#i understand its for health

[dizzybizz]

"this is regrettably the best kiss of your life, you understand?"

[loverofpiggies]

Something Wonderful Volume 1 is now available on my Etsy shop!

The fixed books have finally arrived, so it is now on sale! Only $20 for the first 3 chapters, 120 pages of the story!

[nordidia]

having a very rough night so raph doodles needed to be made

when in need, mash two interests together

[violottie]

🇵🇸 please watch and remember this 🇵🇸

"PERSPECTIVE: In a world where some can close their eyes to suffering, others are forced to endure it without respite. Let’s remember our privilege to switch off, and consider the lives that can’t.”

by meeks_animates, 14/Apr/2024:

[maria-ruta]

I'm having a bad mood today

Would you draw my blorbo for me please?

[skunkes]

[moonlit-dreamers]

i need yall to understand just how badly i want solar and eclipse to get into a physical fight

but none of it is actually serious or harmful and its just them aggressively rolling around and (depending on the day) throwing petty insults at each other

like this is how i imagine theyd fight

theyre just lil guys. they just fight each other sometimes. just get a bit silly sometimes

also thank @basilbots for reminding me how insane i am over this. also thank them for saying that the lil head waggle of that one cat is like their rays spinning/flaring

[lovesickeros]

☆ from gold, i am undone

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, implied self harm, implied suicide attempts {☆} word count 0.9k

You weren't meant to be here.

You can feel it in the marrow of your bones– it weighs you down like heavy shackles, gold bleeding from your pores until it is all you know. The taste of ichor on your tongue, the warmth of its invasion beneath your skin, that gleam of gold that lingers in the color of your eyes like specks of dust.

You are changed, and you are whole.

But you are so unbearably broken.

A shattered piece of porcelain hastily put back together with gold to fill the cracks.

Decoration, in the end, for you are not fit to walk as "mortals" do. This gold had filled every empty crevice of your body, spilled the red into your frantic hands and made you bleed so it's callous gold could make room inside your body. It has taken from you many things, given many more, but you scratch and bite and tear until it drips onto the floor and even then it never leaves. It stains the floor no matter how hard you scrub– a permanent reminder of the sickening gold that molds you into something that used to look like you– that does look like you. Desecrated, yet so horribly divine.

All you see is a monster.

Something new, something old.

A hollowed out shell, wounds left to rot and fester until you suited the image of the Creator they bore upon statues and murals, the Creator worshiped in prayers spoken in hushed whispers and joyous chants praising your magnificence.

But what magnificence is there in detachment? What joy is there to be found in carving a God out of a human? They kneel like lambs before the shepherd, but the flock has made you– and you want to unmake them. Unweave the tapestry of their being stitch by stitch until it all falls apart and the world knows the cost of casting molten gold into the shape of a human, knows the price that has been left unpaid.

You want to take it from them. Watch them squabble and pray, blind sheep stepping into the wolf's open maw– to tear the seams of their being until the world is unwound by your heavy hands.

But you know it will not satisfy you.

Nothing does anymore.

You are no wolf. Only the shepherd who guides.

And with every drop of blood spilled, they ripped the humanity from your very bones until your body was the cast in which they made something anew– something gold, something horrific. A monster as much a God, a beast as much a man.

There is nothing left but absolute authority.

You try again and again to mend this act of desecration, to peel back the outer shell and rend the gold from your marrow– but your body cannot, will not, die. It mends itself back into place no matter how damaged, and all you feel is the uncomfortable tug of your body forcing itself to live. You cannot die, but were you ever truly alive at all?

Yet with every cycle, you know only one constant besides the thrum of golden ichor in your veins– cold.

Ice that burns, ice that spreads and festers and devours. Claws that pull you apart until the gold runs thick, teeth that burrow into your bones and rip it out from the source..eyes that witness the fall of a God with reverence– hungering, all consuming reverence.

You welcome it.

It is the first time you felt pain since you were cast into an image of a being you were not meant to be. The sting of cold upon your skin makes you shiver, your body tries to reject it, but you want to welcome it– for a brief moment that lasts only as long as it takes for you to blink, you see the glint of something familiar in the reflection of her empty eyes. Something achingly, horribly familiar– something human, all the more terrifying for it.

Even when Teyvat itself crumples like paper beneath the weight of her sins – of this desecration anew, this wretched heresy – you allow her hands to do it again. You grasp her hands in yours like chains, willing her to shackle you, willing her to pull you apart and make you whole again. To break you until the gold cannot put you back together again.

You long, each time, for those eyes like spears that lodge into your skin– burrow deep and sting deeper, making gold flow like water. You long for the biting tongue, the cutting words and those teeth like weapons– long to see the spite and anger and impure disgust aimed at the woman of silver who leads you down a hall that ends only in damnation. You follow each time like the lamb led astray by the wolf, but you do not wail in betrayal when she sinks her teeth into your throat and devours you whole.

For is it a sin if you welcome it? Has their God sinned, in the eyes of the flock, for welcoming such heresy with open arms? For allowing the wolf into their home?

Is it a sin to be broken beneath the only hands that have loved you?

Is it a sin to want to love, too, those hands and teeth stained in gold?

Then you shall be damned, you swear it. Damned, but gold no more.

For death is the closest you have ever felt to being human.

[amyranoor]

The bravest thing I ever did,

was rebuilding. When I did not even want, to live.

-John Polo

[silicon-puppy-pudding]

Danny totally kills the Joker

I have a very specific Eldritch!Danny in my head that, even though I've tried drawing before, I can't really get out of my head if you get what I mean

And as a dead on main shipper and a lover of angst I have him do shit that causes problems

Like kill the Joker in a blind rage after an Arkham break out

So it's like this, after a breakout that obviously requires all hands on deck, everyone is eventually re-cuffed and put back in their cells (including the Joker).

