#he's a miserable fuck

[suntails]

toot toot!

[virtu4l-di4ry]

holy fuck dean winchester is canonically queer and died in the closet. he never experienced true self-acceptance or queer joy. oh and how he yearned for it. someone sedated me

[pippuns]

you ever think about how fucked up it is that shen qingqiu's first mission out of sect was him subduing the skinner, a demon who targeted and replaced people no one would really miss?

very fun how the skinner ended up getting killed and destroyed by someone else who took the place of a person no one really missed

[spaceistheplaceart]

once again thinking about @void-dude's static ford. ough.

check this out

[guardianspirits13]

Bouncing off all of the fanfics where the Dead Boys are brought back to life again for a period of time to suggest that their thoughts on it are the opposite of what you’d anticipate based on their perception of the living while they’re ghosts. Charles sorely misses living while a ghost, despite all the awful, awful things he was subjected to. Edwin, despite 70+ years in Hell, is perfectly content as a ghost and finds the living distasteful to a degree.

But, when they get hit by an “aliving” spell, that’s not how it goes down at all.

Edwin has not been in a human body for over a century- and even then only got sixteen years of it- so he forgets how much he was missing as a ghost. Actually being able to feel things- the warmth of human touch, the breeze through his hair, the texture of worn book pages. The smell of petrichor after rain, a warm cup of sweet tea. Even just sleeping and having the ability to give his overactive mind a break. He’s forgotten how many good things there were about being alive.

Charles, as expected, is thrilled to be alive again and his first few days on solid ground are a whirlwind, but his energy is short lived. He frequently sleeps over 12 hours a night, and can’t bring himself to get out from under the covers for another hour longer. His appetite fades quickly, and he finds that foods he’s been craving for 35 years just don’t taste the same. Initially he chalks it up to his mind and body readjusting to human life (despite Edwin having none of the same issues), and continues enjoying what he can. But eventually, it becomes clear that something is very very wrong. His right arm that he shattered at age 14 (and didn’t get properly treated for days) begins to ache again. Sudden touches are no longer a gentle spectral sensation, but an unexpected pressure that he shrinks away from. His body feels heavy, and his energy drains quickly if he has any to begin with.

It turns out that over three decades of repressed physical and emotional trauma took its toll on him, and he had naïvely forgotten-or perhaps willfully omitted- the struggle that was his life when he wasn’t out kissing girls and pretending like his father didn’t exist.

Edwin feels a sense of freedom in being human again, away from all the supernatural trauma he has endured, while for Charles it is more of a burden than he ever recalled it being.

[1mm4d13]

The queen has spoken

[agostise]

he got sooo dramatic after getting to date mo smh

[yennao]

Yk this actually started as a second pass at @ratblazer 's DTIYS but I got a little bit excited about light pens and ended up here. At least, I think that's what happened. I got the memory of a gnat, you know how it be

[aanthonyvb]

I pronounce twink death.

(Jayce divorce era concept aka the Defender of Tomorrow )

[cenfitto]

i miss viktor oh my god they robbed us i was nutting in my jorts when this shit came on in season 1 with the fucking framing to pose the arm over his shoulder oh my god. can you imagine up at 3am to watch this on release and here comes a direct foreshadow teaser for your fucking Boy. i am chasing that high for the rest of my life like actually. and then they DONT EVEN FOLLOW THROUGH ON IT. WHY IS HE MAGIC. FUCK. WE COULD HAVE HAD IT ALL

[lotus-pear]

do you ever think about how in the day i picked up dazai side b dazai had to lie emotionless and soulless—like a corpse, almost—beside the man that gently brought him in, nursed his injuries, held him while he was in pain? he had to keep those suffocating bandages around his entire face, lest this man gain some sort of recognition for the little boy he saved. he had to lay there curled in the fetal position, bleeding and in pain, perhaps thinking about how, in another life, this man cooked for him, tried to build up his strength. read to him to pass the time while he curled up against him like a child listening to a bedtime story. played cards with him. saw through the heartless mafioso. the ruthless killer. and instead saw a boy.

imagine knowing this man, the man who saved you in more ways than one, was going to die one day all because he knew you. because he reached his hand into the darkness and plaintively, like a small child wanting a parent's touch, you grasped back desperately. imagine thinking all of that while that man is just a stone's throw away, making coffee in the next room just like he used to for you in another life. the scent, although you've never been here before, is reminiscent of home. and the tune he's humming? it's the silent melody that plays through your mind seven years later, for the last time as you fall backward off the building with your arms out like an embrace. but, hey. that man is alive. he's happy, although he never knew you. you can die with no regrets.

[bromcommie]

but genuinely I will never stop thinking about the museum scene. like it's upsetting in all the obvious setup-to-the-plot-twist ways, but more than that: the quietness of Steve’s presence vs. the booming grandiosity of the exhibit itself. The question of whether he had been previously (my guess would be yes) and if so, what a morbid, ghost-like ritual to perform just in order to cling to your memory, to remind yourself that it was real. What a blunt, reductive manifestation of not only everything you’ve lost, but the fact that your life and memory have become so entrenched a part of the public domain to the point that you’re viewed as about as much of a person as any one dusty item in that exhibit; the fact that you can’t access any of your world outside of yourself unless it’s through about a dozen second-hand, funhouse mirror narratives not only entirely co-opted by war but also tailored to fit a certain purpose. This one very public fucking horrific way to keep torturing yourself is one of your only remaining tethers to what you remember of your life. I mean. jesus christ steve

[wendigoruble]

It's nearly Christmas again and I need to remind you all

Snow Miser is fucking H U G E

[sissytobitch10seconds]

I don't think that the majority of people being mad on the internet actually hate s4. I think that they're grieving something that they held very close to their hearts and are in the anger stage of the process. It'll be interesting to see in the next few months what the attitude around the season comes to be.

[rainbow-beanie]

OH FUCK YOU OF COURSE BRANDON WROTE THIS EPISODE. NO WONDER HE WAS SO EXCITED 😆

[hyperfixationstation1]

cheers to the man who sleeps during the end of the world

Grantaire sketch.

Micron 0.2. Derwent HB and 9B