#heavy making out tw

[voidshrub]

"Follow me!"

[electrozeistyking]

tomorrow

[starry-bi-sky]

my body's aching like a knock-down drag-out

and my poor heart is an open wound A Childhood Friends Au snippet that very briefly delves into Danny's life post-accident. CW: Mild Mentions of Blood, Violence, VERY mild gore ig. Danny briefly recalls getting impaled during a fight.

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What they don't tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it can hurt. That it can hurt more than when you were alive. That when you die, the emotions you die with stick with you like a leech that just won't let go. That emotions are ugly little thorns that stick their barbs into you and grow beneath your skin; or, at least, whatever’s left of it. 

Danny is familiar with anger. It kept him warm in Gotham, when his parents weren't home from work and he and Jason were crowding Crime Alley with their presence. It kept him warm in Amity, when the fresh sting of moving was still needling into his heart and he wanted nothing more than to rip and tear into the closest person next to him.

He's familiar with violence. With fights. With death. He's seen people die in Crime Alley probably every day. From overdose, from gunshots, from stab wounds; anything that can kill, rest assured he's seen it. He's familiar with getting his own knuckles rough and bloody when other kids turn and bare their teeth at him and Jason; they're all just starving dogs stuck in a fighting pit, primed and ready to rip out each other's throats. 

Black eyes, stomped hands, bloody noses. You name it; he’s had it. Gotham is paved with the blood of her children, and Danny likes to imagine that when he was born, the doctors handed his mother a file and told her; “Take it. He’s going to need it for his teeth.” 

Danny’s mom (and dad, for that matter) was too busy trying to keep him and Jazz fed, so Danny stole the file from her drawer with Jazz’s help, and did it himself.  

He’s familiar with anger, he thought he was getting better at it these days. It doesn’t come to him as easily as it did before. Of course, that was before Jason died. 

Danny is less familiar with grief. Caring kills and Gotham kills the caring, so Danny cares very little about other people. Or he tries to. But grief hurts. His grief hurts. It hurts too much. It hurts like a bug trying to crawl out of his chest; like a rat chewing a hole through his heart. Some days he wants to dig his hands into his hair and split himself down the middle. Some days he just wants to scream. 

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead. 

He wants the whole city to hear him wailing, some days. It sticks itself in the back of his throat like bile, and Danny is one wrong retch away from letting it loose. It sticks in his lungs like all the tar he’s smoked in since he was nine. It pushes and aches at his temples, in his head, like his brain is trying to swell out of his skull. His thoughts becoming so loud they threaten to commandeer his tongue.  

He has no mouth, but he must scream. 

Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it hurts. That it hurts more than when you were alive. Something they don’t tell you about being dead is that it’s violent. That it’s bloody. Or as bloody as it can be when everyone has no blood. 

Another thing they don’t tell you about being dead, is that it’s a lot like Gotham that way.

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies forget death itself. Blood comes easy, like water, and teeth are encouraged. Bring your own fangs to the fight. Dying is something you can just walk off. 

Danny’s been dead for three months. He can’t say he’s been walking it off easy. He’s perfected the art of turning his nails into claws since his heart was still beating, but he can’t say he’s perfected fighting other ghosts. 

Scrappy is just not enough. 

He feels like he’s back in Gotham again. Back in her death-shroud alleyways, fighting someone bigger than him. But there’s no Jason to watch his back, and Danny has to get himself out of there alone. Or he might just not get up at all. 

Black eyes, busted lips. It’s familiar to him like an old scent, Danny isn’t quite sure that he’s missed it. It’s more familiar than his fights with Dash. 

But there’s no one else who can do it but him. Not Sam, not Tucker. He can’t lose them too. He can’t. He can’t. He can’t. His heart can’t take another break, he already feels like he’s going insane. 

With no threat of death, Danny’s enemies fight like death themself. He learns why when Technus puts a street sign through his stomach one day. It pins him to the asphalt like a moth pinned by its wings. 

Danny claws at the metal like how an animal caught in a trap chews off its leg, and every move is blinding pain. He thinks he was howling, but it’s hard to tell. He couldn’t recognize the sound of his voice. 

