#I am going a little bit insane

[mormorproposal]

I probably won't ever finish the shards of my aphasia au mormor fic, HOWEVER I still feel like posting it, soooo have at it under the cut, if you wanna read it :)

apha·​sia

(n.) loss or impairment of the power to use or comprehend words usually resulting from brain damage

Your teeth tear up my skin without a single hint of remorse. You simply latch onto me as is your given right. Hands dig into my hips, I relax against the fridge. It isn’t ideal but who am I to negate anything from you ever?

It’s going to bruise. Your palms etched onto my skin like ghosts. We’ve done worse to each other, I know – still, it’s the imprecision behind it all that keeps me up at night.

You used to map my body with delicate rivers plastered on me. Precise. Fine lines, sharp edges, the most complicated brush strokes. I was there to ride out your artistic urges. The new art style needs adjustment to. I’m not used to you being out of control, it sets me on edge slightly.

But it is still you after all, even after everything, so I relax and let you do your personal kind of therapy. Pain and blood is what we always communicated best in, anyways.

You set upon sucking my skin in between your teeth, keeping a rhythm of releasing my flesh and trapping it again. My eyes flutter shut, the hand that is on your back pressing you more tightly against me. Responsively, your nails are scratching at my skin through my shirt. It doesn’t hurt as much as it used to and something in me feels like breaking.

“Jim,” I croak. Your eyes wander upwards, meet my gaze, hold it. I want to pick you up, cradle you, keep you safe from harm, bash anyone’s head in who makes you feel small. There’s a quick jab in my upper torso. What?

I exhale a ragged breath I was unaware of ever holding and shake my head slightly. Your teeth sink deeper, drawing blood. I groan. Boss didn’t like that.

Still, you resume your work, searching for another place to bear pain. I do not think about the implications. Do not think about what it means. I certainly don’t think about your eyes. Haunting me, pleading me to take it all away. I stiffen; your left hand clumsily pushing against my side in discontent. I wince. Look up to the ceiling and blink. Do not cry, Moran!

***

The doctor eventually leaves us to it. One last look of sympathy and she’s out of the door. I hate her already.

“You look awful, sir” I say for lack of better words. It feels hollow. You hate small talk and here I am talking away. You simply grunt, disapproval encapsulated in it. I don’t blame you. It’s not every day that you wake up in a hospital room after blowing your brains out. I hate you for that, you know? The thought of what could’ve been if I hadn’t been quick enough gnaws at my insides; I have to watch your chest raising and lowering to keep my own breathing in check.

You could’ve died and that just wouldn’t do. Holmes is dead, after all – I saw him jump myself. I had orders to watch Watson, I know, I know, I know but then there was the gunshot ringing and how could I not look. Surely you know me better than that. You are always my first priority. Always have been, always will be.

“You won, in case no one told you yet.” How could they possibly have? Last time they saw you, you were still unconscious, staining the concrete. I swallow and you watch my Adam's apple bob, something like triumph glinting in your eyes. You open your mouth at that, exhale shakily, and knit your eyebrows together in confusion. Maybe the glint was just a trick of the light. Your mouth closes and opens again; fish on dry land.

I have crossed the room in an instance, press down on your shoulder lightly. “What’s wrong?” The metal of the hospital bed is cool against my triceps and I can’t shake the thought of Everything. “Great” You mutter eventually, nodding to yourself, before shaking your head a small fraction. “Great” You repeat again, facing me this time and smiling. It doesn’t reach your eyes and something in my heart goes terribly cold. Sure, you aren’t in the bestest of conditions but your looming win shouldn’t feel this gloomy. You should be ecstatic, if anything. Bordering on manic. I’ve planned it all out for us, honestly. The restaurant we’d celebrate at. The camera in our room, only waiting for us to shag, a sympathy card for the upcoming funeral.

This doesn’t feel like anything celebratory at all. Hasn’t felt that way when all the doctor had for me was a sympathetic look and a referral to another doc, and certainly doesn’t feel that way now with you actually staying in bed instead of yanking me to you, insisting you shall be out here at once!

“Phon” You manage to mumble near the direction of my hand on your shoulder, then again. “Phon, phon, phon!” It grows more frantic each time, stumbles out of your mouth, tickles the skin on my hand. You laugh. Bubbles out of you, bounces off the walls, rings in my ears. You choke on it, possibly as surprised by the sound as I am. My brows knit together in confusion. The next giggle has panic vibrating through it. “Ligert” You sigh when the shaking of your shoulders subsides.

