thick hardback book filled with glossy pictures of human anatomy and little blurbs that explained the function of every part. 

He wouldn’t pick the book back up until years later, when his mother’s blood curse began affecting her more and more. He knew finding any mention of blood curses in a muggle book was a long shot, but he had to check anyway. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for his mum. He found nothing, as was expected, but a few chapters caught his attention along the way. One revolved around memory. He furtively scribbled down notes in his book journal as his eyes flitted across the pages. The muggles figured out that some things were so horrible that the brain decided to tuck away those memories for a later time. It was a defense mechanism for when life was so agonizing, the pain was incomprehensible. It left people with gaps in their memory. He hadn’t understood it at the time, but now, in the days leading up to his first Christmas without his mum, he understood perfectly. 

There were holes in his memory. He could recall a handful of individual days, like the day he asked Albus to come to the funeral, and the day they lowered the shell of his mother into a muddy pit in the ground, but only fog existed in between. Trying to remember felt like staring directly into the sun. It was painful, and futile, and he felt blinded by the intensity of it all. A pulsing pain would drum behind his eyes and reduce his breathing to shallow, choppy pants and his skin felt like it was stretched too tight over his body and then - 

And then all of a sudden, something would switch off. He’d feel like he was floating above his own body, watching himself go through the motions of life as though he were watching a scene unfold from the audience of a theater. In those moments he felt no pain. In fact, he felt nothing at all. A part of him wondered if this is what it felt like to pass away. Was his mum floating about somewhere? Impervious to pain and indifferent to the emotions and sensations that made life worth living? He’d think of his mum, pale and fading, and wonder where all that magic and love had gone once her heart stopped beating. She loved everyone and everything wholeheartedly, and Scorpius couldn’t understand how all that could just, disappear.

Despite the prejudice against muggles many in the wizarding community expressed, Astoria had adored muggle London. After Hogwarts she insisted on studying at a muggle university. Having grown up around magic all her life, she had no idea what program to pick. Most of the courses centered around concepts she’d never imagined as a girl: metal machines that were powered by invisible, charged particles, entire bodies of literature by authors unknown until now, and art that never moved, but managed to capture attention all the same. In the end, she chose music. Most instruments in the wizarding world were charmed to play by themselves, but she would always tell Scorpius that muggle music held its own special magic. The classical composers she so adored hadn’t an ounce of magic in their veins. There were no shortcuts to creating beautiful music, “soul-singing,” as she called it. In her eyes, the muggle world contained its own special magic, and she had passed this sense of wonder onto Scorpius.

In the present, a thunder arced across the sky and cleaved the air like a whip - and Scorpius flinched so hard he nearly toppled from his window seat. His heart thumped away in his chest like a terrified rabbit running from a predator and he scrabbled for his wand. He yanked the heavy velvet curtains closed and gasped out a hasty muffliato over the obscured window. He’d never been particularly bothered by thunder when he was little, but over the last few months it took very little to send him over the edge. Almost everywhere he went, it felt like everything was a bit too loud, too bright, too suffocating. Every nerve ending felt over-sensitive, his heart aching like a wound split wide and rubbed with salt. He often flinched from the intensity of it all. 

Scorpius retreated to the headboard of his canopied bed. There were only two objects set upon the forest green quilt and they glinted with the few moonbeams that had squeezed past the curtains. On the left, his wand - polished willow. On the right, a razor blade, nicked from his father’s bathroom. This he picked up with shaking fingers and a practiced hand. His eyes flicked to his bedroom door, assuring himself that the lock was in its proper position before rolling up the sleeve of his left arm and breathing deeply. The skin was smooth and unmarred. Something heavier than bile rose from the back of his throat as he raised the blade. Guilt? Shame? He couldn’t tell, and he wasn’t sure it mattered anymore.

He hesitated for a moment, a mere heartbeat. He always did. The evolutionary instinct to avoid pain at all costs kicked in, and he let it. Conflicting emotions broiled just beneath his veins, pumping through his heart and setting something alight within his chest. He felt giddy. The guilt-fear-relief pulsed behind his eyelids and quickened his breath. Static pooled in his feet and shifted on the bed, trying to shake off the tingling in his toes. It felt so good to feel something. To know that something was within his control.

He let the blade rest against the tender skin of his forearm, just a few inches away from the crook of his elbow. The steel tip felt like a pinprick. He pressed lightly against his skin and slowly traced a shallow cut into his skin. He lifted the blade and let his hand fall away. There.

