#if you have enough blankets

[treibholz-des-universums]

goth fam as tweets part 2

more incorrect one piece

[pinkhairswagtourney]

consider helping a homeless + disabled trans lesbian seek shelter this winter

my friend harmony was kicked out of her abusive + transphobic parents' house last month for being trans . she was able to stay with someone for a week before she was once again , kicked out for being trans . the person who let her stay has a partner who was extremely transphobic towards harmony and forced her to leave . she is once again without a place to sleep .

she has a few job interviews set up but needs help until she has a source of income . per her request , she has asked for money for hotel rooms , food , gas , and at the very least , a good winter jacket and a blanket if she has to sleep in her car . if you can , consider helping her by sending a few dollars her way , i'm extremely worried about her and it's been dropping to below freezing temperatures .

please rb this and spread the word

c-sh-pp + p-yp-l

[sysig]

Two skeletons in a trench lab coat (Patreon)

Bonus:

He’s very careful! Everything was fine before you interrupted!

[bleedingcoffee42]

Dick Winters, I hope they release your entire photo collection someday because there HAS to be more of this.

[mo-ok]

💛🌻✨ yellow ✨🌻💛

🌠

[starry-bi-sky]

Blood Blossom Au: before the nightingale sings

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for my batdad blood blossom au, the one where Vlad poisoned Danny with blood blossom extract and Danny ran away from him and ended up tumbling into the care of one Pre-Robin Battinson Batman :). A quick oneshot telling the tale of the tragic deaths of the Fentons

TW: Major Character Death Warning

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Not all deaths are created equal.

That is a valuable lesson in life to learn. One that Danny learns when he is eleven years old, standing in the pit of his parents’ creation; the culmination of their life’s work. The portal to the other side, the realm of the dead. To the infinite. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, in a hazmat suit that sags on him, and boots that clunk when he walks because the only ones that fit are his mom’s, and even those are too big. In gloves that he has to clench his fists in because otherwise they fall off. In goggles that slide down his nose even when he’s tightened them the farthest they can go. 

He learns that when he’s eleven years old, choking on giggles that harmonize with the laughter of his friends’ who stand at the mouth of the tunnel. Sam’s holding a polaroid in her hand. They’re just being kids. 

They’re not laughing when Danny’s hand hits the safety lock — the one with faulty wiring, the only one in the tunnel. The only one he could possibly hit. They’re not laughing when the portal buzzes to life, and the lights inside switch on row by row as the generator begins to rumble and hum. 

They’re not laughing when Danny dies. They’re screaming. They’re not screaming when he comes back.

Not all deaths are created equal.  

Some are poetic, beautiful. The satisfying close of a book as it comes to an end, of the hardback thumping soft against the pages like the sound of a door closing. A train run its course.

Some are violent; unsatisfying; unfair. The unexpected shattering of an egg as it rolls off the countertop when nobody is looking, the unmistakable crack as it falls to the floor. It is abrupt and messy. 

But most are just… unremarkable. Unintentional. Clumsy. 

Danny’s family dies one night in late January. He is thirteen years old, barely a month away from fourteen. It is unforeseen. It is preventable. It happens. 

It happens like this: 

Their water heater breaks one Monday in January. It’s old, sitting in the garage, and has dealt with nearly sixteen years of Fenton-grade chaos and shenanigans. Of parents tossing scraps and junk into the garage as brief storage to come back to later. Of illegal tune-ups on their vehicles that result in something exploding. Of little children running around and knocking things over, playing with poles and sticks they find on the ground, on the shelves. Of being lived and used.  

Something had to give. 

Jack Fenton notices it immediately when he comes upstairs that very afternoon — his children at school, his wife downstairs — to grab something from the garage. The very same scrap and used material they store like squirrels to use later. 

He stops what he’s doing to fix it.  

It wasn’t supposed to be permanent. 

Despite what many believe, Jack Fenton is not the idiot people make him out to be. He knows what he’s good at, he knows what he’s not. He knows he can be passionate and obsessive and single-minded about things. He knows that he is a scientist, an inventor; an engineer. 

He knows that he is not a plumber. That fixing water heaters is not something he knows how to do, not safely. And he loves his family. What he does is only meant to be temporary — a fix meant to only last a few days until they can call someone in who can fix it for them. 

So Jack Fenton futzes with the water heater, gives it a temporary stitch to last a short while, and reminds himself to call a plumber later that day to come in and fix it. He turns and leaves the garage with the part he came for —  a sheet of metal for his wife to melt down — and disappears back downstairs. 

He does not make that call; it slips from his mind. 

It is not his fault. 