He bleeds green. It mixes in black with the pitch blackhole in his heart, which throbs and twists and cries in time with his reckless panic. The finger-choking terror of dying again strangles out the air he doesn’t need. His blood evaporates, only to reabsorb into him. It just bleeds out again, cycling like a snake eating its own tail. 

Danny breaks his nails clawing at the metal, and eventually gets it in his mind to pull it out. So he does, and the end drips ectoplasm green as he gets to his feet. In red-vision, Danny sends the sign back with snarling, vicious fervor. The pain is irrelevant in his rage.

Only after the fight does the hole the pole left start to close. Danny doesn’t shift human until it’s gone. Unlike other injuries, a scar stays behind. Ugly; mottled, it aches for a week with every twist and stretch his body makes. He hates it. 

Being dead is agony. 

Every part of him is in pain. Every step, every word he speaks, everything he does, it is prerequisite with pain. The body is temporary, but the soul is forever, and death has carved into it with its freezing green hands and left him with never-ending heartache. It has torn from him and stolen what of him it could, and in return it’s left him with sorrow. 

His pain is his grief, and he’s sobbed in the safety of his room more times than he can count. It’s still as fresh as the day he heard the news of Jason’s death. He knows, instinctively, that it will stay fresh forever. 

In his room, Danny shoves his hands over his mouth and shrieks in whatever, muffled way he can into his pillow. It’s not enough. It’s never enough. He needs to be louder. He needs to be heard. He refuses to be. 

Being dead hurts. 

[meatballsander]

Decided to get silly and draw the inverse of the iconic "Victory Soldier" poster. And make it Heavymedic, of course.

Inspiration, progress pics, and alt versions under the cut

This poster! Always been a fan.

Initially I was gonna keep the same setting & color scheme, but the original poster distinctly has the top two thirds warm tones/bottom third cool tones. If I wanted to keep the piece cohesive it'd have to be RED Heavymedic vs BLU Soldier. And the more I thought about that the less it felt explicitly like Heavymedic fanart and more like propaganda for the RED team.

So I set it on Snowycoast! Its sky box and layout let me have cool top thirds/warm bottom third. Also it's one of the most beautiful maps in the game and I love drawing night scenes. Literally no downsides.

Progress pics!

Textless version, and an alt text version I made at the request of a friend:

And finally, since you've reached the bottom, some memes I made while working on it.

:)

[leonbastralle]

fishbowl (demo), dev. imissmyfriends.studio

[lilyginnyblackv2]

“Two Heterosexual Men”- Buddy Daddies - Episode 8 - SPOILERS!

Saw someone on r/anime describe Kazuki and Rei like this in the comments on a post. Like, I’ll give them the benefit of the doubt that they made that comment before Episode 8 dropped. But, if they didn’t, I’m seriously just sitting her thinking how? The subtext this episode was astronomical:

First we have the parallel of Yuzuko (who is slightly older) finding Kazuki (who is slightly younger) at his lowest point and Kazuki (who is slightly older) finding Rei (who is slightly younger) at his lowest point:

Both of these meetings took place around “flowers” that have ties to romantic love. Hydrangeas mean “true geniune love” and Mistletoe (the name of Kyu’s cafe) is associated with kissing under.

Then we have the fact that Rei states he found something to protect, mirroring the man that was essentially his teacher, whose person he wanted to protect was a woman that was heavily assumed to be his wife:

Yes, of course, Miri is present there too. And Miri is a factor (she is part of his family), but the parallels being drawn here are to the significant other.

Just like how we were meant to also make a connection to Satoru losing his significant other to a hit like Kazuki did (even if Yuzuko’s death was an unintended result, it doesn’t change the fact that it happened).

That’s why we are meant to feel so scared for Kazuki, because he is being paralleled to all of these other significant others who were killed due to their connections to a hitman for a spouse/partner.

