#grieving is a challenge

[notafashionstatementitsasideblog]

Y’know, I think the saddest part about hearing of Bobs passing was the fact that the last time he was seen alive was 3 weeks ago and that his body was so badly decomposed, like really no one came to check up on him?? I don’t know much about his family but seriously no one thought it was odd for him to drop off the face of the earth for almost a month???

Obviously I am aware of his actions in the past and his current political views and in no way condone any of them, however he was still a human, a very influential human no less, with a phenomenal talent for drumming, and to hear that it took that long for people to find him is truly devastating.

I’ve only seen two videos of people celebrating his death but the fact that people are celebrating in the first place is disgusting, hate him all you want but celebrating is sick.

[lovefaist]

one day at a time. 

if he really focused, art could still hear his dearest grandma say those words to him. one day at a time. for he must never allow for his racing thoughts to consume him with ambition. it wasn’t easy for him to keep those words in mind, because he was always so determined to be great.

it came to the point where he’d run himself dry, his sacred routine eventually burning him out. it was days like those, when he was in bed staring up at the ceiling with all the muscles in his body aching like a reminder of his incompetence, when he wished he could ask his grandma for one last hug. one last summer in her small, cozy house, no, home, one last time to be her favorite boy.

with the hot tears pricking in his eyes, he chastises himself for letting his youth pass by him so rapidly. his dorm room lingers with a scent that feels foreign, so unlike the sweet aroma of his grandma’s baking that always seemed to hang in the house much too short for art’s liking.  

he had not given himself much time to grieve. after she passed, art had not allowed himself to think about her for too long because it would force him to feel and he did not have time for feeling. however, now that his body has forced him into an inability to do anything but stare at his white ceiling, he cannot help the soft sobs that break the silence. her words ring through his mind like a siren. one day at a time. if he had taken that advice, would he have been spared from this sickening guilt he feels about barely visiting her in her late stages of life? would he feel like he had loved her more wholeheartedly if he had not taken her presence for granted?  

art cried himself to sleep that night, forced in a spiral of despair that he wasn’t strong enough to take himself out of. the feeling was all-encompassing and so overwhelming that his chest still burned the following morning, a reminder of how he heaved and cried and begged for life to stop passing him by.  

[adhdevankinard]

u know just once I want a scene where someone puts Buck’s emotional wellbeing first

[sk3tch404]

Welcome home.

So guys, I used graphic pencils for the first time on one of my art assignments and now....

Just know that ur girl got it 💪🔥

Also dont mind his fuck ass shoes okay

[charleemoon]

i think a lot about obsessive insecure hannibal constantly worrying about being good enough for will.

after the fall, still healing from their injuries, they're intimate for the first time. it was bound to happen, hannibal felt the tension building, knew it was a matter of time until they were both well enough. it had been so long, years of oscillation, revolving around each other, violently close but never enough to touch. he wanted it, and he wanted to make it good for will. will had never asked, never pushed, never touched him more than he wanted. still, the pressure to perform was enormous.

in their sweet touches, their heated breaths, all hannibal can think about is what if this is it. what if im not enough. what if this is the moment he realizes im not what he wants. that everything, this swirling intensity, their mutual destruction, their rebirth. what if the hunt was what excited him? and hannibal is prey that wasn't worth the chase. he must've touched molly like this, countless other women. maybe even other men. hannibal knew how to satisfy a lover, he felt no shame in that. but will wouldn't want that. he wouldn't want doctor lecter, in all his practiced perfection, his measured pleasure, his feeble satisfaction. he would know. he wants hannibal, in all his scars in weakness, here in this cabin at the end of the world, nothing but the two of them. no one left to entertain. he's not sure if he can.

the last person he was honest with, he was forced to swallow her whole, and any person beneath him who dared disturb his isolated world followed suit. everyone except will. undone by his weakness, forced to his knees in his acceptance, he is terrified of what might happen to his soft heart if we were to lay it in wills hands. terrified that rather than kiss it tenderly or crush it in his palms, will may not want it at all. disgusted by the gesture, bored by his desperation, he would set it down and leave it to the bitter cold. will was not a stranger to changing his mind, after all. it wouldn't be the first time.

