#idk it’s heartbreaking

[euthymiaaa]

— longing for someone prompts ◛⑅·˚ ༘ ♡

im bathing in angst rn, enjoy!

them haunting your mind constantly, but are you even in theirs?

unconciously searching for them wherever, whenever

itching to text them, yet the guilt of pestering them hits

your stomach being on edge whenever you see someone who has a similar figure to theirs

regularly scouring their social media for any updates

them acting so sweetly which turns out to just be a cruel dream

envy creeping up your throat whenever other people hangout with them

taking them off your mind by hanging out with your friends, just for you to only see bits of their personality in your friends

weeping frustruatedly on your knees because you can't stop recalling your memories with them

surrendering to your insecurities; perhaps they truly are better off without you

hopelessly persuading yourself that you were able to go on with life before knowing them, so you can definitely do it after they left

urging the universe to see them one last time before letting them go (it never happens anyways)

"if anyone is listening, please let our paths intertwine again before the day I take my last breath"

[sreppub]

yj dick, on my mind again (what’s new)

this started out serious and then the rest happened

[strangegutz]

I LOOK INTO MY EYEHOLES, AND WHAT DO I SEE?

A HANDSOME MOTHERFUCKER, MOTHERFUCKING LOOKING BACK AT ME!

[future-crab]

It's been said before, it will be said again, but it's still worth saying: the fact that art centering on straight romance is allowed to just be bad, but art with queer romance in it always has to be indicative of A Serious Problem With the Way We Tell Queer Stories makes being a queer person making queer art deeply stressful

[mr-megaphone]

Charles getting sloppy!

[deoidesign]

I'm so mad that post was misinformation because there is actually an EXTREMELY important conversation to have about the production schedules artists are forced into. There's no need for exaggeration, the conditions are bad.

I work for webtoon. My publication schedule is weekly. While publishing I'm required 10-15 pages a week. Fully colored.

This means I'm finishing a 150 page fully colored graphic novel every 10-15 weeks.

When my comic is not updating, I am not getting paid. Any time writing, editing, or off is out of my own pocket. I don't get healthcare. They do not provide any assistants. They expect me to promote myself; they chose to deprioritize me before I even launched and gave me an end date half a year in. I never had a chance.

And this is the industry standard! Every company has artists forced into crunch hours, overtime, and burnout. Artists are literally dying early due to it. So many of my friends can't afford to go to the doctor.

It's unsustainable and untenable, and it's also the expectation our audiences have.

If we want to have this conversation, there's plenty of conversation to be had with the realities of the situation. It's bad as is.

[salemontrial]

I'm sorry but I feel like non-Australians just will not be able to 100% get Ca$h's character, like I don know if you can understand how impactful it is unless you know eshay culture and how harmful it is. Like I know Chooks, they went to my schools, they take my busses, literally every time I go outside I'm scared of them. Literally as I'm typing this there's a group of them on the bus behind me and it's making me anxious. Ca$h trying to tear himself away from his eshay group in order to protect his friend and safely be with his black nonbinary partner and their alt friend group is like. A massive deal I can't imagine the eshay types I've been close with ever doing that for me

Edit: Not to even MENTION having the eshay character be unapologetically queer and asexual like that is CRAZY. Like there's a reason Darren was so surprised if you're queer and an eshay most of the time you do NOT say it and to have it being portrayed so beautifully is. Gods.

[actual-changeling]

Aziraphale sees Crowley standing next to his their car and he hesitates; this is his last chance, the last possible moment to change his mind about leaving.

Do you think he feels the sunshine on his hands, against his stomach, and remembers how warm Crowley had been in his arms? How warm he had felt beneath his palms even through several layers of fabric?

How for the first time in his existence his body had felt complete, like there was no longer something— someone missing?

Do you think he sees him standing in the sun, all shining fire-red and hidden golden eyes, and regrets not sliding his hand to the back of his neck, up into his hair? Do you think he regrets not taking the chance to feel it silken soft and familiar between his fingers?

Do you think he remembers all the times they enjoyed a warm, sunny day together and the way the star seems to remember that Crowley had put its siblings into the sky? Do you think he remembers rays of sunlight caressing his cheekbones and wishes it had been his fingertips instead?

'Anything you need?' the Metatron asks him, and he is still looking at Crowley with the sun on his skin.

I need you, he thinks, and even though his eyes are hidden away, he knows Crowley is looking at him.

Do you think Aziraphale remembers the kiss, remembers the love he could taste on his tongue, the six millennia of do that, please, kiss me, the slow, painful minute of do that again, please, right now?

(The realization that he won't.)

He almost stays. Almost. But the Metatron is already walking away, and he looks at Crowley again, looks past sunset conversations and sunrise breakfasts and the heart-shaped star in Crowley's chest, and feels his pain.

