#for anyone who might only be reading this on tumblr

[valdevia]

Very funny that tumblr is having discourse about whether my art is misinformation or not, after I've been posting it all over the internet for years without any controversy. So let's talk about it!

I know people arguing are a vocal minority, but I'm not going to dismiss anyone's concerns. It's an actually interesting topic that I really consider, and it touches some important issues in society. So here's my (rambly) two cents.

My art is meant to misdirect, in some way. Photomanipulation and the tone I typically use are meant to briefly confuse the person reading it into thinking they're hearing a real story, at least for a few seconds.

The Intended Experience™

In this sense, I feel like my art can be misinformation! And it's not only people who don't think critically about things like "how come I never heard about mermaids being real before?".

So, no disrespect to anyone that fell for one of my pieces! My work plays with reality, so if you fell for it for more than a minute, it just means my tone and style worked a little too well for you! And there are legitimate reasons to be confused when you see something online, too. For example, there are people who can have trouble telling real and fictional things apart. When you post something that goes out to a million people, you'll get one million different reactions.

That's why I always take care to make it really clear, outside the main piece and snippet of text, that my art is no more than fiction. There are tags, the tone of my account, even my profile picture is meant to reinforce this. I also have a website which, in part, is meant to capture the clicks of people to wonder if my stuff is real and google it, so they can find a real source that's clearly an art website. You can try googling "mycelium infection 1806" or "pupillosarcoma" to see how my website tends to appear first.

If I get this comment I know I've done something believable!

But let's say, for the sake of argument, that my art wholly constitutes misinformation. What we need to understand is that misinformation is not the same as disinformation. Misinformation is just incorrect information. It's your grandma seeing a little bit of a found footage movie on TV and thinking it really happened. She might be spooked, but nobody is harmed. Disinformation is false information that's purposefully crafted and spread in order to cause harm, division, or further a political view.

Now I ask you: what real world harm does my art create? The worst that can happen is that a tiny percentage of those that see it get a little scared thinking a weird bug is real, or that mushrooms really grow on faces, or that scientists have released millions of trilobites into the oceans. Is that really that bad?

Anyway, that's my take on the topic! I'm obviously biased, but this being my style, I do put a lot of thought into it and I'm always open to people's opinions! (Just don't scream at random people on the replies or you'll get blocked!)

[seekerofthesightlessway]

I keep thinking about Laila. I fear the worst for her. She should've been graduating high school and going to college, not this. Not scraping out a meager existence amongst the rubble and the corpses begging for change on the internet to buy food and medicine. I wish I still had my old blog so I could look at the conversations we had, I'm glad I got to know her. She was a sweetheart and very dear to me like a little sister. But I haven't heard from her in months. I would be worried sick whenever she went a day without messaging me, but she'd always be back the next day, telling me about the bombings and the blackouts. But the days turned into weeks turned into months and now I'm finally facing the fact that she might be gone. I feel like shit for not coming to that realization sooner. It's been a creeping thought in the back of my mind for a long time, but I've been denying it and making excuses that she might have lost her phone or her password or something. Sometimes I see the "recently active" light on her blog, but I see that on deactivated blogs sometimes too, who fucking knows with how shoddy tumblr's backend is. If anyone has heard from her, please let me know. Either way, not knowing for sure is hell. I can't even cry for her to mourn for her, I've just had a lump stuck in my throat on the verge of tears for days. But I can't abandon her. Even though she might be gone, her family might still be alive, and we still have an obligation to them. Her mother was pregnant and might have given birth already- can you imagine having to take care of a baby in Gaza? If you have anything at all to spare, even if it's only a dollar, please do. Laila's fundraiser has a higher percentage of it's goal met than some, but honestly, that doesn't really mean anything. Between border crossings becoming less common and the price of living skyrocketing, these campaigns become less of a fundraiser for a specific goal and more of a fund from which to withdraw money to pay for necessities, and the percentage of the goal met doesn't reflect the amount of money they actually have. I'd be surprised if they have even a thousand euros- and that's not as much as it sounds when diapers or loaves of bread can cost two hundred euros apiece. I don't know how to make a specific family stand out to catch the attention of tumblr users, and I don't even know if it's worth it to turn them and their misery into sideshow attractions stripped of their dignity for a hypothetical engagement gain. But if you're reading this, please do what you can to spread this fundraiser and donate to Laila's family. They still need us. Tagging for reach under the cut- lmk if you want to be removed

@pussyronin @britomartis @wotsukai @smoqueen @specialmouse @boobieteriat @pitbolshevik @hollowslantern @tamamita @apas-95 @paper-mario-wiki @marxism-transgenderism @sayruq @nabulsi @grox @omegaversereloaded @cryptotheism @komsomolka @11thsense @beetledrink @imlizy @b0tster @r0zeclawz @punkitt-is-here @3000s @feluka @dailyquests @afro-elf @nyancrimew @thatdiabolicalfeminist @neechees @berserkerjewel @catsgifsarefun @spaghettioverdose @deepspaceboytoy @rickybabyboy @ot3 @90-ghost @i-am-a-fish @vampiricvenus @tpwrtrmnky @tlirsgender @minmos @slimetony @sluttynurse @opencommunion @iregularlyevadetaxes @neptunerings @yekkes @tododeku-or-bust @hotvampireadjacent @dirhwangdaseul @meshugenist @bunniope @evillesbianvillain

[obsidianpen]

if tomione was as popular of a ship as dramione i genuinely believe b&g would be up there with manacled in terms of popularity. nothing really compares to it, it’s so fucking good man

aw thanks anon! I don’t know if it would though, I may be wrong but I feel like manacled had a few things going for it that made it so popular that B&G does not - no reference to hand maids tale, which is also insanely popular and beloved right now; it’s not very angsty (I think this is popular?); it’s a time-travel, which I think turns a lot of people away from the get go… But that’s okay! it is what it is.

also, and I’m so sorry to use your post to rant, but it’s my tumblr, it’s my swamp, I live here - I just have to say that I am at the point where I find some key words borderline triggering when it comes to fandom, the comparisons to manacled being one of them. You did NOT do so incorrectly btw, you did it the only way that makes sense to me. What I mean is when people say ‘it’s the manacled of tomione!’ when talking about a fic, when there is NO reason to compare it to that, and it is in NO way even close to it, in any conceivable level. B&G could maybe be compared only the way you did it, and that’s still a stretch. If a fic is super angsty/dark/rapey/thematically similar in another way, or is literally also a hand maids tale AU, then I could maybe see it then, too. But that phrase gets thrown around a lot, same with words like ‘god tier’ and ‘it has me in a chokehold’ and they just. Kind of make me want scoop my eyes out anymore lol. I’d say no offense to people who use these phrases all the time but. A little offense might be meant. Try some new ways to describe how you feel about a story. God tier to you is most assuredly NOT god tier to someone else. Oh and ‘the Bible of XYZ’ is one I’ve seen a few times too and that is just… awful. Gross. Like what an insult honestly have you read the Bible it is NOT a fun read 0 structure 0 character development for anyone spice is a negative chili not hot at all the pages are made of tissue paper always and the dragons don’t even let anyone ride them (also it’s one of the only books that can fairly be called god tier so readjust your perception of that word please)

[azuralnguyendd]

Emotionally (Un)available

A fanfiction based on Tumblr roleplay blog interaction: @magneto-king-of-genosha and @not-a-professor

(Dialogues are from the original post and so are some paragraphs describing action and thoughts. Some are altered, but nevertheless the same as ever)

A/N: Thank you in advance for reading, and I hope you'll excuse me for my typos that I've missed during my time editing it!