Add in Rei’s fierce desire to keep Kazuki out of his father’s and the organization’s business, along with Rei stating that Kazuki didn’t mean much to him at first, but then Kazuki basically wormed his way into Rei’s heart because of how he cared for him. And, of course, there is plenty on Kazuki’s side towards Rei too, like Episode 7 where he makes the deliberate choice to move forward with his new family and to continue to stay with not only Miri, but Rei too. Rei is just as important to him. 

Both Kazuki and Rei fear that the other has abandoned them and they don’t like it.

And, like, I’m not saying people have to view their relationship romantically, I still view it as queerplatonic and likely always will, but when people are like “They are just two HERTEROSEXUAL men” it is them trying to throw out and deny any queer reading of the relationship dynamic between Kazuki and Rei.

Even though all of the parallels and subtext (that is practically text at this point) is literally right there.

Like, the series can hardly be any clearer about this at this point.

[tyrianluda]

I haven't really fixated on classic heavy or the classic mercs before but now that I have, I politely want all of the fandom to apologize for making the mischaraterizations of them be accepted as canon. Why in the shit is cheavy being homophobic a common joke? Why do 9 out of 10 fics depict him as an abusive rapist? Are you all seriously basing it off “vibes” and that's it? Have you all actually read the fucking comics, because like, you objectively make shit up. and I want detailed answers.

[demigod-of-the-agni]

Forgive me, forgive me. I ask, I beg, I pray, but it never comes.

You know I find it incredibly bewildering to see just how much kalki reflects myself in him like YEAH Duh of course he does, he’s my little guy it’s like his full time job. But at the same time he is a fully functional facet of my being and he is at the mercy of my whimsies, and whatever he discovers in his arduous journey of self realisation is ultimately a reflection of what I discover in the real world. It’s also incredibly funny because ffxiv lore for dark knights is really baked into the idea of (re)discovering yourself amongst the bloodshed and continuing to live and love and thrive despite the world working against us. who would have thought such a raw message could come from an mmorpg side quest about edgy emo boys of all places

also adamantite armour of fending i would lay down my LIFE for u

variant + phone bg version + ID below the cut

tch as if you guys are actually going to use artwork of my little guy as your phone background. i know. how dumb. let a girl dream. i should make an alternate version but it's of Fray and Myste

[START ID: A picture with a red background focusing on the character's bust that is placed to the left of the image's centre. He is coloured with a dark blue overlay, contrasting with the red background. He has brown skin, long black hair that falls over his shoulders, and is wearing blue and gold armour and earrings. He is looking at the viewer, right eye dark brown and the left an glowing unnatural red, with an expression that looks determined and angry and yet bitter and forlorn. In the foreground and on the right side of the piece, a miniature version of the character stands coloured in a light blue overlay and wearing the same blue and gold armour, looking as if he is glowing. He is facing towards the left of the piece, or perhaps at the character bust, his expression unreadable. Above the miniature character's head is the symbol representing the FFXIV dark knight, coloured in gold. END ID.]

[lover-of-mine]

song: Cupid by Xana (youtube)

[tyrianludaship]

i will make it so the "tfc heavy" tag is actually decent and not just full of "non-con" abuse fics. even if i have to claw and bite my way through it

[timechange]

MCFLY JULY ‘24 — blind spot.

JANUARY 11, 1986

The key turns in the front door, the winter chill rushing into the house. A moment later, the hall light turns on.

“Mom? You awake?” 

Sylvia smiles at the sound of her son’s voice, putting down her crochet things on the end table.  

“We’re in here, Georgie!” 

Carefully, she stands, easing her grandson’s head off her lap and tucking a pillow underneath. She’s pretty sure the kid must’ve been an acrobat in another life; there’s no way he’d be able to sleep all twisted up like a pretzel otherwise. She readjusts the blanket she’d put over him, smoothing down his hair, before meeting her son and daughter-in-law halfway.

“Well, how was the party?” she asks, leaning up against the breakfast bar as George and Lorraine hang up their coats. “You two crazy kids have fun hobnobbin’ with the head honchos at Simon & Schuster?” 

“It was nice, Mom, thanks,” George answers, way too dismissively for a party he’d been talking about for weeks, full of editors and publishers and everything he’d always dreamed of, “but–”

“How was Marty?” Lorraine interrupts, urgently.