(Their pain.)

Do you think that's why he leaves anyway? Not just because heaven needs fixing but because all that pain, all the hurt they caused each other, can't have been for nothing?

I can't leave him— no, I don't want to leave him.

No.

No, I want to go back to him.

Do you think he takes his anger and holds onto it until it burns his palm because it is easier to be angry at Crowley, at himself, than to think about everything they just took from each other? Everything they just lost?

Everything they could have been?

Aziraphale takes the memory of sunshine on his skin (Crowley's lips on his) and locks it away in a golden cage made out of faith; faith that Crowley will be there when he comes back.

Once he does (because he will, he will, he has to), there will be sunshine and warmth and Crowley, and they will finally be able to love each other with the sun and the whole universe as their witness.

No more shadows or shades of grey. Just the two of them in the light where they belong.

[thesherrinfordfacility]

something something about crowley shouting at his plants "you've disappointed me", "just couldn't cut it", "grow better", and something something about him shouting at jobs goats "god has abandoned you", "claims to love you, demands your praise", "given you up to be destroyed"

[lonelyspire]

another tidbit that is making me emotional in the septa scene is that rhaenyra has been so stiff since the beginning of the season, rigid with grief and having to hold herself in check because her council keeps undermining her, so she doesn't allow herself to emote very much besides expressing her sorrow but like. the second she's with alicent, particularly when speaking of the scenario of being found out and slain, she's back twenty years, making faces. the first few seconds especially, she's frowning and raising her eyebrows and scoffing etc but there's also an undercurrent of like rolling her eyes, of being facetious almost. and it's not an intensity that stems only from the urgency of the situation, it really is just how she reacts to alicent all the time, whether in the same room or miles away, there's always emotion bubbling out of her when it comes to alicent, and a fondness that can't be kept at bay, even when she's literally threatening to kill her (sort of in a jest) like. they're bound to destroy each other but also alicent is bringing something out of her that pierces through her heartbreak.

[frayedcircus]

she swallowed a calliope and her bones look like a cartoon

[brucewaynehater101]

TW: mentions death, blood

Here is the angst some of you requested. Let me know if I need to add triggers

He isn't going to make it to eighteen. This is a fact. Tim knows, with certainty, that he isn't going to survive that long.

Being a vigilante means that Tim's life expectancy is drastically reduced. He went from possibly dying of old age as the CEO of Drake Industries to becoming a casualty of The Mission. Tim knows the odds. Dick surviving to adulthood is the outlier, not the standard.

So, Tim knows he is going to die within the next few years. Either his blood is going to stain his yellow cape, or Timothy Drake will meet his tragic end in Gotham's streets. This is indisputable.

He had assumed, though, that he would last at least a year as Robin.

He thought Bruce would've been safe.

Tim had spent so long cultivating his plans and carefully navigating his interactions with Bruce. He pushed and pulled Dick, Barbara, Alfred, and some JL members into Bruce's social support. He helped mend their issues, subtly insisted Bruce upgrades his communication skills, and paved the way for a stronger bond.

He denied invitations to spend the night at Wayne Manor, he feigned being full at requests for dinner, and had ducked away from hair ruffles and shoulder pats. He maintained a childlike gaze, a helpful countenance, and a polite business mask.

In the few months Tim has been Robin, he has worked tirelessly to ensure Bruce would have support when Tim inevitably died. He maintained their mutual professional distance to minimize the hurt his death would cause the Waynes. He had designed everything to his best abilities. Tim is going to die, but he would help Bruce before then.

Bruce wasn't supposed to die with him.

Batman and Robin were trapped in the sewers after a cave-in. Apparently, Killer Croc, wrestling, and unsteady foundations were a recipe for a severely concussed Bat and a definitely not panicking Bird.

It could be hours before the two were found deep beneath Gotham's surface. Hours of someone scouring their last known whereabouts for clues before traversing the maze the city uses for their sewage. It could be hours before anyone even noticed their disappearance. Between Bruce's distress signal being crushed in the fight, Tim's being lost in the scuffle, and them being miles underground, this significantly hindered their ability to call for aid.

It might take days before Batman and Robin are unearthed.

From the way the rubble occasionally groaned and trembled, they didn't have that.

Bruce is physically present, his head is cushioned on Tim's lap, but the man's eyes are foggy. He keeps drifting into unconscious before Robin wakes him up again. Each time the man's eyes flutter shut, Tim fears that would be the last time.

It's fine. Tim's okay. Overall, the kid only has bruises on his skin and a few shallow cuts. He might be panicking, but he's physically okay.

Bruce, on the other hand, has a head wound that's sluggishly bleeding into his eyes and dripping down his face. His ribs are cracked from when the man tried to protect Robin from the tunnel collapsing.