✷ — ✷ — ✷ — ✷

The X-Mansion used to look so lively, one might say after seeing the state it is in now. In the past, the hallways and stairs would be filled students going to and fro, talking about nothing in particular, and the occasional playful banter would be thrown back and forth.

Laughter would fill dormitories and hallways, classrooms used to be filled with students eager for education and perhaps only there for the pranks they were about to pull or the friends they were going to meet. The students would be playing basketball in court outside; some would be doing it for keeping fit sake, others to improve their powers.

Now, it was just... sad. Everyone had already left, no one felt safe staying when a war was happening, and no one was willing either. If anyone were to still be there, it would be agony; living alone in the only place that has once comforted the discriminated, the odd, the freaks. However, it was no longer a place of comfort, just somewhere for memories to fade away.

The Mansion was dark and a bit damped, vines started from the ceiling, climbing their way down the deserted wall and laid on the floor, spreading their arms. All the paintings had fallen from the wall, their frames cracked and pictures faded, no longer can anyone recognize the people in the photograph.

The sunlight was but dim when it shined into the Mansion. Dusk covered furnitures were askewed; some were broken, some were intact, others had fallen over like somebody had a bad tantrum and had to take their anger out on objects. The place looked far from how it used to look like, and maybe it wasn't even the same place.

Sat on a chair in the center of the room, dejected and half drunk, is Charles Xavier, a mutant with a brilliant mindset. However, he wasn't the same anymore. What was left of the will to inspire mutants to be themselves is but just a small amber, barely holding onto its last flicker of flame.

He has resorted to alcoholism to deal with his severe depression, and with everyone gone from his side but one person, he is no longer the Charles Xavier who inspired and helped mutants to have pride in their abilities. He's just some hobo who lived in an abandoned mansion far away from human society.

It's been years, and years he had endured thanks to the serum that his dear friend Hank has made for him. It gave him the ability to walk, one of the many things he'd lost long ago thanks to friendly fire, but it came with a cost: his telepathic abilities. He couldn't read people's thoughts, couldn't predict their next move, and amongst other useful things, couldn't recognize if someone was lying. But, Charles has become so used to an empty and quiet mind that if he goes a minute without it, he might turn insane.

For the past couple weeks, Charles has been doing nothing but drink whiskey from the multiple bottles he found lying around. He didn't exactly know where they come from, but he supposed that he bought it long ago. They weren't opened, and still tasted good; who knows how long they've been sitting in that cabinet though.

Apart from drinking and injecting the serum, Charles also discovered that Magneto - a mutant named Erik Lensherr with the power to manipulate metal- was not in prison. Turned out the Magneto he's been talking to didn't belong to this universe, and the two had realized the concept of multiverse exist. Without further information, they rolled with it. Charles was still bitter about the incident, and despite trying to bring himself to forgive this Erik even though he hasn't done nothing to him, he couldn't. They looked too similar, almost identical.

Charles leaned back, sighing as his hair falls behind the backrest of the chair, thinking and racking his brain for something to do. Nothing, he couldn't do nothing.

The doors of the X-Mansion creaked softly open, and lo and behold, Erik stepped into the Mansion. The doors closed behind him as he approached Charles; his face was concealed by the shadow that the pillars surrounding them casted. Something in his strides told Charles he was frustrated.

Erik did a subtle groan, like he was beyond mad, and sat down next to Charles. He could see his face now that he's closer, and his brows were furrowed in anger. "The anonymous requests are very insistent that I come, so like it or not, I am here." Erik stated like it was the most obvious thing in the whole wide world.

Charles glanced at him, then looked away, and grumbled, but he wasn't upset that this Erik was here, he just wasn't expecting company. Erik, realizing this matter, sighed and picked up a booze bottle lying around on the table. It still has liquor it in, so he opened the bottle and took a sip of the bitter liquor.

Charles, despite himself, was still holding the helmet Erik has given him against his chest; the metal was cold, and he was careful not to cut himself on its sharp  edges. He didn't know why he was still holding onto it, or why he hasn't knocked it against the wall for reminding him of his former best friend. He just... Felt comfort of some sort from it.

Charles's eyes flutter as he stifled a yawn from falling from his lips. He didn't need pity and concern at this moment, not from Erik. Beside him, he heard the man chuckle. With a bit of annoyance, he turned to look at Erik. His head was tilted to the side a bit, and was clearly already looking at him.

"What?" Charles asked, his annoyance slightly tangling in the words he spoke.

Erik shook his head; there wasn't a hint of a smile yet he sounded thoroughly entertained. "Oh, it's nothing." He said, as if Charles would just drop it.

Charles, for some reason, smiled as very bit of annoyance left his being. It was a small one, not completely evident, but it was there. It was genuine, as genuine as it could get after all these miserable years. "No no come on- what?" He said, turning fully to look at him.

Erik sighed again, but clearly there was a hint of another amused chuckle. Oh, this man was insufferable. "It really is nothing. Though from the right angle, you look like a Komondor." There it was, another insufferably familiar, friendly, comforting chuckle.

It took Charles a couple of seconds to register what Erik said, to realize that a Komondor was a breed of dog. It dawned on him at that moment, and he stayed silent before, with mock offense, feigning his hand against his chest.

"Woww! I'm so hurt!" Charles said sarcastically, his brows furrowed but he was unable to contain the smile that broke through his facade. It was bright, perhaps the brightest he's smiled in years.

Erik exhaled from his nose - probably another sigh - and turned to counter his friend's statement. "If you're so hurt, why are you smiling then?" He didn't realize it, but he himself was smiling as well; Charles didn't seem to have noticed.

Charles chuckled - although it could be described as a giggle - as Erik retorted with that question. "Smiling through the pain, I suppose!" This was sort of a banter, but it has been true for a while before. He has smiled through the pain of knowing he'll never be able to walk again, the pain of knowing Raven and almost everyone left him behind. He was still glad Hank was there to support him through the hard times, but the comfort wasn't enough.

"Oh really?" Said Erik. He still holding the booze in his hand and took a couple gulps of it. The bitter tanginess of the liquid burned down his throat, but they were both used to it by now.

Charles was still smiling, huffing a chuckle. Erik was still drinking the booze; it's been a while since they shared a drink with each other, not after what happened a few years prior. "I hope you enjoy that. That's very expensive," Charles remarked on the bottle, taking another sip of his own bottle.