Here we go. Finally, some answers.

“Lorrie, honey, you know Artie and I always love bein’ with the kids,” Sylvia begins, and she meant it, even though Artie had called it a night about three hours ago and was now snoring loud enough to shake the walls, “but seventeen goin’ on eighteen’s a little old for a babysitter, don’t you think?” 

“Oh, we’ve just been so worried about him, Sylvia,” Lorraine pleads, eyes wide. “We… we didn’t think it would be a good idea to leave him alone.” 

“For the last few months,” George elaborates, wrapping an arm around his wife and holding her close, “he hasn’t been himself. He doesn’t sleep, he’s been having nightmares… he’s been having memory problems, too, and I know he’s a teenager, but sometimes he’ll get in his own head and it’s like… he’s not even here, like he goes somewhere else instead.”

“He’ll get so confused,” Lorraine agrees, “and-and he used to love thunderstorms but now he’s just so afraid of them and... other things… sometimes it even feels like he's afraid of us…” She bites her lip and buries herself into George. 

It breaks Sylvia’s heart to see them like this; in mourning for the boy who’s alive and breathing and fast asleep on the couch. Just a few hours ago her and Marty were singing along to the radio while making dinner and laughing until they cried trying to play games on his Nintendo while eating Lucky Charms by the bowlful.

“We must’ve missed something,” George murmurs, “something must’ve happened to him and we missed it somehow.”

“We’ve just been so busy,” Lorraine laments, “too busy. I-I thought it was the stress… with college applications and everything changing… but even Jennifer and Doctor Brown don’t know what’s wrong.”  

Sylvia isn’t quite sure she buys that. 

She may not know a lot of things, but she does know that Carl Sagan from 1931 certainly doesn’t look like that nice young man on PBS from a couple years back but did look a whole lot like that whiz kid Emmett and even more like her grandson’s best friend, that nice Doctor Brown, that Emmett grew up to be. 

She also knows that Sonny Crockett (who is pretty much all they talked about at dinner tonight) is from one of Marty’s favorite shows, not that kid from 1931 with her grandson’s sweet blue eyes and a fake mustache.

She even remembers George begging her and Artie to help him get all dolled up for some dance at the last minute and talking all about how he wasn’t going with a date but he was going to meet up with his new friend Marty there.

Not to mention the date on that Bubble Bobble game of his is two years from now.

When you grow up around liars and cheats, you get to be really good at noticing things. 

“So how was he tonight?” George asks again. “Really?”

“Georgie, sweetheart, he was fine,” Sylvia emphasizes. “We had a great time. As for the other stuff… Remember what you were like when you were his age? I sure do. Any time your dad and I got near ya we’d have to promise we weren’t tryin’ to look in your journals. Even if we were just givin’ you a hug!”

They crack a smile at this, George at least having the decency to look sheepish.

“Whatever’s going on with Marty,” she continues, “he’ll tell ya when he’s good and ready. And remember: you’re great parents. He loves you. He’d do anything for you. Just be there for him until then and let him know that you love him too. No matter what.”

Sylvia looks over her shoulder at her sleeping grandson, a fond smile and a mischievous look in her eye.

We got a lot to talk about, kiddo. I’m ready when you are.

[ashes-in-a-jar]

My biggest unexpected character development this summer is somehow instead of running in the opposite direction and screaming for help when I see a cockroach in my room (it's been twice now... sigh) like I used to, I am instead filled with immense righteous fury and channel that into bloody murder, shouting insults at the poor creature all the way to hell and back as I commit the crime

[mad-hunts]

🔪 (what has he DONE!!!)

finding my muse drenched in blood after they killed someone meme.

after having what barton could only describe as a 'trying' couple of weeks, he was quite looking forward to being able to leave the place. it meant that he could unwind by going on a normal date with someone — though this wasn't their first time seeing each other. they'd meant upwards of about three months ago, because barton had volunteered to pay for their coffee when he heard her say she would have to leave without it due to not having her wallet. and after that, for a while, he didn't believe he'd ever see again.