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Phon, in this context, is supposed to be the word "won" & Ligert is supposed to be the word "Tiger" - both of which faced a common symptom of fluent aphasia (namely: phonemic paraphasia during which incorrect phonemes are substituted or, as for the t in ligert, added)

[doctorwhommm]

torchwood doodles (i definitely don’t have a favourite character)

[taiso]

jarvis cocker (pulp) trading card from melody maker magazine (1995)

scanned from my personal collection ^^

[stump-not-found]

fic drops tomorrow

[3-aem]

thinking about touch starved touch sensitive gojo again. Absolutely desperate for even the most grazing touches from getou and yet overwhelmed by it all.

[theropodtheroblogs]

so I'm caving and writing the Megatronus/Megatron smut because I'm insane, and I had to work out sizes, and a friend sent me this initial chart from twitter and then I had to modify it to have all the d16 megs versions For Reasons and I nearly had a happening because they use the middle version of d16 to represent the cogless d16 in terms of height, which tricked me for a moment and I fucking nearly lost my shit because if that was accurate then cogless d16 would be under megatronus' KNEE.

as it stands he's barely above it.

my favourite part though is that at no point is d16/megs ever above dick height on his idol

the initial image is on the left, the purple and red is me, and the image on the right is from the ILM page on designing tfone its so good you should read it very cool

[skitskatdacat63]

sobbing at how happy they all look

[garvalhaminho]

sometimes i truly am doing fine and then i remember ty and livvy had never spent a day apart ......

[joethehoeee]

Stricklake month week 4: Blood/Healing (TW)

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{In a world plunged into eternal night by the forces of darkness, Barbara Lake fights to survive alongside Walter Strickler, a changeling who once passed as human. After a brutal encounter with monstrous Gumm-Gumms leaves Barbara gravely injured.}

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{Walter desperately tries to save her, revealing his deep love for her. Tormented by guilt over his role in her son Jim's death, Walter is determined to protect Barbara, despite the secrets he keeps. Her trust in him gives him the strength to continue, even as the darkness of their world closes in.}

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And????

Is that fun???

Missed this AU?????😃��

Come on, we all know you missed it. That's why I am saying yall might get a full on fanfiction. (I know yall hate me for it.)

But first: Link for the short prompt story.

You don't need to know much, the summary explains enough and the story as well. If you want to know more, go to my Masterpost and search through the DystopiaStricklake!AU.

Closeup:

[revolutionarywig]

I think i can do a pretty good robespierre signature forgery

[browncesario]

hey sorry we narratively nullified your boyfriend. yeah he was a controversial yet long intended culmination of an impossible romance arc that allowed for balance between joy and tragedy but it turns out if you just decide there aren't any rules the tragedy part could've apparently just fucked off. it was actually by far the best choice we could make, but yeah there's another one of him living in a shed in his best friend's garden now. so sorry.

[moeblob]

son boy raccoon trash can man suffering in a dnd au as a cleric bc his warlock will not stop committing murders and he has to keep coming up with reasons murder is valid to convince the gm its fine and under control

[nixoon-again]

The idle hum of the fluorescent lights is all that resonates in his sensitive ears. 

Distantly, he recognizes that he's been sitting in the same position for too long. Long enough that the light seeping through the  window somewhere to his right isn't as warm and golden in its hue anymore. He realizes that night time has fallen upon the bustling city of Station Square and perhaps it's late enough for everyone to be leaving for their homes and settling in for sleep after a nice warm meal.

Even more distantly, if that is even possible for his current almost disassociated situation, he realizes that he should be asleep too. Of course his rest doesn't have much to do with the time and the shift in the sky's colours or the quiet city just beyond these walls. He never fell into slumber with the sun, working late at nights for hours without breaks sometimes left him no opportunity for sleep at all. He doesn't mind it though, he likes working. Even if it costs him a bit of rest, he'd rather have his work done sooner than later. Maybe that's what he needs right now. Something to work on will be much better to distract his mind than the buzzing of the lights.

Unfortunately, as much as the idea entices him, he can't leave for his workshop just yet.

He doubts he'd be able to.

If his trembling legs don't give in under the weight of his body then the soul crushing grasp of something icy and sharp around his heart will certainly stop him.

So he stays where he is and listens to the buzz of the lights, of the footsteps as people walk by thin in numbers, as a clock ticks away in a distance — indicating that hours have passed but Tails can't get himself to count the ticks or look at the clock. He has worked hard to concentrate on the fluorescent lights, on their inner workings, their first discovery, their usage and why they're being used in hospital waiting rooms and everything he can think of about them on the top of his head in an attempt to ground himself but he's afraid if he looks at the time, he'll lose his progress and will be back where he begun; on the verge of curling up in a ball of fluff and crying his heart out until he passes out.

The waiting room falls deadly silent after a while — no more footsteps entertain his hearing range and Tails is afraid he's the last one left waiting for updates from the doctors.