In all honesty, it wasn't that expensive, it didn't taste expensive. But, there were lots of it when he found it hiding in the cabinets, so it was expensive to buy all of those bottles; they themselves weren't.

"Really? I thought the rule of thumb for getting drunk was to always buy the cheap stuff?" Erik said with a tone of amusement, inspecting the bottle in the dim sunlight, trying to see if he could find the price tag of the thing. There wasn't any.

"Well.. When you're a billionaire and can buy whatever you want, you can splurge." Charles said with a sense of pride he lacked since ever. It was kind of nice to be able to boast his wealth, even if the person hearing this was Erik from another universe, and it made it a little difficult because he hasn't fully forgiven his own Erik.

"Then how do you still have that much money? Is the government in your pocket?" Erik asked, his interest piqued by the word "billionaire".

Charles smiled again, and there was a familiar yet distant warmth in his heart, like someone he once knew returned from a war he was never fully aware of. Perhaps hanging out with this Erik wasn't so bad after all, he has redeeming qualities Charles believed his Erik didn't have; he also smiled more often, and tried his best to make things casual and interesting. He smiled wider, not only because of the sense of pride, but also of comfort.

"It's generational wealth.. And smart investments." With pride, he answered with a pause, just to make it intriguing. Erik raised his eyebrows a little and nodded. He seemed relax, and though he didn't like to admit it, he rather prefer this version of Erik over his own original one. It'd be a fine world if Erik was always like this; always so comforting, humouring and providing good company.

"Oh yes, like booze is a smart investment." Erik said, his smile dropping as he looks down at the bottle in his hand.

It was dry of the content it once held; the sunlight bounced off the glass and reflected itself on the opposite wall. He didn't like Charles like this: all depressed and burnt out, no inspiration or motivation for doing anything. It hurts him knowing why Charles chose this life, why he wanted to be alone all the time; this was not his Charles, yet he felt like he should be there if he ever needed anything.

"Alcohol is not going to bankrupt me," said Charles as he nudged Erik by the arm. It was a joke, though clearly alcohol is not enough to put him into bankruptcy.

Erik chuckled, low and relaxed, as he put the empty bottle down on the table with a quiet *clink*; the sound echoed through the entire Mansion, awakening any bugs or critters from their slumber. Luckily, they did not disturb the two men. "It would be absolutely be if you keep at it like you do."

Well, it would make sense - buying a lot of the same thing with the same price might empty your wallet in no time at all. "So what you're saying is, if I switch to the cheap stuff, I could buy more of it for the same price?" He asked, though of course he knew this, but he never considered doing so.

"More or less," Erik said, shrugging a bit.

This Erik was much more entertaining than his own, Charles decided - he talked more, is more amusing and made him feel better about himself. Huh... This was another new discovery about himself.

Charles smiled and chuckled, his smile genuine and bright. "Duly noted. Next time I'll buy 3x the cheaper stuff." He leaned his head on Erik's shoulder, still holding the helmet close to himself.

Erik smiled softly, and looking down at Charles, he wrapped his arm around him, settling his hand on Charles's forearm. The contact was welcomed and Erik enjoyed it. How long has it been since the last time each of them hell another person close? They wouldn't know, and they wouldn't care - they have each other.

Charles's eyes drifted shut, though not asleep but simply out of contentment, as Erik settled his head on top, his hair ruffled under the other man's head, making it messy. But who cared? Definitely not Charles, couldn't even remember the last time he made his hair look presentable.

The room was quiet, and for a moment, it was only the two of them in the whole wide world. Their surroundings revolved around them, and soon they seemingly disappeared, leaving a comforting, empty, vast void for them to settle in. Oh how the world could just be like this forever...

"Never knew you could be so gentle Erik.." Charles murmured absentmindedly, further relaxing his muscles. He felt safe.

"Hm? What was that?" Erik said at Charles's sudden remark. His Charles hasn't said anything so flattering in so long, and after hearing it from another version of the same man, he couldn't help but feel a fluttering in his stomach.

Charles looked up at Erik and made eye contact that held for a solid minute. He wasn't focusing on Erik's sentence, too immersed in the silent comfort he was receiving and letting himself receive it.

"Hm..?"

"You said something. What was it?" Erik asked, his voice sounding a bit interrogative, but was still soft as not to cause any sudden surge of negative feelings.

"I don't remember.." That was kind of strange. Charles didn't remember saying anything, but it seemed he did. However, there was no memory of it in his mind.

Erik nodded, muttering a loud enough "I see" for Charles to catch it. That was a terrible turn, Charles thought. If his memory hadn't shorted out on him, Erik wouldn't be so concerned. He shouldn't have to worry for Charles, he shouldn't even be helping Charles carry his own burdens.

"Apologies.. that doesn't happen to me often." Charles said with a sad, apologetic tone. Erik could be upset at him at this moment, but he didn't feel any signs of the man moving away from the contact.

"It's quite alright. It happens to everyone." Erik said it so casually Charles might fall out of his chair if he wasn't so afraid of splitting his skull in half.

Charles wasn't focusing, too absorbed in his own self-loathing that he didn't realize the gentle kiss places on his forehead by the soft lips of Erik. Erik, on the other hand, was mildly embarrassed, so he raised his head and straightened himself to avoid making eye contact with Charles.

In the corner of his eye, the former telepathic's pale features began to turn red. Charles tried to hide this obvious display by lowering his head and massaging his palms. Despite his efforts, he couldn't hide the fact that his ears were glowing a brilliant dark red; it certainly complimented his pale skin.

"Are you alright?" Erik asked, and although he was looking at Charles directly, he was glancing down at his flustered host.

Charles nodded feverishly, determined to hide his emotions. This was the first time in over two years Charles had actually wished for his telepathy abilities back. To know what Erik was thinking, to pulse comforting waves over to his mind. Charles wanted to spoil Erik rotten with all the dopamine and serotonin he could handle.

Instead, returning to the terrible reality, Charles gave up his mutation and that was the correct decision for everyone involved, Charles had convinced himself that it was for the longest time possible.

Charles was able to snap out of his thoughts when he heard Erik blurting out the words "I see" once more. He hadn't realized that Erik had picked up another booze bottle, but he was now gently placing it back down. Calming his racing mind, Charles retorted: "See what?" He kept his voice calm and and leveled as he recuperated from his sudden pang of memory.

"That you were alright when I asked." Erik replied, and Charles noticed his voice has become softer, more gentle and surprisingly attra- wait no.

"I bet that's not all you see.. You are a very observant man, Erik." Charles smiled as his giggle intertwined with his words, making them feel light-hearted and playful.

"You're not wrong," Erik said as if he took what Charles said as a compliment - it really was sort of something like that - but then he smiled, and there was an edge of mischievousness in it. "I also observed the fact that you look like a strawberry." The man spoke with a low chuckle.