One day passes, then two, then suddenly it is Thursday. The water heater has still not been fixed, the water heater has been forgotten. It is nobody’s fault.  

Danny asks his parents at breakfast if he can stay over at Tucker’s house for the night. Just one night. They’re going to study for their math test and then play video games until midnight, but he only tells his parents that first half. 

He’s been doing well in school. Really well — better than he has in a while. There’s been a delightful lull in ghost appearances for the last few weeks. The living don’t know why, but Danny does. The Winter Truce always calms the dead down for a while, something about how the Zone cleanses itself twice a mortal year and that fresh wave of ecto clears out the old and brings in the new. 

This year Danny got to participate. He’s feeling the effects of it too, and he’s been sleeping consistently well for the first time since the accident. 

It’ll never happen again. 

His parents agree under the condition that he doesn’t stay up late, and Danny harmlessly lies through his teeth and agrees. He goes and throws overnight clothes into his school backpack, and when he leaves for school with Jazz his parents are already departed into the lab. 

The last conversation he has with his sister is in her car on the drive to school. Inane, mindless conversation to fill the air and pass the time. Jazz comments on how relaxed he’s been lately; Danny tells her about the Winter Truce. She listens in rapt attention. 

She tells him that she’s glad to see him so well-rested. She thinks her little brother’s been growing up too fast these days. She thinks he’s been too tense. Too caught up with the spinning of the world around him that he forgets about himself sometimes. 

When they reach school, before Danny can get out of the car, Jazz looks to her little brother and says; “I love you.” 

Her little brother’s cheeks turn an embarrassed shade of red. He makes a scrunched up, grossed-out face, but can’t hide the smile pulling across it. “Don’t be a sap, Jazz. I’ll see you later.” He tells her, yanking his hood up over his head. She hears the bashful, ‘love you too’ before he walks away. 

That is the last conversation she ever has with her brother. 

Thursday is unremarkable, passing by in its normality as it always does. There’s one, maybe two ghost sightings; shades lurking around in curious infancy that are easily spooked away by the presence of a greater being. Danny doesn’t even have to go ghost. 

Thursday evening is even less so. Danny goes to Tucker’s house — Sam has a prior arrangement with her slam poetry club — and the two of them study for an hour before they toss their textbooks aside and reach for the game console. 

Danny sleeps in Tucker’s room with one of the extra blankets on his bed, curled across the room in one of the bean bag chairs. It shouldn’t be comfortable, but to Danny it is. He sleeps throughout the night, the portal shut down by his parents before they’d gone to bed. 

Early Friday morning, before the sun has even risen yet, before it’s even so much as a concept to grace the horizon, the water heater breaks again. It was supposed to be fixed. 

Carbon monoxide is a silent killer. Odorless and scentless, it kills within minutes. It fills the house like a shadow casting over the ground, creeping into the rooms. 

Danny’s family die in their sleep; painless and unaware. 

It’s not Jack Fenton’s fault. He didn’t mean to.  

Nobody wakes up with their alarms. 

Danny wakes up to Tucker Foley’s alarm on Friday morning, and he turns his head intangible and shoves it into the beanbag chair like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand. Tucker gets up before him, and throws a pillow at him as he reaches for the alarm. 

There’s laughter, messing around. The both of them get dressed, and Danny has breakfast with the Foleys that morning. He takes the bus to school with Tucker, and they meet Sam by their lockers. 

To him, everything is as normal as it should be. There are no ghosts for him to fight right now, school is as school does, and he’s on top of all his schoolwork. 

He does not see Jazz at all that morning, he doesn’t notice. Their schedules are so different, their routes on different paths, that it’s not uncommon for Danny to not see Jazz until he gets home some days. That’s if there’s no ghost attacks. 

At lunch, he gets approached by her friends. Worried creases between their brows, they ask him if he’s seen Jazz. She hasn’t shown up to any of her classes. She’s not answering their texts. It’s unprecedented of her; unheard of. 

Danny doesn’t admit to the concern that swells in his gut when they tell him this. He shrugs at them, and says he hasn’t seen her either. But it was probably nothing to worry about; she might just be sick and sleeping it off. 

He offers to text her and let them know if he gets a response, and that seems to ease her friends enough that they shuffle away in uncertainty. He keeps his word, and does exactly that. He pulls out his phone and opens her contact, and shoots her a message.

‘Where are you?’ 

He doesn’t get a response back, Danny is left on sent. He puts his phone in his pocket, and with a sense of unease creeping in the back of his mind, goes on with his day. He gets no response by the time the final bell rings; and he tries not to be worried. 

