#and everything feels a little better

[sharkylad]

Thinking about the fact that Mabel and Dipper didn't know they had two great uncles.

Yeah they are 12 and at 12 I had a shotty understanding of my family tree- But really? Nobody brought up their great uncle? Stanley? Especially since they'll be staying with his twin brother, Stanford?

Shermie never went to Stan's fake funeral, which to me means the twos relationship was strained on some level. If Shermie is older that means his view of Stan was poisoned in some way, that even as kids they weren't close. If the Shermie is younger then he never even got to meet Stan and all he knew about him was how he failed his family. Hell, people probably barely mentioned Stanley TO Shermie.

The fact that Stan had become a black stain upon the Pines family name makes me so vividly upset. Stanley faked his death and the family just- seemingly decided to strike him from the record. To pretend he didn't existed to spare themselves the sadness and shame.

Stanford and Shermie Pines. The only children worth mentioning of Filbrick and Caryn Pines.

It was never Stanford that was lost to the world. It was Stanley, ever since he had to leave New Jersy- it was always him that had to be struck from the record. Change his name, change his state, change his affiliations, destroy the remains of ghost that was Stanley Pines. Kill him so the family doesn't bring him up, doesn't ask questions, stops asking "Stanford" about his twin.

I just keep thinking about the fact that since the day he made one single mistake all the way up until Ford walks out of that machine- Stanley Pines was killed and did not exist. And Stan himself had no one to blame, he had to play the part in his own demise- He is the only one who ever knew Stanley was alive and has been for decades.

He lives in the multitudes of every personality he's ever taken, all in the hope that he himself can stop being Stanley Pines.

[monomorphilogical]

In the bayou

''It's too damn early for this,'' I told him. The coffee he had given me resembled the same sludge that permanently stuck to the soles of my boots, and I swirled it around in my cup like it'd come alive if I let it sit for too long. The air was heady, thick with warmth already as though the sun hadn't come up a handful of minutes ago.

I looked over at him when I heard the crinkling of newspaper. One page stuck up in an odd angle, and there was a jagged tear where the page folded into a new one. In silent question, I stared blankly as he wrestled with the paper for a bit before flattening it out against his knee in surrender.

He huffed and discarded the creased thing before looking over at me. ''Drink your coffee.'' His fingernails were permanently lined with grit, like the mud had become a part of him. It's only been a few days in the bayou, but the mud's starting to become a part of me too. It's creased into the worn leather of my boots and jacket, I suppose it won't take long until it creases into my skin.

''That's an insult to coffee,'' I muttered, swirling the sludge around again. ''and you never answered my question.'' Time feels different here, but I'm sure no less than a few minutes must've passed. I turned away from him, staring out towards the old truck, once-white-but-aged-yellow, and the rust eating at its sides. I wondered if the truck would feel the same as me, were it to have emotions.

He thudded his boots onto the wooden floorboards a few times until some dried mud flaked off. ''What question?'' The entire porch shook miserably with the action, and I tightened my fingers around the cup. Perhaps it had been longer than a few minutes.

The bayou tends to swallow everything up.

''Lately, I've got this giddy, hollow feeling inside. This urge to do something stupid, or to wreck some thing, but the nearest thing is myself.'' It was closer to the truth than I had gotten in a long time. ''So, what does that mean?''

I took a sip of coffee, coughed, spat it back out again, and it slid back into the cup exactly like mud would. It tasted disgusting, and a sick part of me wanted to down it in one go until I threw up or choked. He gave me a look, all eyebrows and downturned angles.

''Kid, you're damned near covered in it all. All those guts, an' none of the glory, all of them stabs you've taken at yourself.'' He leaned back, rummaged in his pocket, and pulled out a battered pack of cigarettes. “Don’t think I ain’t listening to you.” My throat closed up, skin itching, whether it were his words or the cigarettes, I couldn't tell.

When he'd caught me smoking out back yesterday, he'd smacked the back of my head like I was a child. Later, when I laid in bed, I had dug my nails into the skin of my neck, like I'd be able to hold his hand if I dug in hard enough.

I pulled out a lighter and held the flame towards him. He gave me that look again as he put the cigarette between his teeth, but he leaned forward all the same. The hairs around his lips had turned grey-yellow, a combination of poorly-made cowboy coffee and nicotine. I wondered if he tasted like it, too.