Charles perked up at the statement and buried his head into his hands, silently hoping that Erik didn't notice two of his fingers coming up to massage his temples before sliding forward to focus on his eyes. Charles was pretty sure Erik couldn't see all of that in the dark, not to mention his hair covering his face as he leaned down. "Ya don't say.." Charles said with embarrassment. Gosh, how much more humiliation was he going to deal with today?

Erik mumbled a amused "Yeah" as he brought his hand to ruffle Charles's hair, then moving it around Charles and onto his lap, resting on it. Erik leaned in a bit, a genuine smile making its way to his lips as he observed Charles's reaction.

Charles looked up at Erik and settled comfortably into his lap with a quiet and content sigh. Erik let out a breath like he has been holding it in, hoping that Charles wouldn't refuse his affection. Charles leaned his head against Erik's chest, eyes fluttering with tiredness.

"You're tall..." He muttered. Yes, Erik was and is still taller than him; Charles has never very insecure about his height or appearance, until now, he realized.

"Really? I suppose you aren't wrong." Erik replied softly, staying almost perfectly still as he soakee in the comfort and contact both of them was sharing.

Charles ran his hand over the smooth top of the helmet, letting another yawn fall from his lips. Erik's smile has never really dropped the entire time. It was certain that both of them has forgotten how this feeling felt like, and they seemed to share a mutual longing for it.

At first, Charles didn't notice Erik's thoughts weaving themselves into his mind. Everything felt so familiar, and oh so comfortable. That was until other minds start swarming in, disrupting what little peace this cruel world had allowed him. Panicking as adrenaline surged through him, Charles began to realize the situation he's caught himself in. He pat his robe's pockets hoping to find an extra dose of serum; he wasn't going to let this peace escape when he had a good grasp on it. He wasn't going to let it go just because the world was such a bitch about it. He longed for this, he wanted this, he needed this, goddamn it!

Erik, seeing the sudden harsh movements beside him, he suddenly realized the situation Charles was in. And as if he could read his mind, he took the helmet resting idly on Charles's lap and gently placed it over his head to silence the voices so Charles could properly focus on what he wanted to find.

This gave Charles a pause in his search for the serum; all the voices and racing thoughts just suddenly... Stopped, altogether. Charles was so accustomed to being quickly reduced to a incoherent mess as every voice in New York made themselves known to him, it made this feeling strange, and so, so unnatural. To still have everything so quiet and almost clear as the serum burned out of his system, it felt serene.

"Are you alright?" Erik said leaning down to observe his friend's reaction. His voice had a hint of concern, his brows furrowed and expression softened. Charles seemed to still be processing all of this; as he moved his hand to the helmet, his eyes became glossy as his mind cleared itself for the first time in years. For years, the serum made everything blurry and murky, rendering him unable to think properly. But, it helped stop the thousands of minds from cramming their way into his skull and cracking it in half.

However, the serum wasn't in affect anymore, and his mind wasn't foggy or was it about to explode. He could think, and think clearly. "I can think.." Charles murmured; it was unbelievable that he had been living year after year in murky waters without finding a way to free himself of his misery, of his self-loathing, of his mind.

Beside him, Erik cracked a gentle smile as the concern left his expression. "Yes, I suppose you can. It's alright now Charles, just think for a minute." Erik's voice was low and soothing, and a lot softer than usual. It brought comfort and peace to Charles knowing that this version of Erik was the man he had always thought he was: Kind, gentle, understanding and forgiving.

As Charles spaced out and did what Erik requested, his mind started to catch up on all the thought he could've had the lady few years. His mind whirled with spontaneous new genetic theories, context of the books he read nearly four years ago, mutant genealogy and myriad of other thoughts. Charles was almost, but certainly, enjoying the sudden burst of radiant brilliance. Although enjoying himself, it was like his body has a mind of its own as his hand found the cold metal of the serum in his pocket.

Erik's smile dropped as his eyes caught sight of his companion's hand, sadness washing over his expression. What coming next was quite obvious, and though Erik had the power to stop it from happening, it was best if Charles stop it himself. Erik didn't want to force his concern into Charles - his friend, his host, his partner - all because Charles didn't have the power and right mind help himself.

Just as clear as the thought had been on genetic mutation, the berating may seemed even clearer as Charles realized what he was holding, clutching in his pocket. The thoughts of famous authors and poets faded out as the self hatred and loathing filtered into his clear mind.

Charles's hands grew shaky, his breathing became uneven and ragged as he prepared his arm, rolling up the cotton sleeve of his robe. Charles couldn't even blame it on anyone else, not even the man beside him. He was the only mind, the only thoughts running inside his head. The only mind that abused him for disregarding his mutant gift and his natural brilliance. The mind that made him feel miserable, helpless and worthless.

Charles didn't notice the tears that started streaming down his red cheeks, or how badly shaken his body was as he held up the syringe to his arm. Yes, it was true that Charles took the serum to keep everyone out of his mind, but it was also to keep himself out; it was to keep himself dissociated from his internal critic that was harsher than anyone else's, the worst insults that no one could ever think of, the worst hatred and loathing no one could ever develope.

Charles hadn't noticed that he has already injected the serum, his mind going numb and murky once more. The tears still streamed down his face, droplets coming down to rest on his lap. Erik sighed and tossed the empty syringe away once the business was done. At once, Erik pulled Charles into a gentle embrace, keeping his hand on Charles's head and soothing him by rubbing small circles on his back.

It was all too much at that moment, there was no escape, so as the only reasonable option left on the table for him, Charles cried into Erik's shoulder. The serum slowed everything in his mind, his own thoughts were garbled, barely legible as the side effects kicked in. Charles didn't stop, he couldn't stop; broken sobs and hiccups broke from his throat, allowing him to let out the anger, sadness, hatred he'd kept to himself out

"It's alright, Charles, you're alright." Erik's tone was soft and almost quiet, as if to soothe a child.

As the worst of it kicked it, Charles laid on Erik's shoulder, his tears soaked the fabric of the other man's shirt. He would be fine soon enough, but the first part of the serum always gave him such minimal brain activity, silencing and numbing it. Not that Charles ever gave mind to it, it was something normal by now.

Erik still tried his best to calm his friend, still speaking with that calm and smooth voice, low enough to be a whisper, but loud enough for Charles to hear. "I am mad, but I'm not going to yell at you this time. Yet, you can't keep silencing the negative as if they shouldn't exist. They do exist, and you have to face them, but you shouldn't be alone when you do it."

Erik's eyes were closed, he wouldn't know exactly what kind of hurtful expression was going through Charles's face, but that was quite alright. Erik buried half of his face into that messy hair of his as he continued to attempt to calm Charles.

Charles made a small noise in the back of his throat, though it seemed like it echoed throughout the ever enveloping silence around them. "'S'not-" Charles voice was hoarse and broken as he sniffed up the snot threatening to stain Erik's attire. "Bad," Charles managed to mutter the last word of his sentence. His grip tightened on the fabric of Erik's clothes though his body continued to try and relax itself.

