#sort out their emotional damage

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

more laughingstock pleaseee? 💙 💚

Yes Yes Yes i have this very small soft scribble to offer <3

[spocks-kaathyra]

"ur repressed" okay well have u even considered that emotions r purposeless and only serve to cause harm to those around u and I have achieved a unique transcendent state beyond them. have u considered that

[hydrangeyes]

I really do love how the fandom has their ship but man do I wanna see a bit more of the rivals to codependent to lovers route more

[bootyful-seventeen]

i am too mentally exhausted to even deal with this shit anymore with my mom and grandma and low key wish i'd go comatose for a few years to be left alone tbh

[sneepity-snoop-snorpity-sneep]

hey, does anyone remember that line from the LOK korra finale - “when we reach our lowest point, we are most open to change”, and the line from disney’s Atlantis “when you hit rock bottom, the only place left to go is up”?

cuz i was thinking about darth maul again, and it occurred to me; he was way, way chiller during rebels, and closer to being i guess balanced??? in a way????? like as close to having a balanced sense of self and being at peace as maul was ever gonna get at least, but ANYWAYS

the point i’m meandering towards here is that he didn’t start to heal after the 10+ year nightmare fuel period of his life post Episode 1, even though that seems like it really should be his lowest point

no no no, ya boi only started to let go of his constant state of complete self-destructive rage even the teeniest bit only after he’d clawed his way back up from that ‘lowest point’ with family, a brother, who cared about him

and then sidious kills savage right in front of him

maul’s rock-bottom was apparently NOT the massive amount of pain and trauma that was his entire early to adult life, it was getting One Good Thing in his life and then losing that thing as a result of his crusade for revenge

[lorelune]

debating on whether to open commissions or work OT this week bc oof :((

[moonspower]

vi: *opens his mouth*

everyone around him: you better shut the HELL up. right NOW.

[scorchedhearth]

i wanna try to read task force z again because the panels from its ending i've seen do interest me a lot

[mrfoox]

I keep being annoying I know but it is so so soooooo amazing to have 90% good or decent days instead of 70% bad and 30% manageable days

I can't stop talking about it bc ive never known anything else. Of course I struggle to even take care of myself when my mind has been telling me to off myself or hurt myself or just bad shit about me

Who has energy to do anything when someone you can't get rid of keeps screaming at you you're worthless?

And now... I still have bad self image ofc, I still have my asd/add and the difficulties tied to that... But. My mind is in a different place. I can focus of the things I appreciate. I see the world so... Differently. The world hasn't changed but my eyes and views on it has

[a-pocket-full-of-rodents]

Poetry slump, the walls are grey again.

And the sharp sting of my right cheek outweighs her gentle nurture

I murdered my philodendron just last weekend

I had poured and poured and overindulged the sweet thing in water

Often I am scared my love will twist itself into a similar spectacle of violence via devotion.

Blood does not have a nice taste I think. Not tonight.

Which is odd, as 3 nights ago I had found myself drunk on the warm wine of fear and anticipation.

My teeth are starting to ache again,

Sweet sugar cavities and sharp invasive tools both chipping away at me

Isn't it funny how kindness and hostility can both send me to dentures?

I think the birds have started singing again.

I hear their songs more often now, I am starting to feel seen again

My bruised eye thinks the same

Another red night, another grey morning

My mirror swore it was getting better.

She has loved me, that I am sure.

She tells me so as she brings about her storm and she tells me again as she taps gently against tin roofs

And they both conjunct together in a harmonic hurricane of devotion.

The yellow sun rises in the east and sets just outside of helping distance

And as war planes and laughter mix together far outside my grey and red and yellow life

I am once again crying grey. And she is once again storming red.

She is all at once wretched and divine, and as my concussion fades into numbness I am once more itching for a paintbrush

I suppose poetry slumps will do that to you.