By the muted moonlight he saw the cut begin to bleed. Little globules of red gathered along the line. The red clashed against his pale skin and he sighed. After every cut the fledgling sense of euphoria would wash over him, like a splash of cool water on a hot day. His arms felt like jelly as the brief adrenaline burst ebbed from his system. And as quickly as it came, the relief was gone. He lifted the razor again.

After the fourth cut he paused. Four cuts lined his forearm, each one deeper than the last. He never pressed the blade deep enough to cause permanent damage, but something close to satisfaction diffused within his chest at the sight of them. He held his arm as still as he was able and observed the red pearls adorning the supple skin. Then he tilted his arm, just enough to dislodge the droplets. They merged and gathered and flowed in rivulets all the way down his arm. The trails stopped at the crease of his wrist and he exhaled shakily. It wasn’t fair. He had his mother’s blood in him, the blood that bore a fatal curse, and yet here he sat, perfectly healthy and alive. 

There was a part of him that felt immensely guilty after each of his sessions. Sometimes he pictured his mother’s spirit watching him, gazing at the blood he wasted with each cut. Wasted vitality flowing through his veins. Would she be angry? Wherever his mum was, he hoped she couldn’t see him like this.

It should be her living and breathing within the manor walls, not him. His mum had been love and life and joy and unwavering kindness - and his birth had helped suck that all away. Growing up, his parents never missed an opportunity to tell him how loved he was. His mum would say it outright. His father was less explicit, but he showed his love in his own ways, and Scorpius never doubted either of them for a moment. They told him how they longed for a child, for him. Despite it all, Scorpius sometimes wished that he had never been born.

He’d heard of children who’d been happy surprises for their parents. Their mothers and fathers hadn’t planned to have them, but they loved them as fiercely as any parent ever loved their child. Their parents called them ‘surprises.’ He’d heard a few students in his year call themselves ‘accidents.’ Scorpius knew he was loved, knew that his parents had planned to have him. Therefore he wasn’t an accident, but a mistake. 

Having him took years off of his mum’s life and sometimes, when the darkness snaked around his throat and swallowed his heart, he believed they would’ve been better off without him. Part of him cut into his arm as a sort of apology to the universe. An apology for existing, for cutting his mother’s life short. Even on the brighter days, when the pain and grief numbed to a low thrum beneath his skin, he felt guilt. Guilt at enjoying his days, doing nothing of particular importance, when it should’ve been his mother here instead. 

His father was inconsolable and Scorpius didn’t know how to fix it. His father once told him that he was their lucky star. Despite growing up in relative isolation from other kids his age, he was always naturally content with the world, and happy to show it. Every time he giggled or laughed in glee as a chubby toddler, his parents’ faces would light up. He liked knowing that was responsible for putting those smiles there. But now his father was miserable, and Scorpius just couldn’t scrounge together the energy to lighten the darkness preying on him. Useless. 

 The stinging in his arm snapped him back to the present. He took a last look at the scarlet rivulets and the angry, puffy cuts, and muttered a simple healing charm. He didn’t think he deserved to heal the cuts, but he couldn’t risk his father seeing. Scorpius didn’t know if he’d be angry or heartbroken, or something in between. It was too high a risk. He didn’t want to risk burdening him with anything else, so after each session he vanished the cuts. 

Instead, he picked up the razor and cut four lines into the handle of his wand. Beneath it, a thick ‘V’ was cut into the wood. And closest to the end, an angry ‘I V’ was carved. He couldn’t keep the scars, but he could have this. 

Scorpius hid the razor blade in a drawer on his bedside table and ran his fingers over the carvings. He sighed. It was too much and not enough and the relief never lasted. He tucked the wand beneath his pillow and curled into a ball under the covers. He couldn’t give his mother her life back. He couldn’t avoid burdening his father with his continued existence. But he could have this. And tomorrow he’d wake up, use all his energy to forget about the dark that waited to drown him every night, pretend like nothing was wrong. But for tonight, he could have this. 

.

.

.

.

.

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #58 Part 6

Everything happened so fast that when Danny finally got to flop onto his bed at the Wayne manor he let himself sink into the covers with a heavy sigh. Everyone broke off into their own rooms to change into more comfortable clothing once they had arrived. Jazz and Danny both had rooms, they started out as guest rooms but were quickly personalized since they tended to spend a lot of time here. Danny even brought most of his models and other various precious items that he didn’t want broken accidentally by his parents (again). His and Jazz’s rooms were set up just like the other bedrooms in the manor, with an ensuite bathroom. They both had dressers, walk-in closets, queen sized beds with ornate nightside tables, and decent sized desks with windows looking out to the backyard garden. 