Erik hummed in question as he pulled away from the embrace. Doing so, he reached his hands up to cup Charles's tear stained face, wiping away the new flood as it poured from his soul. "Charles?" Erik asked again. Charles was not entirely mentally in the moment, spacing out a bit as he grew accustomed to the surge of the serum through his veins.

"Sorry.." Charles muttered, "serum.. side effect.. give it a couple minutes." Charles didn't have to attempt to wipe the tears away as Erik was already at it, so Charles leaned into the touch, closing his swollen eyes as he let out a quiet and uneven sigh.

Erik sighed in a tone that spoke lengths of disappointment and anger, yet when he chose to speak, his voice was low and calm, just like before. "Why do you still do it? Why don't you seek help?" Erik's voice had a hint of desperation, not an angry one, but a sad and upsetting one. "Why do you choose to temporarily numb it? At the end of it all, it will eat you until you let it go. So why not let it go with me? Let all the negative out so the comfort can rest.

"Scream and shout it out if you truly need to, and I will sit and listen if you need it. You can only temporarily numb something for so long."

Charles rubbed at his eyes; it felt dry from the previous tears, his vision blurry and his breath shallow. "What would I even say?" Charles smiled, but a sad one, one that spoke of being so used to years of self-torment that at this moment, insulting himself would just be fine. "Besides.. the negative feels good.. comfortable.. safe, almost." Charles chuckled low, but his throat was dry like a desert land, and the tears were threatening to stream once more.

"Anything at all." Erik said helpfully, keeping his hands cupped around Charles's face as he relaxed into the touch. "Also, saying the negative is nice is a lie they use, so it's never handled." Erik stated, brows furrowing and tone hurt.

"It isn't really safe to begin with, to keep collecting and holding. Everything will break, and that is not safe for anyone, not you, not people who get close. So say anything and everything, just so it's out, so it stops building."

They stopped talking after that short moment of comfort. Charles was bone tired, so instead of retorting with some half-assed excuse for the lies he made himself believe, he settled against Erik's chest, holding him close as he soaked in the warmth of a companion's comfort.

[robinsegghead]

Danny's Daycare Part 15

Masterpost

Jason didn’t enjoy killing per se. It wasn’t like, a favorite hobby of his or an addiction and he had to get his fix, but every once in a while there would be an asshole so completely deserving of a bullet to the brain that Jason couldn’t help but feel a bit of peace the moment they stopped breathing. Had he been a bit worried that Miguel and Santiago would hate him for killing their dad? Yes. But was ridding Gotham of one more child molester worth it? Yes.

After he’d pried Danny off of the body of someone he’d never seen before, he’d held the man close until his rage died down. He thought- well he thought he and Danny were different. Danny had some kind of explanation for how he’d come back to life and he seemed at peace with the whole kinda-sorta-ghost-thing but when Jason had first found Danny beating the shit out of another person, his eyes had looked… Lazarus green.

Jason knew for a fact that Danny’s eyes were blue (how many times had he gotten lost staring into them while the man raved about space or Gotham or some other special interest of his?). So despite not knowing the situation, Jason had fought Danny away from the man and held him close until what he assumed was pit rage went away.

He knew it was confusing, disorienting, to come out of an episode and instead of getting answers to the questions he so desperately wanted to ask (What happened? Do I need to kill this guy? Are you hurt? Are the boys hurt? Why are your eyes Lazarus green? Was the Pit Rage? Do you know who the league of Assassins are? What is your relation to them? how-), he told Danny to get cleaned up and checked on the boys.

It was both surprising and completely unsurprising that he found Santiago locked in a closet with Miguel crying in front of the door. He got the younger boy out in seconds and immediately had an armful of angry and scared thirteen year old boy. They only spoke for a few minutes before Danny had come back and he decided to give the family some time to talk.

But his eyes were BRIGHT green and he couldn’t shake the feeling that- was it just a dead person thing? That would make sense, right? His eyes glowed green but they’d always thought that was the Pit’s influence. But that guy- Phantom- his eyes had been green too. So three dead guys walk into a daycare with glowing green eyes- it was like the setup of a really bad joke.

No one asked him what happened to the kid’s bio dad which was good because while Jason was glad he’d stopped Danny from fully killing the bastard (Danny didn’t need to have another murder on his conscience, even if both would have been justified in his and most people’s books), he had no intention of letting the bastard get away alive. He’d looked into Miguel and Santiago when he’d first learned of their existence and the only reason he hadn’t killed their sperm donor then was because he was behind bars.

So he’d placed the man’s unconscious body on the fire escape outside the hallway and grabbed it on his way out. Once he was far enough away that the boys and Danny wouldn’t hear the gunshot and connect it to him, he put a bullet in the man’s head. He dropped the body in an alley near a police station and intended to call it a night before remembering he had to debrief with the bats.

Maybe it was his disappearing act or his short responses or something in the way he held himself, but for once B seemed to listen when Jason told him off.

No he wasn’t going to give B the card Phantom had given him- “Did he ask YOU to coffee? Didn’t think so, fuck off.”, no he wasn’t going to explain why he’d been trying to get a moment alone with Danny after the fight- “My personal life is none of your business, fuck off.”, and he definitely wasn’t going to explain why he’d left the daycare and come back to the cave covered in blood- “My personal business is none of yours, fuck off!”.

And after it all B had just let him. He pushed less than usual and not in the ‘afraid you’ll go into a pit rage if I push’ way but in a ‘you’re clearly not going to tell me so why bother’ way. (Maybe even a ‘you’re my son and I trust you to make the right decision’ way? Was that too much to hope for?) 

He’d definitely confused the hell out of Duke with his questions but he just- he needed to get answers and he couldn’t rationalize getting them from Danny at the moment. He’d call Phantom tomorrow, tonight seemed too… forward. Especially since the ghost (King wtf) had essentially asked him on a date (that’s what was implied with the flirting and mention of coffee, right?!). 

So if he had green eyes sometimes, and Danny had green eyes sometimes, and Phantom had green eyes, and they also were all dead at some point, then maybe there was a connection? And Duke understood that kind of thing way better than he did because the kid could see auras and shit so maybe he could tell Jason something useful. And he did. 

Useful and entirely meaningless at the same time because what the fuck did it mean that they all had toxic green auras?!

He’d patrolled for a few more hours, contemplating what it really meant, what he should do, if he should ask Danny, and so on and so forth, until he felt out of his mind with questions. At some point he decided to call it a night and head back to his apartment to sleep. But he had so much energy still- nervous energy too- he hated nervous energy. 

When he was feeling… feeling too much, he baked. Or cooked. Usually he made more than he could ever eat and brought the leftovers to the safe houses he’d let homeless kids live in or down to a shelter or something else like that. Tonight he had one goal in mind with the food he made.