[avid-adoxography]

Wallet got stolen? Just draw some werewolf Horned King to cope with the loss! ✌️🥲

I'ma put it under the cut because 1. 'tis but an ugly wip and 2. it's a little bit revealing <3c

Also this is partially this thread's fault. Y'all were galaxy braining in there and I wanted to hop on the train too but alas I was too late. As usual :')

[gyudons]

despicable

updates as of 22 oct

Travis Dermott knew that he would draw attention with his actions in the Coyotes’ home opener against the Anaheim Ducks at Mullett Arena on Saturday. The Arizona defenseman just hoped that the spotlight might shine on the issue that he was addressing, not on him.

“You don’t really want to go against rules that are put in place by your employer, but there’s some people who took some positive things from it,” Dermott said. “That’s kind of what I’m looking to impact.

“You want to have everyone feel included and that’s something that I have felt passionate about for a long time in my career. It’s not like I just just jumped on this train. It’s something that I’ve felt has been lacking in the hockey community for a while. I feel like we need supporters of a movement like this; to have everyone feel included and really to beat home the idea that hockey is for everyone.”

“I won’t lie,” said Dermott, who is playing on a one-year, two-way contract. “From the outside, it’s easy to see that I’m putting my career on the line for something. I definitely went through some emotional ups and downs that night, not regretting anything by any means, but I’d love to have maybe done a couple of steps a little different by making sure that everyone was aware of what was going on before I did it.

“I don’t want to put my teammates or my coaches or my GMs or the equipment managers in any kind of bad light when it’s their job to kind of look out for something like this happening. It was definitely something that I did just by myself and was prepared to kind of deal with whatever repercussions the league decides to push towards that. I’m not going to back off and say that this battle is won, but we’re going to find better ways to do it.”

As Dermott noted, LGBTQ+ inclusion is an issue that he has supported for a long time. Without getting into specifics, Dermott said the issue is personal for him because it impacts people close to him.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t shed tears about this on multiple occasions,” he said. “So yeah, it’s something I’m definitely very passionate about.

“I’ve met a lot of people that from the outside, it looks like they have everything going right in their life and they have a smile on their face every time they talk to you. But sometimes when we get closer to people and get comfortable enough for them to open up to you, you can see that there’s some pretty dark stuff happening to some good people. It doesn’t take too many times encountering something like that for it to really change someone.

“I’ve been blessed to have some of those opportunities put in front of me to really change my view of what being a good person means; what being a good father and a good example and role model means going forward. You really see how people are hurting and it’s because of a system that maybe no one’s intentionally trying to be malicious about, but until you’ve really had that first-person experience seeing people hurting from it right in front of you, it’s tough to kind of take steps.”

It would be a surprise if the league handed down any sort of punishment. The optics alone would add to the public relations damage that the original ban created. Even so, Dermott reiterated his desire to bring the entire franchise into the fold before he takes similar actions in the future, but he also made it clear that he will not be silenced on the topic.

“It’s not like I’m shutting up and going away,” he said. “I know more questions are going to be coming. We’re just going to be as prepared as we can be to just spread love. That’s the thing. It’s gay pride that we’re talking about, but it could be men’s health. It could be any war. It’s just wanting world peace. Everyone’s got to love each other a little bit more.

“Like my parents said growing up, ‘How awesome would it be to be the guy that people look up to?’ That’s what really hit home when I was a kid, especially from my mom. You want to grow up and be that guy. You want to be the guy that’s having the impact on kids like NHL players had on you. If they had been racist or bigoted, that’s going to have an effect on you.

“With how many eyes are on us, especially with the young kids coming up in the new generation, you want to put as much positive love into their brain as you can. You want them to see that it’s not just being taught or coming from maybe their parents at home. They need to see it in the public eye for it to really make an effect.”

[arolesbianism]

Ok new au Aris brainstorming is finally going somewhere me when I recruit an unstable 14 year old for the basically a supercomputer in her brain only to realize I actually just recruited two unstable 14 year olds

[borzoilover69]

I've always had this feeling that Dirk envies his brother and hates himself for thinking of Dave that way.