but lo and behold... joanna had shown up at the same medical conference he was at several weeks later, and she'd gotten his attention. the rest was history from there as they talked practically all day as they seemed to really hit it off. so, barton had invited her to dinner the next week, and the rest was history as they say. though real life hardly had any happy endings unfortunately. and after overhearing joanna saying something barton believed he really wasn't supposed to hear, due to the incriminating nature of it, that day?

he immediately thought to confront her rather impulsively because that was like the straw that broke the camel's back for him. their relationship, from the beginning, had all but been a set-up as joanna was actually a C.I. as it turned out; or a criminal informant. someone who's job it was to find out information because they had committed a crime themselves and formed a deal to report back to the police with it to get leniency. which, as one might imagine, didn't bode over well with barton especially because he liked her. he liked joanna a lot, and so that rage the doctor always seemed to be carrying with him bubbled up to the surface before long.

barton remembered chasing her partially through the wooded area that he lived in after hitting joanna over the head. he also thought he'd grabbed the axe in his shed before doing so, and yelling at her about how he was able to envision something long-term with her but she ruined things — because if she hadn't been a 'rat,' barton would've never had a reason to hurt her. what barton didn't remember was how he'd ended up at sibyl's place which wasn't too far but wasn't close either. along with being completely smothered in her blood, as well as feeling a little bit like he was motion sick.

everything seemed to be going too fast and too slow at the same time as he left a bloody imprint on their door of where he'd knocked on it. barton's heart was thundering in his ears when they finally answered the door. he struggled to find words to say to sibyl, but something slipped out of his mouth eventually, ❝ ahh, i... i'm not sure why i came here - but i think i killed someone i cared about. and i don't even know what i did with their body. christ, i don't even know what i did with their body. ❞

[angel-mutt]

i feel so disgusting! i hate how much body hair i have! i hate how fast my body hair grows! i hate how much i sweat! i hate how big my boobs are! i hate my posture! i hate how i pick at my skin so much! i hate how im such a coward! i hate how no one sees me for who i am! i hate how everyone sees a monster in me! i hate what i see when i look in the mirror! i want to blow my brains out but my floor is carpeted and i dont want to inconvenience whoever would have to clean that up! i want to burn my room down with me in it but my birth giver had a house fire when she was younger and it would give her a panic attack! i want to stab myself in the chest but im afraid i would change my mind! i hate! i hate! i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate i hate!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[whumppmuhw]

Whumptober Day 12: Self harm

tw: bodily self harm, non-suicidal self harm, minor cuts, minor burns, intrusive thoughts, distorted thoughts/way of thinking, trauma, harmful inner dialogue, triggering imagery