hannibal wouldn't say this, he won't. he'll find ways to suck it between his teeth, make these first few times nothing but beautiful and good. he'll wait until he can control it, a whispered confession, with dry eyes. the overwhelming tenderness of their bodies, burning each other in the heat, the whispered praises under his breath. hannibal can't focus on it, his cock barely half hard from anxiety. he won't, he won't, he won't. he knows will's hands are stilling, knows he's gently asking if he's okay. he can't fuck this up, can't destroy this like hes done to them over and over and over. hannibal is ruining, soiling what they could be with his disgusted vulnerability, the pathetic juttering of his weak heart.

hannibal, with his endless cruelty, the ways he's picked and prodded and pulled at will. the way he's broken him, ripped everything from him and watched him twitch and convulse with nothing left. after all the wrong he has done, it can't be in this moment, that the childish desperation, that his weak, pulsating parts are when will has had enough. hannibal's humanity can't be thing that will rejects.

it bursts open, and he sobs, weak in a way will hadn't see him since will had been under him, bleeding out from his stomach, hannibal soaked in the rain. rather than being changed by will, maybe he was just broken. broken by his desire, his hunger so strong he ate himself from the inside out. he crashed against the current of the ocean, and shattered into the sea. would will still want him if it meant having to put him back together?

and will stops, hands hovering over hannibal as he winces in anticipation, certain that will must not want to touch him for what he is now. for the weakness that has rested in his heart, unseen and now grossly on display. hannibal screws his eyes tight, feels the hot tears dampening his cheeks, the shuddering in his shoulders. it feels like the absolute worst moment to be seen like this, regret twisting his stomach and burning holes into the image of their intimacy.

will's touches return, gentle and caring. consoling, kind. hannibal meets his eyes and they are watery with love. tears beading in his eyelashes, honored at the privilege to see hannibal in moments no one else has. not in a very, very long time. forever bestowed the role of his undoing. god, in awe of his creation as it lives under his guiding hand.

they lay with each other that night. quiet and soft, will's warm, course palm rubbing circles into his back, kissing away warm tears when they come. they don't say anything. will doesn't ask, doesn't push, doesn't touch him in any way he shys away from. will wants him all the same. wants nothing more than hannibal, hannibal, hannibal. in every form he comes in, in every outline he takes, in his strength, bloodied and wild, in his weakness, wilting and meek. so long as it's them, together, in every shape, fitting together, skin against skin, made whole.

[aestknowsbest]

Okay, after much consideration and many trips to relating wiki fandom pages, I have decided on the base characters YJ + company will be based off of in my DC x EAH au.

Now bear with me, as ofc the characters I choose for them does not mean that I believe their personalities perfectly align, but I'm pretty satisfied with the selection (⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

Cassie Sandsmark: Sparrow Hood or Hunter Huntsman (headstrong, rebellious and a bit of a punk methinks)

Cissie King-Jones: Lizzie Hearts (they seem to really vibe for me, and I can see Lizzie HATING following the same steps as her mom)

Greta Hayes: Meeshell Mermaid (DOOMED FROM THE START YES YES THE ANGST)

Anita Fite: Faybelle Thorn or Farrah Goodfairy ,(it really just depends on her mood, you know how it is)

Kon Kent: Darling Charming (idk doomed Yuri is doomed Yuri to me. also um. the Trauma and the Horrors)

Bart Allen: Madeline Hatter (need I justify my reasoning?)

Tim Drake: Apple White or Alistair Wonderland (hnhhjsjsj problematic girlies are my heart and soul take my firstborn take it all)

Cassandra Cain: Raven Queen (*slaps roof* this bad boy can fit so much desperation to not be their parent.)

Stephanie Brown: Chariclo Arganthone "C.A." Cupid (looking out for others at the expense of herself, the symbolism, the romance arc)

Laura Fell: Cerise Hood (the truth about her father needing to be kept a secret?? having to hide a crucial part of herself???)

Bernard Dowd: Blondie Lockes (THIS IS PERFECT AND I DO NOT ACCEPT CRITICISM ON THIS OKAY?)

[acotars]

vent in the tags sorry it’s a big bummer

[thestressedsimmer]

[magic-multicolored-miracle]

I am afraid.

For myself as a woman and queer person.

For my clients who are elderly and/or disabled and rely on programs like Medicaid and Social Security.

For my colleagues (and myself) as employees of a nonprofit, especially with Jewish in the name.

For my POC friends. My queer friends and family. My disabled friends and family.

For my friends and family who are teachers and crisis counselors and medical professionals, whose careers and possibly lives will be threatened even more by pro-lifers and conspiracy theorists.

For my friends that are specks of Blue in places that we slowly and with horror watched turn Red.