Tim can hardly keep his panic at bay when the man starts to doze again. His hand lightly pats Bruce's cheek as he begs the man to open his eyes.

"Hey, B. You're gonna be alright." Tim's voice trembles slightly, but Bruce is too out of it to notice. "It's not going to be much longer. You have to hold on."

Bruce closes his eyes again.

"Bruce. Keep your eyes open."

At the command, the man struggles to pry his eyelids apart. Glassy light blue eyes focus in Tim's general direction. There's an emotion of the man's face that the teen has never seen before.

"We could..." Bruce's voice strains with the effort to speak. Still, he continues to rasp out, "Tomorrow. We could go to the library."

Although it is idiotic to hope, a part of Tim becomes elated at those words. The entire time Tim's been Robin, Bruce has kept him at a distance. They were coworkers, and Tim was necessary, not wanted. The teen could handle curt responses, long silences, and hasty dismissals. At least the man was frank with his expectations and personal boundaries. He never gave false promises or a fake welcome. Bruce was honest with Tim.

If they made it out of there, the man would keep his promise. The two of them could spend time together as Bruce and Tim, not Batman and Robin.

A soft smile appears as Tim regards his mentor. "I'd like that, B."

Bruce's face becomes fond, and his hazy eyes peer up at Tim. "I am glad you're here with me, Jay."

Tim isn't Bruce's son. He isn't the boy whose ghost drapes itself over the shoulders of his grieving father. He isn't a brawler when he fights, and he prefers sci-fi over literary masterpieces.

Tim has two parents. They hardly answer the phone and are gone for months on end, but they exist. They love Tim, in their own distant way.

Tim knows his name is Timothy Jackson Drake and not Jason Peter Todd.

Yet, in the washed-out illumination of an emergency flashlight, the kid faintly beams at Bruce.

"I'll always be here, Dad."

[fox-guardian]

[ID: A digital drawing in a vintage cartoon style of Jon and Martin as a vampire and a werewolf respectively. Jon is a short, Arab man with dark curly hair partly pulled back and a mustache, and he is dressed in Victorian fashion with a green vest and black cape with an orange underside, black trousers and shoes, and a frilly white shirt with poofy sleeves. He has fangs, pointy ears, and is also wearing half-moon glasses. Martin is a taller, fat white man with red hair and body hair and fur, and he is wearing red flannel completely unbuttoned and no shirt underneath, cuffed and ripped blue jeans, and red converse. He has fluffy wolf ears and a tail, fangs and claws, and a dog nose, and he is wearing round glasses. The colors are offset from the line-art in multiple directions and the background is off-white. They are chatting, with Jon gesturing confidently and Martin smiling awkwardly with his hands hear his chest. end ID]

~~~~

HAPPY HALLOWEEN have a spooky vintage jmart <3

[rotisseries]

skyward sword was such a crazy insane game to make like ok what if there was a story about a great evil and a goddess. and that goddess locked away that great evil, but she knew it would come back, and it would need to be defeated again. and what if that goddess knew that for this impossible task, she would need a loyal soldier. so she reincarnates. she reincarnates into a human girl, because the best way, the most reliable way, to get a loyal soldier, is love. and a goddess is respected, and idolized, and revered, but a goddess isn't loved. not like a human girl is. so she reincarnates. and she is loved genuinely and wholeheartedly, by her family, by her peers, and most importantly, by her best friend.

and what if there was a story about a boy and a girl. this one boy loves her so much, that when she falls from the sky, crashing to the earth, and into her immortal destiny, he follows her. and she runs, because she has a destiny, because she's finding out she is part of a divine plot, she and the boy are pawns in a goddess' war plans. did she ever love him did he ever love her or were they just being manipulated by the goddess. SHE'S the goddess. was SHE just manipulating him this whole time? "I'm still your zelda" but is she really? does she know it for sure? she doubts it and doubts it and runs and runs and he keeps chasing her. and she locks herself in time to defeat this great evil and he watches her do it. and he fights because he loves her and he defeats the evil and he gets her back and they're happy.

but what if there was a story about a goddess and a great evil. the evil cursed them for the rest of time. their descendants will never be safe there will always be evil to fight and she'll always be running and sacrificing and he'll always be chasing and fighting.

what if there was a story about a goddess and a great evil. what if there was a story about a girl and a boy. what if it was about the innate mortality and humanity of love and the act of loving. ok. at the walls of nintendo hq

[sadghostgirl14]

[chrysoprine]

Sooooo @/TelekineticBlue on Twitter made a suggestion that Harrow and Gideon as kids, throwing hands in their small nun outfits would be funny as hell and yeah, that's about it. They're so silly-