''Don't think,'' He said, and I looked up from his mouth, then down again as he took a few quick drags in succession, smoke tangy in the summer-air around us. ''Don't think for a second I don't know what you're doin' here, but I wonder what the hell I'd see if all that metaphorical blood was visible.''

''I'd be covered in it,'' I couldn't bear to look at him as I said it, and I stared at the mud below the porch instead. ''I don't think you would be able to recognise me, if it were.''

He made a gruff noise, achingly familiar as though I'd been here for years already. ''I'd recognise you anywhere,'' he told me, and then recoiled, like he thought he’s been too gentle for the gruff-old-man stereotype he'd fit himself in for so long.

''Then I think, I put my insides on my outside.'' and it's rotting in the southern sun, I didn't say. ''I'm hollow on the inside, because it's all dried up on my skin like some nightmarish shell.''

There it was, that giddy feeling again, filling the empty space inside of me so rapidly I couldn't sidestep it. I followed it forwards, dropping from my rickety chair to my knees in front of him, plucking the cigarette from his mud-stained fingers to put between my lips.

Under the overwhelming tobacco taste was something headier, better than his cowboy coffee.

I got a grunt for my efforts, but he let me have it, sighing something long suffering. From where I sat, down on my knees, the world seemed small enough to hold in my hands, like we were the only ones in the whole bayou.

He stared at me like I'd been doing to him all morning. Then, ''You oughta know, a person ain’t meant to be hollow, somethin’ will always fill that empty.'' He wrapped his hand around my wrist and took a long drag of the cigarette from where I held it between my fingers. “Just ‘cause you ain’t used to the mud, don’t mean you can’t learn to walk on it.”

''You think I can’t walk through mud?''

''Don't you play dumb, you know better.''

I tilted my chin up in defiance. ''Alright then. So what are you saying? The urge to self-destruct is just because I don’t know any better?” As soon as I said it, I wanted to shove the words back into my mouth. I’d gotten too close to the truth, I hated it. I hated it so much that for the first time since the blinding sun filtered through the trees, I felt sweat run down my back.

He knew, and I hated that he did. “There’s hunger in them eyes of yours, and you’re so damned blind with it that you start bitin’ at yourself until you’re covered in your own guts.” He said.

All at once, the giddiness dissipated into nothing, the hollowness suffocated me, and I made to stand back up and away from the moment of vulnerability, but that gritty hand clamped down on my shoulder. “Ain’t that the whole reason you’re here in the first place?” I refused to meet his eyes. “You keep runnin’, cause good things scare the livin’ hell outta you. Don’t you realize the mud ain’t made for runnin’?”

Maybe the truck wouldn’t feel like I do, but it’s me who feels like the truck. Rusted red, stuck in the mud, forgotten by the bayou but kept alive by one gruff and stubborn old man. “Then what?” I said, “What the hell do I do now?”

Another huff, silence, and then fingers underneath my chin. I met his eyes, once-green-now-mostly-grey, and I dropped the forgotten cigarette in my forgotten coffee cup. When his hand moved from my chin to the back of my neck, I ignored the biting instinct to pull myself out of his hands, but even so, his fingers tightened as if I’d disappear if he didn’t. Slowly, I allowed myself to lean on him, and if it weren’t for his thumb wiping away at my cheek, I wouldn’t have known when I’d started crying.

“You gotta accept the mud, kid.”

[meownotgood]

ah............ a.......... ha........... who is this... beautiful beloved....... handsome........ wow............ aki

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Let the revenge games begin.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[puppppppppy]

(guy who has never played cotl) haha au time

[welcometothedaddyissuescult]

quite honestly if bruce doesn’t want to kill the joker, the best way for him to deal with him and ensure he never hurts anyone ever again is to build an underground one room bunker that’s soundproof and made of lead in the middle of the sahara or the amazon, drop his ass inside with like 100ish years worth of supplies, weld the door shut, and then walk away. he never tells anyone what he’s done and he never writes it down anywhere. that information lives only in his head because he knows no one will ever be able to torture that information out of him. i think the only person he might have to give a vague heads up to is superman. because if clark sees a underground bunker made of lead he’s definitely checking it out. so, i think bruce would just be like

bruce: hey, clark, just so you know there is an underground bunker in the middle of the amazon and it’s made of lead and it contains the most dangerous thing on the planet. it must never be opened.