( elaboration under the cut )

I’ve always had this headcanon that Dirk is in some ways jealous of Dave, especially after the game. Jealous of the way he seems so great compared to Dirk, with a better life, a lot more friends, and easier to bounce off of and get along with by far, while Dirk struggles to form connections and understand tone cues due to his relatively isolated childhood. In both the alpha and beta universes, he's a hero in Dirks eyes, even if Dave doesn't consider himself one. A hero, that Dirk could never hope to achieve to be.

Dirk has always wanted to be a knight and Dave is a knight, he was “enough”. Where Dirk believed himself to have failed in a way to grant any real damage or order in his void session, Dave pulled a lot of hard work to make sure his counted. In a way it’s a jealousy covered by admiration. He admires Dave so much that he is essentially a pedestal to everything Dirk wants to be and subsequently cant be. The way he talks, the way he walks, all the friends he has that Dirk doesn’t really have. He doesn’t seem to have half the issues that Dirk himself perceives himself as happening.

The sort of jealousy that makes Dirk pick at himself. Because he knows it’s one sided. He knows it’s not good to feel like this, not healthy. Why does he feel so much dislike for Dave when he’s so great? Dave has been nothing but nice and accommodating to him. And that makes him in a sense hate himself more. Its a cycle of realising he dislikes his brother due to envy (in turn caused by how he puts him on a pedestal as a true "hero"), then questioning and lashing out at himself internally for harboring negative emotions towards Dave, beating himself about it because his self hatred confirms he can never be Dave, before listing all the reasons why Dave is great (and he isn't) and falling in this cycle all over.

I think he’d hate himself because he can’t find the end of the cycle. A snake that eats itself. Dirk can’t be him. Yet in some ways he wishes to be as great. But he can never be that great, because Dave is the top bar in his mind. Which leads to hate for how he thinks about it and how he’s again, doomed to be himself. And only himself.

Dealing with jealousy and envy in that matter, he would likely not bring it up to anyone, not even Dave or Jake. He might make some semblance of a mention of it, but of course the fear of being seen in a certain light by both parties makes him back off and make him reluctant to talk about it in general.

[thethingswedotomorrow]

Crowley has been with humanity since the beginning. The original serpent of eden, he is the first "monster" in humanity's bedtime stories. He is the figurative and literal demon on human's shoulders, always there to guide them one way or another. He's weaved through history itself, and prides himself on an impeccable track record of demonic activity throughout the last 6000 years.

But, naturally, after 6000 years, Crowley finds that he's spent more time pining after a certain Angel than doing any sort of work. Like, an extreme amount of pining.

And it isn't until after the notpocalypse that Crowley realizes that, entirely accidentally and very embarrassingly, he may have accidentally made his pining very, very public.

One of Crowley's favorite ways to waste a day is to take Aziraphale to different museums around the world and watch as the angel wanders around and points out all of the inaccuracies

"Good Lord Crowley, have you seen this painting? Portraying you as a dragon is a tad dramatic, I think. All we were doing were having a picnic. And I have never had my hair looking like that, thank you."

"I don't know Angel, they've got your wings spot on. Wa-Hang on, have they added horns to my head?"

"Oh, I see, suddenly it's only inaccurate when they've got you wrong."

The museums always seem to be miraculously empty, and whenever Crowley mentions this, Aziraphale suddenly finds a new, very interesting piece of art to admire

Crowley admires the lengths Aziraphale goes to to hide the small miracles he's done for Crowley's sake

As if Crowley wouldn't move literal mountains for the angel

*He did, actually, do that once.

In the 12th century, they were having a lovely evening together with multiple caskets of wine, up until Aziraphale complained about the amount of light in his eyes

"Honestly Crowley, all this sun and no shade, it must truly be awful for the humans around here with no shelter. It's a tad much, even for me."

Crowley, even then, immediately recognized this off-hand comment as an underhanded complaint, and knew that would not stand

When the small earthquake passed, Crowley claimed that the nearby church was on a fault line and he was simply doing his demonic duty by damaging holy goods in the area

If Aziraphale realized that the mountain range in the distance suddenly provided much more sun coverage, he never mentioned it.

