#if I can just survive until then...

[letmetellyouaboutmyfeels]

Fuck It Friday

I have pulled myself from the exhausted hellscape in which I reside because @princessfbi and @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove tagged me and so, I bequeath you with this:

“You love being the guy who fixes things,” Sean says. If anyone else said that Buck would either bite their head off or hunch his shoulders inward, retreating, shamed. When Sean says it… there’s something soft underneath. Something Buck feels like he can hold onto. Fixing people is hard. And a lot of the time, there’s nothing you can do. Buck knows. He’s tried. His parents. Abby. Maddie. But cars? Cars you can fix. You can’t save a person’s marriage, or their mom, or make them love you, but you can tinker with the engine and adjust the axel and rotate the tires, and then at least you’ve fixed one thing. Buck shrugs, because what’s he gonna do, deny it? “Bobby seems to think I’m good at it.” Bobby also wishes Buck would stick to the garage and not go out racing, though, because Bobby thinks he’s made of fuckin’ china. Sean frowns at him. “You know he loves you, right?” Buck rubs at the back of his neck. “I totaled his car.” “I once scratched our car up,” Sean notes. “I was a kid and my mom was in labor with my little sister. Adriana. Dad was at work, and so I panicked and I got into the car, I figured it couldn’t be too hard, right? I drove it into the wall.” Sean laughs, rueful. “You know what my dad did?” “Read you the riot act?” “But good.” Sean shakes his head. “My ears were ringing by the time he was done. He yelled about the house, about the car, about my mom. You know what he never once did?” Buck waits. “He never once yelled at me about me.” Sean stares out into the distance, at something Buck can’t see. Maybe he’s peering through time. “He never once asked if I was okay, or told me I could’ve hurt myself.” Buck’s throat feels tight. His whole chest is tight. “My dad loves me. I know that. He’s not great at showing it. I moved to L.A. for a reason.” Sean shakes his head like he’s dusting away cobwebs and looks Buck in the eye. “I heard you and Bobby, and I’ve heard about the crash, and not once, ever, has Bobby mentioned his car. Anything about it. The only thing he ever talks about is you. I don’t think he cares that you’re a good or bad racer or what you did or might do to a car, Buck, he cares that you almost lost your fucking leg.”

*crawls back into the hellscape*

[lazylittledragon]

i refuse to believe that boycotting is hard. my favourite thing in the world is ordering maccies after a late night at work/a concert/getting drunk. yes i do miss it sometimes. but the other night i ordered from a small place near my house instead and it was the most orgasmic burger i've ever had in my life. i very rarely say this but fucking suck it up people are DEAD

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 235

“Mother, I have made a friend.” 

Now don’t get him wrong, Danny was delighted at the idea of Jordan making a friend, he really was. But the last three attempts had been borderline kidnappings, so he wasn’t entirely sure if he should be. Thankfully it doesn’t seem he’s kidnapped this one. Hopefully. 

Not that he wouldn’t be surprised if Dan managed to kidnap a tiny kryptonian, but the kid- Jon apparently- seemed happy enough to be there. Apparently his grandparents lived in the midwest too, and was happy enough to have someone to talk about it. 

Though um, maybe Danny should have checked to see if his parents knew where he’d gone, because he was not expecting a harried-looking superman to suddenly appear at his window. 

[gatoiberico]

parfait pals

[myoonmii]

I think the downright most horrific and brutal detail in the show is that Kilgharrah actually used Merlin to make sure Arthur's death happened with the pretence of protecting him

[akeminy]

EXCUSE ME?! WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!!! I’M DONE WITH HIM

HIS ARMS, HIS BODY, HIM!!!!

[starry-bi-sky]

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

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What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  

He has no mouth, but he must scream. 

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 

Scrappy is just not enough. 

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 

Being dead is agony. 

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 

Being dead hurts. 