So he baked. He made a pan of brownies, a tray of cookies, three dozen muffins, a pie of all things, and he cooked. He made a pot of stew, a lasagna, two different soups, vindaloo, and a breakfast casserole, and when he was done he packed up as much as he could carry and took it to Danny’s. 

Sneaking into the apartment was easy, he’d done it often enough for the last couple of months and despite warning Danny that he needed to get better security, the man never did. He probably forgot honestly, Jason didn’t think he’d ever met a man quite as busy as Danny. Whether that was because Danny was actually busy or because he didn’t know how to delegate, he wasn’t sure, but he always seemed like- well like Bruce levels of busy. Like he had a job and a secret other job and also he took in random kids and helped everyone he could as much as he could and gave away every part of himself without a second thought.

So. No security system. 

Jason put the food away, some went into the fridge while others went into the freezer, and noticed the apartment felt empty. It would be weird to check if he was in his room but he had a feeling he knew where the man was if not his own home.

Keeping the breakfast casserole and a plate of cookies, Jason swung around the building and landed carefully on the boys’ fire escape. Sure enough, when he peered through the window he found Danny being absolutely drowned in cuddles from Miguel, Santiago, and their cat, Curiosity.

(He’d never admit it but every time he stopped by to drop food off or check in, Jason pet the cats. What? They looked lonely and he wasn’t heartless. He’d been confused and worried out of his mind when he visited for the first time unable to find Curiosity- that cat always came running first so where the ever-loving fuck was he?! But he’d had to leave before finding the orange cat and vowed to find him the next time he visited.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t find Curiosity the next time either. He’d come so close to asking Danny where his fucking cat went ((Curiosity was the one who’d been sick when he first found them what if he’d died?!))- should he leave a post-it note asking about the kitten? But again, he’d gotten pulled away by vigilante stuff and had to leave without an answer.

It was only when he’d come over as Jason the tutor that he figured out Danny had given Curiosity to Miguel and Santiago and the cat was over in their apartment most of the time. He was relieved that the cat hadn’t gone missing or died, but now he’d need to stop by and find that cat in their apartment and how had he not noticed the boys had a cat he literally visited their apartment more than Danny’s at this point!)

He slid the window open easily and slipped into the apartment stealthily. None of the boys stirred as Jason quietly put the casserole in the fridge, with a quickly scribbled note on top, and the plate of cookies on the counter. After he finished he moved back towards the window but paused as he sat on the window sill. 

Miguel mumbled something and pushed his face further into Danny’s shoulder and all three of them shifted slightly until their limbs were more entangled than they’d been a moment before and it was hard to tell where one of them started and the others ended. He didn’t know how they didn’t see it- that they were a family- he really didn’t. Danny corrected anyone who called him their dad, they corrected anyone who called them his sons, and yet here they were, cuddling after a traumatic incident where Danny protected them with everything he had.

(He didn’t think about how he and Bruce fit into the exact category he was placing Danny and the boys, he DIDN’T.)

Curiosity chirped and looked around suddenly, seeing Jason and offering him a yawn. That was his cue to leave. He… he didn’t want to, not really. Something about Danny had made him feel safer than anything else had in- in years. The twink he found standing over the body of his murderer, the guy who’d taken on twenty-five goons without a weapon because they’d dared to hurt Miguel, the man he’d pried away from a child molester only hours prior- this was a man anyone would feel safe with.

But Jason wasn’t used to feeling safe and slipping out of the window and grappling back to his own empty and suddenly very lonely apartment was familiar enough. He didn’t feel as safe here as he had in the run down apartment of a practical stranger, but he should. It was his home. He should.

He didn’t sleep.

~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t know how to tell him!” She shouted, hands gripping her hair tightly.

“Just tell him. It will all work out.” He responded calmly.

Scoffing and rolling her eyes, she shouted back. “Easy for you to say! If things are going to turn out so well, why don’t YOU tell him? It was your idea after all!”

“It would not do well if I told him, he’d only be angry at me. He has a difficult time being mad at you.” Again, with a calm response.

“He’s not going to take it well- I wouldn’t and I’m literally him!” Dani reasoned.

Clockwork huffed. “You are not ‘literally him’, you are your own person and you have been for years. Do not diminish all of the hard work the two of you have put into being your own people. Tell him.” 

“He’s gonna kill me! It’s not just him anymore- he’s got the boys to worry about you know this!”

“Tell him.” CW responded idly.