This is a bit odd for him too, he hasn't been in this position many times aside from a few where one of their battles did get pretty out of hand but despite all of the adventures, they don't regularly show up at hospitals. Let alone sit in waiting rooms for hours on end, hoping and praying that someone will walk out of that door and tell him that everything is fine, he's fine, he's safe—

Do they even know he's here? 

Probably not.

Then again, technically, he isn't supposed to be here either. 

For all the doctors and nurses know, he's supposed to be asleep under the weight of all those painkillers in his hospital room.

But there's not much sleeping he can do, can he? 

Not when he doesn't know if Sonic's breathing again or—

Nope. No. Okay, let's not do that. Back to the lights. There's a moth that has started bumping into it repeatedly and he briefly wonders where it got in from since the windows appear to be closed and all. Briefly, since he doesn't ponder it for long. He lets his tired eyes — exhausted, red, getting heavier with every passing second and threatening to dampen — trail the insect's movements. It bumps into the light, circles about afterwards and then tries again and keeps repeating this cycle and maybe it's enough to distract him, even for a while. He's enraptured with the small creature's naïveté. 

He thinks, in a sense, he isn't that different from the moth. 

He just doesn't know if the waiting room is his light or is it his brother?

He's afraid to say it's the latter. 

Tails loves Sonic. 

He loves his brother more than anything in this world and he's been so sure that Sonic loves him just as much if not more too because that's just who they are. They are Sonic and Tails, they're brothers not bound by blood but something stronger — an unbreakable thread binding them both. They're a cosmic truth.

Yet Tails finds himself sitting here and questioning himself of that bond.

Sonic and Tails are to each other what a moth is to a flame.

They love each other.

But Tails is starting to see the flame get too close.

They'll burn.

And Tails is okay with burning if it's for Sonic, don't get him wrong. He'll do anything for Sonic. He's burnt for Sonic before, the bandages covering half his face and his right arm should be enough proof.

He's just afraid of burning Sonic.

He's afraid they've reached that point today.

Sonic is hurt because of him.

He's supposed to be the smart one, isn't he? Three hundred IQ and he couldn't have realized this sooner? Did he really need for today to come pass to know what the unbreakable bond truly means? Could he have spared Sonic the pain?

Tears prick at his eyes but Tails doesn't think he deserves to cry.

Not after what he did today.

Not after being the reason he almost lost his brother today.

(Worst of all; he still doesn't know if Sonic is okay.)

Tails finds it difficult to breathe around the lump in his throat.

Pathetic. Cry baby.

His own voice echoes in his mind, taunting.

He takes a deep breath and steels himself. He knows the solution to the moth and flame problem but he's certain Sonic will never agree to it. Sonic is too kind, too good, too generous. It will be cruel of Tails to know how to protect his brother and not do it, Sonic doesn't deserve that. 

Tails hurt Sonic.

The flame burnt the moth.

In order to not hurt Sonic anymore, Tails will simply snuff out the flame.

Even if his brother disagrees with him, Tails knows it's for the best.

(Quietly, distantly, his own heart disagrees with him too but he's too scared to listen to him.)

Another half an hour passes before a doctor walks out of the emergency room.

There's a hint of surprise on her face upon seeing him there — since he's supposed to be resting in his room and not be here — but she quickly moulds her expression into a more professional one before she delivers the news to him.

“He's awake.”

Even though Tails smiles, his ocean eyes tired and out of tears, he doesn't visit Sonic.

He doesn't visit Sonic for a long time.

[bee-snail]

HELLO CAMP CAMP FANDOM !!!

I'm going so crazy about him yes yes

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

(end of bad’s Acceptance vod, about 1:48:30)

no but im never going to be normal again. LOOK at this. look. IMMEDIATELY before this he gave a whole miserable speech at the graveyard about how much he misses the kids and how he wants them to come home. He was grieving so hard it started to rain. He cried while he sang to them. It was the perfect end to 5 days of grieving- and then he does this.

and the rain isnt about grief anymore- the thunder isnt a peaceful background to a heartbreaking scene. It is rage. the whole context changes. The storm raged on while he grieved like he raged during the Everything Else that happened (“there are a lot of federation workers on today. I need to interrogate them about some things” he said while he was following forever ALONE to distract him. he knew forever was fucked up and about to put more marriage pressure on him and for anyone else that would have been Terrifying. how could you focus on anything but that? but. bad was thinking about tormenting more federation workers)

i just!!!! its so good. its SO good its so scary its so good. bad hasnt accepted the loss of his children but he has accepted how far he will go to get them back. (he will do anything)

[millennium-queen]

“Friend. Lover. Victor. Enemy. Fiancée. Target. Mutt. Neighbour. Hunter. Tribute. Ally. I’ll add it to the list of words I use to try and figure you out.” - MockingJay p. 315-316

Finally settled on a cover art for my personal Peeta playlist after like 4 different attempts lol