They were allowed to decorate it any way they chose so Jazz had her room painted a dark teal color with an extra shelf for some books she’d been studying, most being the field of Psychology. Danny meanwhile chose to paint his room a dark blue reminiscent of the night sky, complete with glow in the dark stars and some that didn’t glow, that were painted by Damian, they had all worked together to map it all out as accurately as they could. 

Danny briefly let his thoughts wander as he tried to process the day's events. Was he okay? He wasn’t even sure at the moment, he was pretty sure he was a ghost temporarily and the weirder part was the cool feeling he felt from his chest was still there. 

Danny with a change of clothes in hand went into the bathroom attached to his room. He looked at his reflection again and he looked rough, his eyes were red from crying and he looked exhausted. 

He turned away and quickly got into the shower to wash himself.

The water felt hot on his skin but he marveled at the fact that he could still feel it. These thoughts helped ground himself as he finished up with his shower and got dressed in the comfy PJ’s he grabbed.

He found himself staring at himself in the mirror again. He couldn’t help it, his ghostly appearance from earlier had scared him and his normal looking reflection he now had was comforting. 

He looked like a normal person, like he always did, his bags were now gone. Some small part of him thought maybe it was all a dream? That small part was wrong and Danny knew it deep down, but that small part still hoped.

Did he still have a pulse? He was still breathing and he was sure his heart was still pumping so he probably had one. 

Going back over to his bed he picked his phone back up and after a quick Google search on how to check and what his rate should be he held two fingers to his other hand and counted.

He ran his hands through his hair and took a shaky breath. He counted his BPM at 29 BPM while the normal rate for him was around 60. So it was now less than half what it should be. He wasn’t sure how worried he should be about that or if he should tell anyone or keep his mouth shut. He couldn’t be a meta now either. Him and Jazz had spent hours discussing what it would be like to carry the meta gene and one day get powers.

He watched his reflection from the vanity above his dresser, would he turn back into that pulseless form? 

A knock startled him out of his thoughts as he let out a small yelp. He almost didn’t register his eyes that flashed green for just a moment as he felt his heart skip a beat.

“Danny! Alfred called us down for dinner, everyone else should be down soon as well…” Jazz called from the other side of his bedroom door, her voice sounding like she was trying to keep up a sense of normalcy. 

“Right… coming!!” Danny replied, his eyes lingered on themselves for a moment before he let out a small sigh and grabbed his phone and followed Jazz down the hall.

A few moments passed as they walked side by side in silence, Jazz kept sneaking glances at him, like she couldn’t believe he was here either. She hesitated for a few minutes before speaking, “...Danny? Are you… Okay?” She spoke slowly like she was scared he’d disappear and at that moment he wanted to do just that. 

He wasn’t sure exactly what he should tell her, he felt okay but he wasn’t exactly sure. Everything felt the same but different, everything was the same as it had been before his accident but now he felt a weird dissociation with the world around him, like he wasn’t really there. He couldn’t explain that feeling to Jazz so he shrugged.

“Honestly your guess is as good as mine as we know about the same.” Danny answered with a sigh.

Jazz gave him a look that he couldn’t quite decipher, “are you sure you should be up and around then?” Her voice was quiet again like she was afraid he’d disappear. Danny couldn’t help but stop in his tracks as he thought about it.

“I mean, nothing has happened yet? I can’t really explain it.” He rubbed the back of  his neck with his hand as he looked down and refused to meet her gaze again. 

He continued walking after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence and soon they arrived in the Dining room.

[small-but-mightyy]

[sophiethewitch1]

UwU any spoilers for the next chapter,,

I have meant to do this multiple times but keep forgetting so here's an extra long snippet in apology! It's basically the entire start of the next chapter ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Damn. Your indulgent TV stalking of the Wayne’s really doesn’t hit the same once you technically knew them. And you were hiding inside one of their bedrooms, inside one of their clothes, using their TV subscription. It just didn’t feel right. Morally, of course, but that wasn’t what you were talking about. No, you were just pissy your favourite passtime was basically ruined. You shovel another spoonful of cookie dough ice cream into your mouth, glaring through tired eyes at the screen.

There’s an up close shot of Dick Grayson’s abs. The presenter ‘oohs’ and ‘aahs’ over his physical form, and you have to agree. You wish you had abs like that. Unfortunately you did respond to most unwanted experiences with stress eating. As always with these celebrity figures, you can’t really tell if you want to be Dick or be with Dick. Your butt is nowhere near the level his is at.

While you hadn’t really set out today looking for shirtless pictures of the Waynes, it wasn’t like you were going to say no to them. So, when the gossip channel had switched from the reactions of the Waynes to last night’s fiasco to… this… you’d just kept watching.