It started with small cuts on the hand, easily disguised as papercuts. Whumpee had been getting into reading again; Caretaker would understand. Dragging one's finger on the edge of the knife page was so tempting. A few days and bandages later and it was like it had never happened at all. Caretaker and Whumpee could just forget about it. The urge got stronger. Whumpee went about their day as normally as possible, healing from cuts their time with Whumper and getting used to a new life with Caretaker. It weighed on their mind constantly, and the mask of being okay was becoming hard to stay on. Whumpee enjoyed their time with Caretaker. Caretaker was always willing to help them and to try and fix the broken pieces of themself. They can't fix this. They could tell Caretaker anything. Not about this. Caretaker would help them through anything. So why not tell them? Whumpee wanted Caretaker to be happy. Soon, it included standing in the too hot shower or holding their hands under the scalding water. Burns are less messy than cuts. Then Whumpee would remember what happened with Whumper in front of the fireplace, and would get scared and turn the water down. Why do you do this? Whumpee wasn't used to not constantly feeling some degree of pain. It's comforting, I know pain. There were many things Whumpee wasn't used to, but they wanted to get better. I feel like I'm getting worse. Caretaker had a nice job, and was able to provide for the both of them. The temptation grows stronger while they're away. I'm safer when they're here, but they can't be all of the time. Whumpee thought it might be nice to get a job of their own and to get out of the house, even if just part time. Who would want somebody so broken? Whumpee remembered their job before everything that happened with Whumper, and while the work was tiresome, their coworkers were fun to be around. What would they think of you now, you pitiful thing... One day, when Caretaker was at work, Whumpee decided to try baking something. Before they could start, they had to tackle the pile of dishes in the sink. Be careful not to "accidentally" grab a knife by its blade... Whumpee started on the task, moving slowly and carefully. There were a few knives at the bottom, of various sizes. Whumpee picked them up and started to inspect them. No harm in doing that if you're not harming yourself. Whumpee inspected the tips of the blade, how heavy they felt, and checked for any chips along the blade. They put the knives in the diswasher and started the cycle. While they waited for the dishes, Whumpee went to read their book, but instead headed for the bathroom. Just in case, I want to make sure Caretaker has adequate first-aid supplies. They opened the cabinet under the sink and found bandages, gauze, burn cream, and individually wrapped pads soaked in rubbing alcohol. You wouldn't be looking here unless you wanted to do it. Give in already. Whumpee left the bathroom and tried to read their book, but they couldn't concentrate. Eventually the dishwasher chimed and Whumpee went to dry and unload it. Don't think about the knives, they can't hurt you if you don't let them. What if I want to let them? Whumpee pulled a box of cake mix from the cupboards and two pre-filled piping bags. They were going to make a bloody mess some cupcakes. Caretaker would be delighted when they came home! Not at the sight of your blood, only Whumper would like- Whumpee pushed the thought away and turned on the small radio Caretaker kept in the kitchen. They found a station of current pop hits, which wasn't their thing, but it would help keep them distracted. From what? Your own mind? You can't get away from that. Baking, frosting, and decorating the cupcakes went smoothly, and Whumpee enjoyed getting to make something with their hands and bopping along to the radio, even though they didn't know the words. They put the cupcakes in the fridge to let the frosting set up, and would take it out before Caretaker got home to place on the table for them to see.

Whumpee had an hour left to themselves and needed something to do. They could try to read their book, but what if they couldn't concentrate again? Thinking of books made Whumpee think about the crisp edges of pages, and how it felt to run their finger along them. It's not pages you enjoy... They found themself opening the knife drawer. "Just to inspect," but you can't use that excuse now that you've already done that today. Whumpee took out the smallest of the knives, with a blade the length of their thumb. The butcher knife looked rather inviting, but it would have been too much too soon. They ran it along their thumb, and then moved down to their wrist, then arm, with never enough pressure to commit. They wondered what Whumper Caretaker would think of them. They imagined what they would say, "Whumpee, I-I'm so sorry you felt the need to do this to yourself- here, let's clean you up..." before taking Whumpee into their arms as they both cried. "Ha! I guess I don't have to punish you anymore, clearly you can take care of that!" or even worse, Whumper standing behind Whumpee, placing one hand over Whumpee's, the other supporting Whumpee's arm, guiding the blade along their arm as they made Whumpee do it themself... No. Caretaker didn't deserve this. Whumpee didn't deserve this. It was so tempting, too tempting, but Whumpee wasn't going to give in. Whumpee put the knife away and put back on the pop station, though they were blocking most of it out. They paced around the kitchen until Caretaker got home. Caretaker opened the door and was immediately greeted by a tight hug from Whumpee. Caretaker returned the embrace, then a second later was being rushed into the kitchen, where a tray of freshly baked cupcakes sat on the table. "Whumpee, this is amazing! T-thank you! I'll go put my things away, and then we can dig in!" Whumpee was beaming with pride, and admiration for Caretaker. You're safe. For now.

[theygender]

I've been trying to figure out and justify why I've been experiencing so much fatigue lately. At first I thought I may have developed anemia from my endometriosis making me bleed for 8 weeks straight but my blood tests came back fine. Maybe I'm just exhausted bc I had to work that entire time while actively sick? But I had quite a few days off to rest this month and I haven't been as sick recently, so what gives? Turns out I didn't need to look for an outside source. Apparently fatigue is one of THE most common symptoms of endo and it's just not mentioned often bc most doctors underestimate the impact fatigue can have on people's lives 🙃 The call is coming from inside the fucking house