For this country. For the direction things are going to go. For the light at the end of the tunnel turning out to be the tikitorches of a MAGAt rally.

But I am also here. I love you. I support you. I want to help you however I can.

And I am not going down without a fight.

[glitchfang]

"blue's raticate" is actually a really interesting concept to explore in fanon because of what it'd add to blue and the protagonist's relationship, and it makes blue more tragic. but people who treat it like its hard canon are pretty annoying ngl

[aturnoftheearth]

no guys you don’t understand it’ll all be so great my cat will miraculously show up at my door 7 months later and i’ll get a great job that i don’t hate and lord huron will drop the new album and it’ll be the perfect balance between night and day vibes with at least one nature song and it’ll still have that pang of nostalgia and i’ll be able to make it to red rocks and they’ll announce more tour dates including florida and my head will stop hurting and

[ejga-ostja]

DAY 17: The Fray- Without Reason

- Because I spend a concerning amount of time thinking about how Kaz's sole purpose for most of his life was revenge and how, once he finally gets justice for himself and Jordie, he's gonna be left with years of bottled-up grief and unsure what to live for now.

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

The fact that Vash has to keep reminding himself that he can also be threatening and dangerous probably means something that I am too tired to piece together atm but for now it's just funny to me.

[aestknowsbest]

I just love writing them together your honour

[townsenddecades]

1330 – Day 3 – Branson Farm

Elton Branson, Elsie’s first and only child (at least so far) dies at less than two years old. He just falls ill and the fever claims him, as it does so many infants. It wasn’t a failure to thrive, either. He was doing well. There was no sign she could have seen, no way that she could have prevented it.

Sibyl tries to tell her that it happens, that it isn’t her fault, that she will surely have other children, but Elsie can tell that her mother-in-law is just putting a brave face on a tragedy. After burying her beloved husband, she must have practice for that.

What surprises her is to see Freddy openly mourning as well. At first, she hardly notices it through the fog of her own grief. It wasn’t that he had ignored their son in life. He had played with him and held him as any father would. But there had also been times when he had seemed annoyed at his very existence, especially when it came to the parts of having an infant around that weren’t pretty and easy. Or he would have to be reminded that he even existed, when he wanted her to do something and she had to brush him off to care for Elton.

But he is standing beside her in the churchyard after the funeral, crying just like her.

“I can’t believe he’s gone”, Freddy says, after a long time of silence. His voice is thick and husky with the tears he’s shed. “He seemed so strong.”

His words echo Elsie’s own feelings. But she’s spent her time tending to her boy, trying to save him despite fearing that there was nothing she could do. Freddy hadn’t been there much. He had kept to working on the fields while she and his mother had done their utmost.

“You weren’t even there when he died”, she says, lowly.

“What?”

She turns around to face him. “You weren’t even there when he died. That was me and your mother. You didn’t ask how you could help, if there was someone you could bring in to help, anything.”

“Elsie, you know as well as I do that we can’t afford a physician. And someone had to do the work on the farm.”

“And one or two missed days are more important than your son’s life?”, she screams. She has never screamed at him before. She would like to say that she hasn’t dared, but it simply had never occurred to her that there was any point to it. But she can’t help it now. She is too angry, too heartbroken, to care.

Freddy seems equally taken aback, but he quickly recovers himself, balling his hands into tight fists.

“What do you expect me to have done? Caring for children is women’s work! If you want to blame someone, blame the Watcher, or my mother, or yourself. Shouldn’t there be some household remedies you women are supposed to know?”

“I did what I could!”, she screams back, but her voice is already beginning to break. He’s right. It was her duty to care for their child. But Sibyl is much older than her, and she couldn’t do anything, either. The Watcher takes so many children each year. Those mothers can’t all be bad at caring for their children.

Freddy scoffs. “So did I. But I did my tasks correctly. You don’t see the animals or the crop withering, do you?”

“You can’t compare a field to a child, Freddy.”

“I’m not. As I said, maybe it was just the Watcher’s will. But don’t lay the blame on my door when it wasn’t my task to begin with, as if I haven’t lost a child, too.”

Tears are prickling her eyes again, and she nods numbly. He’s probably right, and she is just looking for an outlet to her pain.  

Previous: 1330, Day 3, Part 2/5 <--> Next: 1330, Day 3, Part 4/5

[butterscotch-goat]

first colored Taylor parents drawing!! Henry and Morgan!!! My worsties!! They're actually very nice characters but they technically cause like the whole plot to happen so. I love em tho