and because it’s clark, he would be like: do you know what exactly is inside it?

bruce: yes.

clark: and to keep the world safe, i just have to do nothing and ignore it?

bruce: yes.

clark: okay.

eventually everyone would forget about the joker and on his deathbed, he’d tell dick about the bunker and dick would tell jason. together dick and jason would go and pry it open and just see a very old joker laying in his bed still laughing and without blinking jason would just shoot him in the head, they would reseal the bunker, leave, and never discuss it again.

but that will never happen because of bruce’s dogmatic and immovable morality. he will always catch the joker, he will always give him a trial, and he will always send him back to arkham. but if i got control of dc comics i would make him do this.

[toomanywordsnllines]

Sometimes... the world can be a little too much.

[tapakah0]

Eh, almost forgot ;~;; Commission for sweet @celestialrose3 ;;~;;; Thank you so much *bows*

[moonsnqil]

Kevin watching Jean ask Jeremy if he's okay, watching Jean offer to hold Laila's bag so she can fix her shoe, watching Jean hand Cat a granola bar before a game because she looked a little unsteady. He's not jealous, he had his time by Jean's side. Maybe it's grief. Grief for something that was never so innocent, never so untouched by cruel hands, something that could've been better if they were anyone else. Grief for something that's long passed and can never be fixed to be made better than before. He had his time at the receiving end of Jean's concerned glances. Maybe he's just a little sad that when he's at an away game, he no longer buys post cards for a friend. Maybe he just misses this person who used to always be by his side but they both knows it's better this way. Jean is happy, it's not with Kevin, and that's okay.

[bluerosefox]

Hmmmm... This one and this one I guess -digs through old AU/Prompts ideas and starts tossing them into a melting pot to make something new-

Royal errors, maybe Ghost King (Or just very powerful and respected by the Infinite Realms) Danny, AND deaged Dan and Ellie. With half-sibling Damian.

Talia is a woman with many, many secrets, this is a cold hard fact.

She has so many secrets its no wonder not a single living soul knows them all...

So when seventeen, almost eighteen, Damian really shouldn't had been surprised (he was though) when out of the blue he gets a call from an unknown number that somehow bypasses his firewalls against unknown numbers about his apparent five year old half-sister and brother Helen 'Ellie' Fenton and Dante 'Dan' Fenton.

That their father, Daniel Fenton was taken (by a shady should had been disbanded government agency) and they couldn't get a hold of their mother Talia at all (she was in a middle of stopping a coup happening, a rival assassin group, AND some idiots trying to revive Ra's at the same time, thus radio silent). About how Ellie and Dan were in danger of being taken as well but they needed to put in them a safe place so they could go rescue Danny before word gets out to... well lets just say some very POWERFUL beings weren't going to be happy and they are working on very limited time to get him back.

Jasmine Fenton tells him she knows he had no clue about his mother being with her brother and having kids with him, its something she and Talia often got into small arguments about but try not to bring it up to often around Danny, Dan, or Ellie, and that his relationship with her is often... rocky but she begs him to please watch over them while she, and her brother's best friends go a rescue mission for him.

That they were two very scared five year olds that had to watch their father be taken away after he barely managed to get them to safety and that Damian was the only one she could think of being able to watch over and least protect them at this serious moment.

Damian, and the rest of the family, are stunned silent when Jasmine finishes explaining, her voice on the verge of breaking and no doubt she was trying so hard not to sob.

[tubbytarchia]

Somewhere in the woods, a moth tires of seeking light

[queruloustea]

hm sofft vessel

[tagarilaghost]

I SWEAR CELEBI'S THINGY IS COMING SOON BUT I REALLY WANTED TO POST THIS ALRIGHT

yeaah... future trio got me too...

and Darkrai is there too, because of course he is.

hey look i drew a cute Drifloon :D

...ignore the rest

whatever started at Darkrai doodles ended in brainrot of future trio + darkrai and I'm blaming @scribz-ag24 for this

[mintjeru]

technically this is for the requester but it's also for anyone who's having a hard time-- you've worked hard, good job today 💜 "alhaitham and kaveh hugging but kaveh is comforting alhaitham" for @/zarzaryyy. thank you for your donation to @hkvthm-action!!

open for better quality | no reposts

[skunkes]

something silly and badly formatted

[humbuns]

when did that start?