The house is quiet when he opens the door. Unusually quiet. He drops his backpack to the floor, it lands with a hearty thunk, and begins to take off his jacket. “Mom! Dad!” He yells. He hangs it up, and slips his shoes from his feet. “Jazz skipped school today!”

A laughable untruth that would get his sister all riled up normally; she should be able to hear him from the front door if she was in her room. The house just stays dead silent. 

He can’t even hear the usual banging and crashing from the lab. His unease returns. He reaches for the intercom that leads directly down to the basement, and presses the button to turn it on. A burst of static, and then he speaks;

“Mom? Dad?” 

Danny lets go, and waits for a response. He gets none back. That never happens, not when the house is this quiet. Not when he knows they should’ve heard him. 

Something sickly and fearful borns in the pit of his stomach, and begins to snake upward. He heads for the lab. The cool metal of the door is familiar in the grooves of his hand, and he doesn’t even need to think about the code as he punches it in;  he simply lets muscle memory guide him. It’s been the same since he was little. 

The door hisses as the pressure is released, and he swings the door open. He takes the stairs down two at a time. Something is wrong. His parents aren’t answering him. His feet pound against the metal. 

“Mom? Dad?” He calls again, more worried, more frantic. More scared. His voice echoes down the stairwell, and he reaches the bottom before it’s fully faded. The lab is empty. The portal is still shut down. 

It was four in the afternoon, they should still be down here. 

Danny races back upstairs, fear-raised nausea coiling in his throat. “This isn’t funny you guys!” He yells when he reaches the top, shoving open the door with more force than necessary. His head swims, his voice cracked. 

He checks the garage, the car is still there. 

“Mom!? Dad!” His voice bellows out throughout the first floor, loud enough that it bounces back at him and rings against his ears. He’s never raised his voice this much — mom would scold him if she heard him. But she doesn’t show up. “Jazmine!” 

Finally, he goes upstairs, and he can’t tell if what he’s feeling is anger or terror. Something is very, very wrong. 

He swings the door of his parents’ rooms open first, and there they are, with the lights still off and the curtains still drawn. As if they hadn’t left their bed all day. Some of Danny’s fear lifts from his shoulders just by the sight of them, but he’s still trembling. Something is still wrong — the room smells… off. Not good, not bad. Just… off. 

He swallows dryly, his throat still thick, and steps into the room. “Mom, dad?” They do not stir. “Didn’t you guys hear me yelling?” 

There is only room static. Danny’s heart shrivels in his chest with a tenfold return of terror, he feels ill. He remembers, just now, that they’re not heavy sleepers, and his dad should be snoring like a freight house. 

Danny reaches their bedside in seconds, hand outstretching for the covers, “Momma? Dad?”

Not all deaths are created equal. 

But many of them are accidental. Unmeditated. Shocking.

Danny Fenton finds his family dead in his childhood home. He runs to his neighbors in hysterics, inconsolable, in tears. Nine-one-one is called, but there is nothing that can be done. They were dead for hours by the time Daniel Fenton returned home. 

He sits on the front steps of the neighbor’s house beside FentonWorks, his jeans slowly becoming wet from the snow that was unable to be scraped off, and watches the paramedics cart out his family beneath white sheets. There are police cars blocking off the street, yellow tape blocking off his house, red-blue lights lighting up the block, an ambulance on the scene. He is wrapped in a shock blanket, and he is missing his jacket and his shoes. His tears are freezing onto his face, he can’t feel the chill. 

Not all deaths are created equal

But all of them are unforgettable. 

[dykesevika]

It always upsets me so much seeing her lose her arm for a second time :(

Men DNI

[milkweedman]

My cat loves wool maybe more than I do (her favorite thing to do with wool is rip it to shreds....her second favorite thing is to lay on it as though brooding wooly eggs, and refuse to move), but I didn't think she'd care about the linen blanket at all.

She seems to like it a lot though. I don't know if its because it smells a lot like me (or so I imagine, as I did spin this yarn and knit it up) or because she also has an appreciation for high quality natural fibers...hard to say.

[icewindandboringhorror]

sneepy cozy time....

[pttucker]

「 Kim Dokja thought: Yoo Joonghyuk is now in the Gilobat Industrial Complex. 」 At first, I purely felt gratitude. Ah! Yoo Joonghyuk was a decent person! That jerk hit the industrial complex to save me! I felt thrilled for a while without thinking much. Then once I thought about it, I couldn't believe it. That Yoo Joonghyuk entered the Gilobat Industrial Complex to save me? In the first place, it was strange that Yoo Joonghyuk knew about my crisis. How could a guy who wasn't a constellation or have access to a channel know about my crisis? Thus, Yoo Joonghyuk was likely to do the opposite of coming to my rescue. He noticed that I impersonated him and came to the Demon Realm to pick me up. In the meantime, something went wrong and he headed to the Gilobat Industrial Complex first where he went through an unnecessary dispute and overturned the industrial complex. I couldn't even fathom how much rage it felt to do that.