Face palming, Dani groaned. “I’m so dead.”

~~~~~~~~~

Shortly after Miguel’s explanation and panic attack, Danny convinced him to take a nap and spent the next few hours cleaning the apartment and putting things in order. He sent out another message saying the daycare would actually be closed for the rest of the week and he’d update the parents as soon as the building was safe enough to open back up. They were surprisingly understanding for people who were being inconvenienced in a big way.

After that he checked his email and reached out to three people who’d applied to the daycare to set up interviews. If all of them worked out he’d have three more full time employees, one who was old enough and experienced enough that he might be able to leave her in charge sometimes. 

By one thirty he realized he didn’t know where his phone was and should really message Jazz and Dani about what had happened. Searching the couch cushions, he found his phone buried under where he’d slept the night before.

(17) Missed Calls

(38) Messages

(5) Voicemails

Well. Shit. Danny started with the voicemails, the first being from Jazz.

“Danny? I saw the news- are you okay? Are the kids okay? It’s all over the news- apparently some kids were out nearby and recorded what happened through the window? Oh my Ancients- call me back Danny!”

She sounded more worried than mad, that was good, he could work with a worried Jazz- and angry one? Not so much. An angry Jazz would tear him apart molecule by molecule until he was nothing but a puddle of separated atoms.

The next one was from Sam.

“Danny Nightingale what the actual FUCK-”

Tucker cut in. “Holy shit dude! Did you actually fucking TACKLE the Scarecrow?”

“Tucker! More importantly- did your clone tackle Scarecrow? Cause the recording got fuzzy after that but not so fuzzy we didn’t notice the GLOWING FUCKING PHANTOM!”

“Sam’s right dude, the cameras caught more than usual- maybe it was because they were farther away? Or just because your energy was being expended keeping a clone around? Not sure, but the videos show a vaguely humanoid vigilante flying around and kicking ass.”

“Call us back Invisio-Bill.”

Okay, so people being able to see Phantom wasn’t great, but it wasn’t that big of a deal. It wasn’t like he planned on going out as Phantom again- he hadn’t come to Gotham to be a vigilante and team up with the birds and bats. Valerie and Wes left similar voicemails to Jazz.

“Can’t even keep off the news as Danny, eh Nightingale? Let me know if you’re okay.”

At least Valerie’s message was teasing and not angry. Seriously, why were all of the women in his life so terrifying when they were angry?

“Dude! So Phantom’s back, huh? And you got to meet Batman, Robin, Red Robin, and Red Hood? Seriously man- that’s- that’s wild! You know it’s pretty funny that that guy -Duke Thomas- works for you and was there that night because-” There was a loud honking sound cutting him off. “Oh shit, I’ve gotta go, I’ve got a hot date. Let me know you’re okay! Bye Danny!”

The last voicemail was from a number he didn’t recognize but with a Wisconsin area code. 

He deleted it without listening.

The messages were similar to the voicemails, Jazz, Sam, Tucker, Valerie, Wes, Tim, Damian, Jesse, and a few others just checking in. Jason had messaged to cancel their tutoring last minute citing a family emergency- thank Ancients he’d canceled because Danny had completely forgot they’d had an appointment. 

He deleted the text messages from the Wisconsin number he didn’t recognize.

He didn’t care to read them.

At some point people from Amity Park and his past life were going to find out he’d moved to Gotham and set up shop so to speak, but he’d hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. Maybe after he’d been here for a full year, with an established ‘business’ and connections and friends and whatnot, but not earlier. Even then, he’d hoped the only people who would really notice were peopel who didn’t care that much.

Flash, Pualina, Kwan, people who would go ‘did you hear Danny’s in Gotham now?’ and then have a laugh and move on without reaching out.

He didn’t want to hear from Vlad.

He didn’t want to think about what it meant that Vlad was reaching out.

If Vlad knew where he was then they knew where he was ant that meant he wasn’t safe. Worse- it meant the boys weren’t safe around him. Danny had grown accustomed to his life being in danger at all times a long time ago. He’d grown used to it when lab equipment malfunctioned throughout his childhood, when he’d died, when his parents' security system started targeting him, he’d always known he was in danger at all times. But he was supposed to be the one stable and safe thing about the boys’ lives and he couldn’t be that if he had the GIW and the Fenton’s breathing down his neck.

So, knowing it was something he should have done a long time ago instead of banning ghosts from coming into Amity, Danny sent a text to the group chat.

Crime-Fighting, Night-Stalking Vigilantes

The-Next-Bruce-Wayne: Get in losers we’re going to take down the GIW

The-Next-Bruce-Wayne changed the group chat name from ‘Crime-Fighting, Night-stalking Vigilantes’ to ‘Operation Take Down the Plastics’

Chaos is typing…

TooFine is typing…

Cassandra is typing…

The-Next-Gotham-Rogue is typing…

The Midwest Princess is typing…

And with that taken care of, Danny shot quick responses to his Gotham friends before turning off his phone. He told Tim, Damian, Jesse, and any parents who’d privately messaged him, that he was all right and would be getting the daycare in order as quickly as possible. He messaged Duke to check in and let him know that therapy was included in all of his employees’ benefits and that the teenager should take full advantage of it. 

Jason had first messaged to cancel their scheduled tutoring session and later (much later he noticed) messaged to ask if he was all right and if there was anything he could do to help him or the boys out. Danny apologized for not getting back to him sooner, thanked him for the offer, and returned it due to his own family emergency.

Setting his phone down he started planning how they’d do it. He’d need to talk to Clockwork and the rest of his council about how to go about getting the Justice League on their side. He could do it without them probably, but Danny had a strong suspicion that if he brought the Anti-Ecto-Acts to the JL’s attention, they’d get them abolished faster than any other route they took.

Except for war, maybe.

But Danny had overruled that suggestion years ago and instead banned Ghosts from Amity Park. He couldn’t stop them from coming through altogether or he’d be preventing many of them from their obsessions which was dangerous. It also wouldn’t really be fair to ban them from a place that might have once been their home.

He’d instead cracked down on their behavior. Any ghost who wanted to come to Earth needed to be approved by someone Danny had selected for that exact purpose. They needed to know enough about human culture to not cause chaos everywhere they went. Of course some of them *cough* Skulker *cough* didn’t listen to these rules and still caused chaos on some scale.

It wasn’t a perfect system but it was the best Danny had been able to do while also recovering from severe injuries and learning to be the King of the Infinite Realms. It had been a lot and he could admit that not all of his decisions had been winners.

“Danny?” A voice cut through his thoughts and he realized he’d been sneaked up on.

Offering Santi a smile, Danny moved his feet and offered the spot to the boy. “What’s up Santi?”

“Miguel’s bein’ weird.” He made a face. “What’d you two talk about after I left?”

Licking his lips, Danny tried to decide how much he should share. He didn’t want to break Miguel’s trust by revealing too much, but Santiao deserved to know that Danny knew certain things about their dad and oh god- was this what it was like to be a parent?! “We talked a bit about… about your dad and his feelings. Is he all right?”

Santi nodded slowly. “He’s… fine. Kinda… clingy. Din’t want me ta leave the room but not-” He considered his next words carefully. “Not for the usual reasons.”

Ah, yes. Danny remembered Miguel admitting to never leaving Santiago alone with Danny intentionally and why he did it. A part of him melted to know that Miguel wasn’t worried about that anymore. “Sometimes people need comfort but don’t know how to ask for it. Miguel seems like he might be one of those people.” Danny whispered conspiratorially. “I was like that when I was his age.”

“Danny?” Santiago started hesitantly.

“What’s up kiddo?” 

The boy shifted uncomfortably. “Did Hood… Is- Is my…” He inhaled sharply. “Is my dad dead?”

There was something about the way he asked it that Danny couldn’t put his finger on. His voice was fearful, afraid, worried, and it was also hopeful, anticipating, relaxed and it seemed like he couldn’t figure out which set of emotions were his true feelings.

“Honestly, Santi?” Danny filled his lungs and let out a deep breath. “I don’t know.” He looked the boy in the eyes when he answered, unwilling to miss even a single microexpression. “Hood said he took care of him and I don’t know exactly what that means.”

The boy looked at his hands. “Red Hood kills.”

“Sure, but he doesn’t always kill.” Danny tagged on. 