Currently, however, Crowley follows Aziraphale around, wandering behind him and never truly looking at the things in the museum

In every single place they've ever gone together, there was only ever one thing that deserved Crowley's attention

And it certainly was not an inaccurate model of a 18th century tea set

But when Aziraphale wanders into a hall titled 'Love of the Past', he starts to panic. Just a very tiny amount, basically none at all. A small enough amount of panic that he could deny it, even to himself.

He thinks about the past, towards the beginning, back when Humanity was still getting it's footing and figuring out how to have governments and societies and (the most important part) figuring out the whole alcohol situation

Throughout the years, especially towards the beginning, Crowley began to resent any time not spent with Aziraphale

Everything seemed small and dull when compared to the way the Angel smiled when he saw new type of human dessert, or the way he laughed when Crowley managed to work out a clever comment

And once Crowley experienced those things, he never wanted anything else

He had seen the poetry the humans had written, how much emotion they could pour into a simple piece of parchment or a clay tablet

He never cared for written word, but he was shocked at just how much feeling the humans could manage to pour into words

So after Aziraphale left Rome (after the oysters and the wine and the smiles, for somebody's sake the smiles), he went due east for a new miracle on another continent

Crowley stayed and got well and truly drunk. As he did best.

He had spent a few weeks around the other drunks around the area, most poverty stricken and saddened with some sort of grief of one type or another

It wasn't until a group of poets wandered into his dark corner of the pub that he started to considered writing

Obviously nothing anyone would ever read, he'd ensure that. Every scroll or parchment that he'd touch with a quill would be burnt with hellfire before it left his sight

But, as many of his worst ideas started, he had nothing better to do and too much time to think

So he wrote. He wrote letters, first addressed to nobody, about random thoughts that would pop into his very intoxicated brain. Whether humans would ever find traces of the unicorns they lost on the ark, whether he would ever find a way to count just how many scales he had, whether he would ever reach a point where he didn't have to cover his eyes every day

Slowly, the letters started becoming addressed to 'A'. Whether he was conscious of this or not, he'd never admit.

But he wrote. He wrote to A about Hell, the jobs they required of him, the things they'd have him do. He wrote of the way humans had beaten him to the punch 90% of the time. How they would do things worse than Satan himself could imagine, and they'd never blink an eye while doing it.

He wrote of the way the sun darkened each day that passed without his Angel, the way his wine never seemed to have enough flavor when he was alone.

He wrote of the ways he imagined he could orchestrate an elaborate reunion, a convoluted mess of too much demonic activity in a small area that just happened to have a wonderful new tea, or so he's heard, and wouldn't it be a shame to leave the town without tempting the angel to try it?

He wrote to A about how he was sure he had no heart, no emotions. He was a Demon, for somebody's sake, he certainly had no need for stupid things like that, and so the ache in his corporation's chest when he sees the Angel had to be some sort of malfunction.

Anatural function, surely, that could be fixed with the right amount of aloofness and strong liquor

He wrote of the way the sun always seemed to hit the Angel's hair just right, and Crowley had no faith, he had no God.

But in those moments, with a halo around the angel and that smile aimed towards him, he might consider praying now to a different source altogether, a closer source. One full of life and light and actual proper goodness, not that fake advertised bullshit they plaster on church walls in pretty paintings and sad songs

Crowley wrote for a long while, and found that the writing helped the pain.

Even if only because it brought on memories of Aziraphale, and that was enough to hold him until they met again. It had to be, he had no choice in the matter.

And he wrote so often throughout the ages, and often while he was drunk. And he was so sure, so positive that he had burned every trace of his heart and emotion out of existence.

He had to be. The danger those words could put Aziraphale in was far too great. He couldn't be bothered to care of the danger to himself, but the fact that the very hint of any emotion could come close to hurting his Angel was enough to ensure that they would never come across another being's eyes.

He destroyed every letter and word that described his desire, his pain, his greed. He ripped the words he created out of reality as easily as he had written them. Every time, he burnt the parchment, and every time, it burnt a part of him with it.

And then the Apocalypse had happened. Or, well, didn't happen, he supposed. Really, he wasn't entirely sure if there was a difference.