Hey, remember when Uriel and Joonghyuk had that conversation about saving Dokja and Joonghyuk gave those absolutely atrocious excuses as to why he was "really" going to the Demon Realm, you know the ones that were so bad Uriel straight up started laughing at him right in his face?

Remember how Joonghyuk was soooooo obvious in his desire to save Dokja that nobody would ever believe his bullshit mumbling about 'usable items' or some shit?

Well great news!

THE ONE PERSON IN THE ENTIRE STARSTREAM WHO ACTUALLY BELIEVES JOONGHYUK'S UTTER NONSENSE IS KIM FREAKING DOKJA

In fact, Joonghyuk didn't even have to give his excuses, Dokja just thought them up all on his own!

UGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

[acediaedeus]

I love the “Ichigo using a strawberry flavoured shampoo” propaganda in fanfics, but let’s be honest. a dude who hates it when ppl interpret his name as the berry, and not “first hero” or wtvr, would not use or even buy a strawberry flavoured/themed anything.

although we can go with someone else (Karin) buying it for him, but he would just steal and use hers in retaliation, no matter how “girly” that one would be (although I think Karin would use men’s shampoos).

it would be immensely funny though, if Ichigo actually liked strawberries, like it’s genuinely his favourite berry and he enjoys the scent/flavour, but won’t use anything associated with strawberries, because otherwise he’ll get teased to hell.

also, how about Masaki loving that her son’s name has this cute meaning along with a serious one, and so always using strawberry flavoured shampoos for Ichigo, making strawberry shortcakes, smoothies, buying him a T-shirt with them on it, hair clips and hair ties with strawberries for him, her, and then the twins too laying all over the house. Ichigo had a strawberry plushie and a blanket with strawberry print since BIRTH.

but then his mother dies. and all of those things become too hard to look at, to enjoy, even if the whole family loved them at one time, so they go in the closet. the only reminder of strawberries in the house since Masaki’s death is a sticker on her poster.

Ichigo’s love for strawberries and his name died along with his mother on the rainy day of June 17th.

when Grimmjow comes around, and they start to hang out more, even outside of the spars (scandalous, I know), one of the first things he wants to try are strawberries. cue a very smug-looking Grimmjow devouring like a kilo of strawberries in front of Ichigo, who grows redder with every berry, that gets crushed by Grimmjow’s teeth. whether it’s from anger, embarrassment or a secret third option (hor-knee) nobody knows.

he does, eventually, return Ichigo’s love for the berries, because he gives him a new positive thing to associate them with. plus, Grimmjow’s intentions are pure, even with all that teasing. he genuinely only likes strawberries because they remind him of Ichigo. (after some time in the LW he also tries oranges, and declares them to be Ichigo’s fruits too).

[allthewhumpygoodness]

The phrase "he woke up in a nest of blankets" came to me last night and I'm still obsessed with it

[suddencolds]

~

[isa-ah]

for people who have anxiety but live alone anyway: how do u deal with the panic? I live with 2 other people and still have bubble burst moments of random fear that only gets soothed by putting myself in someone else's eyeline. what do you do when the catastrophising starts???

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

I've always wondered if you happened to have a discord? If not have you ever considered making one?

i do have one! however i use it very sparingly because 1) new people (especially groups) scare me & 2) brain's been fucking weird for a hot minute and i barely talk to people i'm already friends with let alone strangers

[whoblewboobear]

Getting hung up on Tracker and Kristen taking digs at each other when they’re still talking about something bigger like religion frustrates me to no end. Yes they are exes, yes things can come off rude but neither one of them has been wrong in the meat of what they’re saying when discussing religion and the way they practice.

Outside of the fucking or fighting, Trackerbees have ALWAYS been able to understand each other and hear each other out when it comes to their respective gods or religion as a whole. They both have different perspectives to offer, different work ethics, and different wisdoms to share the other because there ultimately is a bigger picture. These young women are both incredibly wise.

They’re also messy ass teenagers! Those bigger, more introspective, and worldly questions will be interspersed with a low blow or two. But it’s a low blow because there can be some truth to it. Focusing ONLY on the low blows and using that to paint whoever you like less as a bad person gets you nowhere. ​It kinda does a disservice to the story telling when you paint it sooo one note bc Brennan and Ally do SUCH a good job at drawing out the complexities of their relationship. The infatuation, The toxicity, the hurt, the gratitude, the frustration, the support, and the love. All of it.