Red Hood and Phantom are doing some clean up in the Narrows and it's hard on them. Seeing some kids whose parents died cuz of the clown nearly broke Hood.

Phantom, now well known as Hood's right hand, picks up some of the burden. Helping more then he normally does with some displaced kids and families cuz he can feel Hood breaking down.

It hurts..

After the night/day/whatever is over, they head back home to their appartment and Jason just breaks. Danny's been helping with the pit rage so without all the extra anger crowding him it just sort of crumbles into pain and hurt.

Danny can't stand it

He can't stand to see Jason like this

Jason was his rock, his shoulder to cry on, his partner in crime. He had always been there for Danny when he had panic attacks and couldn't breathe cuz he saw some guy walking down the street in a white suit. Was always telling him it was going to be okay. Had told him things were gonna be alright. And now the roles had switched. Danny comforted Jason for who knows how long. Held him tight till he calmed down and was able to fall asleep. Once Danny was sure Jason would be okay he slipped out of the appartment...

Phantom would not stand for this.

Phantom flew over to Arkham with the intent to "have a little chat" with the Joker. Just ruf him up a bit. Scare him shitless so he'd rethink ever braking out again.

He didn't mean to bash the guys skull in.

He didn't even realize he'd been beating a flattened pound of meat and skull till Batman showed up and pulled him from his mind.

He looked over to where he'd heard his name and saw Batman and Nightwing standing by the door of the cell. Both were wrapped in bandages, some obviously stained in blood from the damage they endured during the breakout.

Dick covered his mouth and stared in horror at the sight of Danny, who he'd been lovingly calling his future brother-in-law for the past 2 months, covered in the Jokers blood. He looked like a staticky, distorted shadow. Three(3) sets of arm all ending with white clawed hands; one pair around the Jokers barely intact neck, another clutching the inmate uniforms chest, the last frozen mid punch. Bruce, having just the slightest ecto-connection from the pit, fought off the screaming in his chest to run and leave the King be.

Bruce slowly approached Phantom. Phantom on the other hand, slowly realized what he'd just done and was starting to panic.

He'd just killed a man

Sure he fucking deserved it but he just....let himself go. Let himself indulge in his rage, be consumed by it. And now the Batman was here to stop him. Would he send him back to the Realms? Would he lock him up, away from anyone he could hurt? Away from Jason?

Phantom flinches when Bruce touches his shoulder. And continues to try and back away when Bruce calls for someone to get a hold of Jason on the coms. What's he doing? Isn't he going to be thrown into a cell? He's dangerous! He could do this again if he wasn't dealt with! Why is Bruce calling for Jason? Does he want to show him the monster he let into his life? Does he want Jason to be the one to do it?

Bruce is talking.

Not Batman, but Bruce, is saying something to him, his name.

Not Phantom

"Danny? Danny!?"

Phantom disappears and isn't seen for two(2) days

Nightwing is the one to find him. In some warehouse, slamming his head into a support beam, yelling at himself that he can't become Dan.

I don't know how to continue this. It was supposed to have a nice hurt/comfort ending but I'm not a fic writer and I don't know how to do that. So feel free to use this as a prompt or something 👻👉🏾👈🏾

Edit: figured I'd add one of the Danny doodles I did a while back cuz it fits. I already posted it a while ago but it feels appropriate here too.

[kindaasrikal]

How tf did this fanfic actually reach 5k words already on chapter one and its not even half way completed.

The things i do for morro 😭

[puppyeared]

man

[chirpychipslive]

talking about these two in classic rock circles is such a fun ableism litmus test

[separatist-apologist]

I genuinly want to know what made her think like "the people gonna love this" when writing that baby killing plot 💀💀

I think she said it was wish fulfillment on her end. Her pregnancy was so difficult that she wished someone had kept the worst of it from her so she could just enjoy herself. And I can appreciate that so much- with my last baby there was a very real risk the placenta was going to detach and kill us both. I remember sitting in a doctors office listening to this and they were like, you need to be on ACTUAL bed rest, would you consider doing this in the hospital?

And I said no, swore (like a liar) that I'd do it at home, and then just kind of walked around with this fear of dying for the next six months. It was impossible to really enjoy the pregnancy, even when she was coming, because there was all this risk associated with it. I was doing weekly appointments for three straight months so they could look at my placenta, and once she was born, the placenta fell apart in pieces like it really did hold on for dear life right until the end which I appreciated.

So I empathize with SJM so deeply on that front. I wish that for me, too. I think the problem is that in a world that attempts to force childbearing on us, ESPECIALLY when its currently so dangerous in the US (the only perspective I can speak on) (and even more dangerous depending on your race/ethnicity and socioeconomic status), it reads like a nightmare straight out of a red state Senators wettest dream.

And one of my frustrations with SJM as an author is how she really doesn't examine what she's writing. So for her this is cathartic- Feyre is protected by Rhys the way she wishes she could have been, without considering that like...in the current climate where reproductive rights are being eroded and criminalized, this is a real fear a lot of people have- vital information being kept from them because all that matters is the baby even at the expense of the person carrying it.

I don't think it was her intention for it to come across that way. I think she wanted us to view Rhys as someone who loved Feyre so much he would do anything to save them both. But instead he comes across as someone willing to risk her life without even informing her of the danger so she can make an informed choice, and she only learns the truth in a heart wrenching moment between Feyre and Nesta that is so polarizing that people often blame NESTA for Feyre finding out the way she did.

So like- I understand her thought process...but having also read it, I just. Its not good.

[boarprinceofdelusion]

Recognizing Early Signs of Mental Illness

[petrow1tch]

They weren't lying, this psychological recovery journey got hands