Santi squirmed as if deciding whether or not to say what he was thinking. Deciding to share his thoughts, the boy looked away from Danny. “He kills people who hurt kids,” Before Danny could respond, he whispered, “an’ rapists.”

Closing his eyes tightly, Danny pushed back the red that threatened to overtake his vision like it had the night before. He wouldn’t go there- couldn’t go there- not again. Hopefully they’d never have to see that piece of shit again. Ancients he hoped Hood had killed him.

“Yeah.” Danny felt his throat drying out by the second.

“Good fuckin’ riddance.” Miguel said from the hallway that led to their rooms.

Santi’s head whipped up to see his brother and they studied each other for a moment before Santi nodded once. “Good fuckin’ riddance.” He decided.

Danny wanted to sit in this moment, bask in the fact that these boys who’d been through hell and back were finally rid of their tormentor emotionally and physically and would be able to heal and move on eventually. But it would seem Hood had other plans for him as he felt the tug in his gut of a personal summoning.

“Shit.” He cursed. The boys looked at him, confused. “Sorry, sorry to ruin the moment.” Danny stood up, slipping his phone into his pocket. “I want to tell you boys something but I don’t really have a lot of time so I promise I’ll explain everything when I get back, okay?”

“What?” Miguel frowned.

The tug in his gut was getting stronger and Danny wished he could ignore it but a personal summoning was pretty difficult to refuse. “Listen, I’m- well- I’m not a meta exactly, but that’s the quickest way to explain it right now and I have to transform and go meet someone who’s calling me right now. Don’t do anything crazy, stay in the apartment please, I should be back in a couple of hours tops, okay?”

“Uh…. Okay…?” Miguel shrugged, looking between his brother and his guardian.

With a nod Danny let the summoning pull him away and transformed before arriving in a shabby alley. 

“I thought we were going to get coffee, eh sugar?”

Prev. Next

[corviiids]

gushing etc

[canon-gabriel-quotes]

Sorry if this is an invasive question, but have you read any specific fics and/or would be comfortable sharing which?

I don’t have an ao3 account so I don’t have a way to keep track of what I have read. But it’s really not that many. Probably like 10-15 in total.

Not really the person to ask for refs as ive barely read any ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[spacespore]

HI TUMBLRR it’s me

[mat-of-superwholock]

currently having a mental breakdown🥲

save me Cherikkkkk

aw fuck, he's just as depressed as me

[helianskies]

ugly maths.

i hate maths, right. i don't usually like numbers, and if i do like numbers it's gotta be an 8 or a 48 and nothing else.

thing is, i've recently caught myself doing maths again. ugly maths. the kind of maths that, really, i've been trying to avoid as much as possible because, well, it's ugly!

you... wanna see?

okay, fine... but don't say i didn't warn you!

ugly, see? look at all those numbers! not a 48 in sight!

huh? what's that? you don't see what i'm on about? oh... oh! hang on, lemme just—

better? yes? no? no? okay, what if i—

mmh, yes. ugly numbers. see it now? can you see why they're ugly?

here, i can make it worse.

these numbers are ugly. the maths they make me do is ugly.

now i'll level with you: the worst ones by far are the yellow numbers. the maths they make me do it the ugliest.

why ugly?

because it makes me ugly.

those numbers turn me into not only a suddenly number-obsessed fool, but a fool who also cannot understand these numbers and what they mean and why i feel like they reflect on me and my ability.

87, 75.

the thoughts are as follows:

• the orange numbers are big, so why are you being ugly about the yellow ones? you should be happy with what you have. so many nice big numbers! not everyone receives that.

• is it that there are two different audiences for these two different fics? perhaps. they are quite different works, with different appeals, and different themes. maybe you are reading too much into it.

• why are you obsessing over numbers anyway? you don't like maths! you left maths behind when you were 16, put it down!

okay, okay, fine! i'll put the maths down. right here, in fact!:

that 87 was an 83 at the start of the year. the 6161 it is attached to was a 5453.

4, 708.

ugly maths.

the 75 is a nice number. in fact, compared to 87, it is beautiful, radiant, enchanting. at the start of the year, 75 was 48. wow. now that is one sexy number!

27.

mmmm.

6161, 1061.

5100.

87, 75.

12.

mmmm.

you know, my most favourite comment left recently on a fic of mine was 2 characters long: :(

it made me :)

well, actually, it made me >:) because it was left in response, presumably, to one of the key scenes in a new chapter which left the exact impression on someone that i hoped it would.

they must be the only one who reacted like that, though.

1.

have i mentioned that that 87 and 75 include author responses?

i won't try to do more maths, there. it might not end well for me. the maths is making me tired enough as it is, and i have an early start tomorrow.

oh! but, that being said, i have another set of ugly numbers to show you, so keep 87 and 75 in mind.

ready?

838, 245.

(want a hint? the green numbers!)

838, 87. 245, 75.

9.6, 3.3.

ugly maths. it's ugly again, see? i don't like it. i'm seeing numbers within numbers within numbers, and i can't seem to stop!

the numbers make me ask new questions:

• why is it not good enough?

• people seem to engage more with one fic over the other, so shouldn't you prioritise?

• is all this maths this really good for you?

no, it isn't.

i want to avoid ugly maths. ugly maths makes me want to tear my hair out. it makes me want to start from scratch. it makes me want to grab someone and scream. it makes me want to cry and press a button that has tempted me many times before when the numbers become too ugly to bear.

ugly maths turn me into an ugly person.

ugly maths make me obsessive, paranoid, anxious, regretful, vindictive, spiteful, alone.

i hate maths. i hate numbers, just like, it feels, the numbers hate me.

[ovalt]

i've been hate-[following/watching/reading/left intentionally vague] something to the point where I'm literally subscribed to it for updates and I know i shld rlly just stop ...

[o-wyrmlight]

Cookie your tags are so good ssjkfdkfhskdjh

Thanks I grew them myself in my garden

[snekdood]

i really dont think i actually deserved all that bullshit. the internets traumatized me now at this point and literally no ones gonna care unless my abuser is honest and its so fucking exhausting.

[hexados-on-a-string]

good evening i totally didnt disappear for months haha idk what ur talking about

[buckleyseddie]

.

[buttercuparry]

Urgent: Extremely low funds!!

I am writing to you on behalf of Abdulsalam Al-Anqur ( @aboodanqar20 ), whose family has managed to raise a mere 3% of evacuation/survival funds. At this point, it would soon be one year of bombing and destruction of Gaza and I request you to take this in consideration while reading the post. For almost one year, the family has tried to get by, before finally reaching out to all of us for help. I am going to keep this short in hopes that this would be an easier read and would take only a few minutes of your day. 

Abdulsalam is only 26 years old and is father to one year old Iman. He hopes to save his daughter who is currently suffering from malnutrition and offer her a better life by evacuating to Egypt.

However as the borders are currently closed, the Al-Anqur family needs your help to collect funds for survival. There are 7 members in total, including an elderly couple.

Abdulsalam’s father (Ahmed Al-Anqur), is 54 years old and has recently been diagnosed with cancer. He has been advised to undergo surgery every three months, but with how things are in Gaza, the family isn't sure if it is possible. They are also worried that even if by some miracle it becomes so, they might not be able to bear the cost of it

What Ahmed, hence needs is access to medicines to get by. He also has a weak heart and already has 4 stents in place.  

The Al-Anqur family has been displaced several times and because they couldn't bear the cost of transportation, they once had to travel from the North to Deir Al-Balah in the South ON FOOT ! They have also been subjected to terror and humiliation when they crossed military checkpoints.  

Currently the family is living in a camp surrounded by waste and garbage and would like access to a decent tent before winter sets in.

For a long time, Abdulsalam refused to share his burden with anyone. But after almost a year of surviving through this genocide, he has grown tired and now fears for his daughter’s life. He is also close to tears about his father’s condition and requests  your help in  raising funds for survival. Please help him in whatever way you can. He has come onto  tumblr with a lot of hope. Please donate if you can. Boost and share if you can't. 

Currently at €1,703 / €50,000. Only €797 till €2,500.

Vetting #4 by @gazavetters ( this blog is run by Gazans themselves whom you have helped and still continue to help. Please, a lot of hope is riding on your participation).