Because everything had changed, even if the rest of the world hadn't noticed. And he was suddenly allowed to see Aziraphale with no excuse, no half-hearted reasoning behind it. He was allowed to want, and to crave, and he relished it.

And he was allowed to take the angel to museums to watch him fuss over small mistakes humanity had collected throughout the ages

Until he realized that they had, in fact, also collected HIS mistakes.

In a hall. A whole bloody hall. A hall, dedicated to and full of stupid parchment and sappy letters and wine stains over words written so long ago

And honestly who gave them the right? Leave it to the humans to collect other people's belongings and put it on display as their own

And he knew, from the moment Aziraphale read the first page on display, he just knew. This was it. All of it was ruined.

All because Crowley had gotten so drunk and passed out in his room above the pub, and when they'd thrown him out in a drunken stupor, they'd collected his belongings to sell afterwards. And he'd never even realized, so concerned about the next meeting, the arrangement, concerned about anything and everything except the one thing he forgot about and could end them both.

Any moment now, Aziraphale would look up at him, with disgust and confusion and all those emotions that he'd really rather not see on his face, preferably ever, but especially not towards him.

But Aziraphale never looks up. He reads the first page 5, 6, 7 times, being sure to capture every single word. Every wrinkle in the paper, every crease.

Then he moves to the next, and then the next. He repeats this process. Every page, he scours each and every page. Searching and scanning, analyzing every word.

Crowley is frozen at the entrance of the hall, too terrifed to say a word, but too hopeful to leave. He stands there, suddenly feeling the same feeling in his chest that he felt so many years ago, in the corner of the pub, sitting in the dark, wishing for the light that he knew would never come.

He's so panicked, that he doesn't notice Aziraphale finishing the last page, and wiping the tears from his eyes. He startles when he accidentally meets his eyes, and prepares a number of excuses and deflections, all to preserve this shred of peace and safety they had carved out for themselves.

"Angel, I- you really- ngk- humans are so rid- are you hungry? I could eat, I've heard they've got a killer bar around here, and we cou-I can get us there in 10 minutes, ngk actu- scratch that, we could be there in 5, I bet. Museums aren-angel?"

Crowley finds himself stopping the random stream of words coming out of his mouth, when he notices tears in Aziraphale's eyes

"Angel, I-"

That's all Crowley can get out before Aziraphale is walking towards him with a purpose

And suddenly Aziraphale is very close to him

Very very close

And suddenly Aziraphale's lips are on his, and Aziraphale is holding onto Crowley's jacket, and Crowley's hands are just waving in the air back and forth while he processes the last .5 seconds.

By the time he realizes what is actually happening, Aziraphale pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against Crowley's, and laughs.

He laughs. Laughs. Aziraphale is laughing and it's a wonderful, beautiful noise and Crowley doesn't quite understand why, but then he's laughing too and then they are both standing there, arms around each other, laughing and Crowley realizes now that all the words he's written, all the praises he sang of his Aziraphale, the way he wished and prayed for his heart and laugh and love

Not one bit of it is at all comparable to the real thing.

[angryisokay]

I’ve seen a couple posts saying “well if you don’t need to see a therapist before getting a boob job then...”

You should be getting therapy before any cosmetic procedure. Your surgeon should be asking for a sign off from a therapist that says ‘This person is stable and understands the changes they want made, why they want those changes, and how it will impact their life’. Ideally, you should have the mental skills to do your own introspection on the matter, but it helps to get the opinion of someone trained to walk you through that introspection process and root out any underlying issues that surgery won’t fix.

IIRC cosmetic surgeons used to require all patients to do a few therapy sessions before going ahead with any surgery. That has most likely changed, for the worse, because it’s a highly profitable industry that preys on people with bad self esteem.

Surgery isn’t going to make things better if you haven’t done everything you can to fix the underlying issues beforehand. You’re not going to love yourself more afterwards if you haven’t dug out the poisonous barb that’s turned you against yourself. Cis women and men who get cosmetic surgery very often do not come out the other end happier and more fulfilled. They end up back in the surgeons office  chasing something that cannot be given to them through sub-dermal plastic, bone shaving and botox.