You wonder if you should stop doing this. It’s definitely kind of creepy, and now you’d technically once been his… step sister. What a mind fuck. You’ve been crushing on these dudes for a while, and now they were your ex-step siblings. This was like the start of a bad porno, but you knew you were not that lucky. And it wasn’t like you were going to start thinking of him as a brother any time soon. You hadn’t even met the guy. No, he was still firmly in the ‘celebrity crush’ section of your mind. Pretty and untouchable. The way things are supposed to be.

Which was also bad because you would probably have to meet and interact with him at some point. Probably in the near future. God knows you’d absolutely humiliated yourself in front of the fucking Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne,. Twice, in fact. You didn’t even want to think about the display you’d shown for Bruce Wayne or Damian Wayne.

You didn’t really know what to do with your slightly obsessive crushes. And you could see it definitely being a problem in the near future.

…You decide that what you do in your private time is absolutely nobody but yours business, and keep watching. It’s a mix of bitter spite and geniune mental breakdown levels of desperation that leads you to that decision. You feel like you’re a child with their toy being taken away, and it’s making you mad. And sad too. Even if you shouldn’t do this anymore, you still wanted to keep the habit. You’d mentioned before your creature comforts were one of the few things that kept you going. And while you were mostly very good at not being the jealous, heinous creature you really are, you knew you wouldn’t be giving this up.

They’d have to tear your gossip channels from your cold dead palms. You weren’t giving them up, not without a fight at least. Unfortunately for you, the universe seemed determined to wrestle away literally everything you loved.

Guilt’s for tomorrow. Today is for ice cream and purposefully ignoring everything. Speaking of which, you can not remember the last time you had a good Ben & Jerry’s. They were so expensive these days, as all groceries were. You simply couldn’t afford it. The Waynes, of course, had multiple tubs in multiple different options. Alfred had seemed delighted that you’d taken the ice cream, for which reasons you could not perceive.

Oh, yeah! His name was Alfred. Very butler-y. You’d remember it this time, he was a very nice man. And he called you ‘young miss’ which earned him points. He also didn’t seem to hate you on sight, or treat you like a two-headed freak, like some of the other people in this household. Not naming names. Yeah, fuck that noise, Damian Wayne obviously has issues and it’s much less attractive in real life.

The woman drones on, and your eyes flick to your phone. Yup, she’s still yapping. It’s not like you don’t appreciate Dick’s abs or anything, it’s just that you think she might’ve been talking about this one specific photo for over half an hour now. Lady should get a hobby. Wait, wait, this is her job. Maybe you should start a podcast where you rant about the Wayne’s excercise regimes. It seems to be quite a lucrative field.

You shriek when the door slams open, nearly tumbling backwards off the bed. Hands manage to grip the bedcovers before you tip over, not making a complete fool of yourself. As it goes, you lose your spoon to the carpet. Bits of cookie dough spread over the floor in a divine sacrifice. And you lose your sanity to the man standing in the doorway. To be fair, he looks just as confused as you feel.

You blink at the physically perfect form of Dick Grayson, and then turn your head to the TV to look at the other physically perfect form of Dick Grayson.

…You really wish you had a good explanation for this.

He mutters out your name, lips parted. Dick Grayson seems absolutely shocked to find you here. His eyes flick around the room, and eventually land on the TV. Said baby blues widen to the size of saucers when the reporter makes a really, really unneccesary comment.

“And in news that broke the hearts of both ladies and gentlemen everywhere in Bludhaven, Dick Grayson has announced he will be returning to Gotham to assist his family in this difficult time. My cousin in the Blud is probably crying right now. There’s no ass out there quite like his, and there’s no replacement for Bludhaven’s favourite young rich bachelor,” she winks at the camera, and then the shot of his tone stomach phases forward to take up the entire screen.

Well, there’s a lot to say about that. First of all, fuck. Second of all, shit. Third of all, she really couldn’t have said that part about Dick coming back to Gotham sooner? Per chance, before you’d found yourself in this situation?

You said you weren’t that lucky, you meant it.

“But still, ain’t that lucky for us Gothamites? I myself have spent a lot of time on Dick’s Tiktok and Instagram, and his thirst traps have been used in a lot of my personal-”

You snatch the remote from the sheets and pause it right there. The silence is tense.