[saturnniidae]

I think Astrid Hofferson has a bad case of the 'my childhood was wasted, I grew up too fast for something ultimately proven pointless.' Syndrome and that she deserves to get to do silly things she missed out on and take up new hobbies, even if she's not particularly good at them–it's purely for the experience yknow, and learn to finally breathe no longer needing to be on constant high alert and get to be truly happy

[skin-slave]

I wanna say something and all I ask is that you read the whole thing before burning me at the stake.

There are always horrible things happening. There are always ppl who are suffering and dying. There are always corrupt politicians. There are always human rights violations. There are always tragedies. There is always misinformation and exploitation. War is always looming on the horizon or busting in the back gate. The world is always fucked up.

That fact does not mean that the lives affected matter any less than our own. It does not mean that we don't do what we can to help. It does mean that we cannot afford to put our lives on hold while a horrible thing consumes us.

I'm sure that, if your parent/sibling/partner/best friend had a medical emergency, you would gladly do whatever you needed to do to be there. I'm sure that you would sacrifice sleep, skip meals, call in to work, and be by their side until they were stable. You can afford to do that when those emergencies are infrequent and relatively brief.

You cannot do that with the world's emergencies. They are not infrequent. They are not relatively brief. You have to sleep, eat and shower. You have to pay your bills. You have to survive.

Daily life goes on.

It feels unjust. Of course it does. How can you possibly go about the mundane like nothing's going on? You Don't. You go about the mundane like there are horrible things happening. You make the adjustments you can sustain without sacrificing your well-being. You make drastic changes for as long as you can, when you simply can't take it anymore, and then you step back, take a breath, and go grocery shopping. You have to. If you don't, you won't survive the horrible thing.

No one who is going thru a horrible thing wants you to self-destruct. There's so much good you can do over the course of your life if you maintain that life. Adding your name to the list of casualties will prevent all of that good from happening. You have to survive.

And that includes the things that seem optional, bc those things aren't actually optional at all. You need to laugh. You need to watch movies and love your pets and go for walks. You need food that tastes good and clothes that make you feel confident. You need that show you'll regret not seeing. You need to get takeout and take naps. You need to have the weight lifted frequently, so you can heal the parts of you that get worn.

If you aren't living as well as you can, while making adjustments you can afford to make, you will not survive.

Please survive.

[whenthewallfell]

~ and if I can dissolve I do ~

(hanahaki au below the cut)

AU where Peeta develops the hanahaki disease during Catching Fire and the only people that understand the significance of it are Mrs Everdeen and Haymitch, both of which he swears to secrecy since he's going to die in the arena anyway. Snow also recognises the symptoms (rumour has it he underwent surgery shortly after his time in D12) when Peeta is unable to hide it from the cameras during the Quell. The flowers are removed as part of the hijacking process, but whether it was successful or not is uncertain - dandelions are a stubborn weed after all, and their roots grow deep.

[lesbianredhoodedmercenary]

project moon is getting me with the girldads double whammy

ryoshu spider bud ego.... ryoshu getting the ego for the abnormality that's so fiercely protective of it's children to the point of murder... combined with how protective the artist is of his daughter in hell screen... she's the best dad on the bus

[governmentmandatedryujinstan420]

releasing this from the hj discord dungeon because the public populace was in agreement also i'm chronically offline on tumblr and need to fix that for my chronically online ahh

[rickybaby]

Genuine question as I am curious — I know it’s pretty obvious with his expressions/ body language that Daniel seemed shy/insecure(?) about having his braces, but has he ever outright said anything about feeling that way with them? Just out of curiosity as I am new around here!

“I feel very different in terms of looks. Fortunately, experience also bought me better looks. I’m not really too fond of showing people photos of me when I was younger”

[mangozic]

a couple of environment sketches for class

[existennialmemes]

You don't understand! This is my

Emotional Support Escapism Fantasy

I guess call it "maladaptive day dreaming" if you must

[transmechanicus]

Really fucked up that two ppl can care about each other and make their best efforts to communicate and still end up hurting each other so badly they cannot stand to be in the same room.