[purplepodcast]

tw under the cut contains talk of medical procedures and also just in depth medical descriptions! and also spoilers for the spirit bares its teeth by andrew joseph white

OMG THYE JUST MENTIONED VIVISECTIONS IN MY ANATOMY CLASS AND IT REMINDED ME OF THE SPIRIT BARES ITS TEETH WHICH IS SUCH A GOOD BOOK THAT EVERYONE SHOULD READ I LOVE ANDREW JOSEPH WHITE /p

we have ALWAYS loved anything medical/anatomy/health/mental health related since we were a toddler. our mom used to watch greys anatomy with us all the time. she told me that once when our brother and us were young our dad pretended to play dead and both of us jumped on him and tried doing cpr😭.

i absolutely loved tsbit soooo much i related to silas on an INSANE level. never once have i been allowed to actually be myself and not be hated for being disabled/lgbtq+. i loved the story and daphne and silas’s happy ending was BEAUTIFUL MWAH MWAH

[ihaveissueslol]

"God I'm such an attention whore I'm definitely only doing this for attention" I say, alone, by myself, as I take every possible precaution to hide my relapse from every single person who will see me.

[bottombaron]

I think that Guillermo, at the end of Laszlo's 'Roast' party in episode 7, will reveal his secret.

The party will most certainly devolve into a roast of him instead, because of course it will. Because Nandor won't be able to make clever jokes or get anyone to laugh and in order to save his ego he'll do what he always does in those situations and sacrifice Guillermo in its place. He'll say unnecessarily cruel things because he thinks no one person can be more important to him than the fear of his own weakness. He'll pile it on too. One thing after the other. Maybe the other vampires invited to the roast will laugh along because familiars are easy marks. And the heat will build. There's only so many lashes Guillermo can take on behalf of Nandor's pride. And Laszlo, Nadja, and Colin are starting to grimace and wince.

And that's when Guillermo will do it.

He will stand up, with the chair he was sitting in making a horrible noise across the wood floor like a record scratch. To let you know that the party has been violently cut short.

And Laszlo will do a panicked head shake, maybe try to salvage the situation from the precipice that Nandor has unknowingly brought them to. That Guillermo is about to jump off of. With all of them helplessly attached.

Guillermo was put in the audience on the other side of the room. Already segregated from the rest of the group. He's in a room filled with vampires who were just laughing at him but now look. Nandor's peers. The whole vampire community is here, watching him.

Guillermo's vampires sit across from him at a long table with a podium, like a panel of judges. Like he's a prisoner standing before the pulpit awaiting a verdict. He's got one last moment to either swallow the pride he just started to embrace on a float earlier that year and sit back down, let himself be ridiculed like always but live to see another day ... or burn it all down like it deserves to be, with his plea of guilt.

Holding a struck match, Guillermo will finally speak the truth to Nandor. To everyone. The real truth. The one he hasn't spoken out loud yet. The one nobody knows.

He will say, "I have a joke." And everyone will listen.

"I paid to have some barely-turned, low-rank, nothing of a vampire. Who hasn't even been one longer than I have been a familiar…to bite me. And turn me. In the back room of a gas station where he works. And he did it."

"I've been turned by a vampire that wasn't my master. That wasn't you."

Guillermo's jittered, bitchy energy tapers. He no longer fidgets or looks around at the faces slack-jawed at him. He's gone cold.

Like a killer, he delivers the next blow straight at his master's heart, sitting across the room at the podium, similarly frozen in place.

"But that's not the joke."

"The joke is, I may not have known how taboo it was…that it would be such a big deal to everyone else…but I did know…" (he licks his lips and despite his unshakable intent the uncontrollable emotion he always carries inside him threatens to undo his composure. Still, he keeps his voice loud and steady. Mostly. His attention is focused. His eyes start getting a little wet, but he hardly notices. He's going to follow through.)

"I didn't even really do it because I wanted to. Not then, or like that. (Not with him). Not for the same reason I had wanted to do it before. Or the reason I told Laszlo and Nadja I did it."

"See…the joke is…"

(His voice has become softer. It still carries across the room easily. There is no one else in the whole house but Guillermo and Nandor.)

"I did it because I knew how it would make you feel."

"I did it because I wanted to hurt you."

[lemony-ink]

My family is still staying in half of the church that wasn’t affected by the bombing because there is nowhere else to stay other than tents. They are limited to one small meal a day and one shower a week. They are sleeping on the floors, but no one can sleep since there is bombing everywhere around them. Even when there is no bombing, they can still hear the loud buzzing sound of the military planes above them, which would keep anyone who hears it awake. Along with everything, My grandma has diabetes and osteoporosis, so she can’t walk. She has to take her insulin medication along with many others; however, she has run out of many of her medications.” Am on my knees requesting for donation. Target $450

Hey Cecil! Using the genocide in Gaza to scam money off of people when it could be going to people who are in real need is disgusting. Spamming asks and linking your paypal with your government name on it is extra embarrassing.

Block and report this account and if you are looking to help victims of genocide, help Mohammed get his family out of Gaza here