#it's been fourteen hours

[blood-mocha-latte]

well since my lab for the next three months finish yesterday by some godly miracle idk what i'm doing anymore. send help send asks does anyone need a sandwich

[dcxdpdabbles]

Alfred's Boy Part 5

@donesodone said: I just wanted to know. Is there a continuation of Alfred's Boy in the Works? If not, that's fine. I just love it and want to see it continue.

Bruce didn't realize how quiet Danny indeed was until Wes appeared. He suspected, of course, that no child was removed from their home by a super secret ex-spy if it wasn't a terrible, horrible reason, but still, he was shocked to see the difference.

Alfred's foster son had a weight around him, wearing his sadness like a depressing cloak. It was apparent that Danny was just tired. As if though he hadn't gotten a good night's rest in a long time, even when he was moving about and doing his chores like nothing was amiss.

Bruce will admit that he hadn't realized that Danny was so sad. He had no previous reference to compare him to, so he assumed that the boy was naturally reserved.

If he's honest, he also thought it was impressive how Danny could take anything in stride without so much as a blink.

Finding out his boss was Batman? Another Tuesday.

Tim's photo album of him? Danny appreciates the art behind photography.

Damian burst into his room, covered in bleeding wounds, he just had to have Danny bind? He took lessons from Alfred and appreciated the change to practice.

What he failed to realize was through all those events, Danny had had a lukewarm reaction, as if he had forgotten how to enjoy things.

Now, however, watching him with Wes, he realizes that Danny is naturally bubbly. He smiled wide, talked a lot with his hands, and while the same sass he had seen before was still there, there was more ease in him wielding it.

"Fun Fact: Tango was initially invented to be done between two men, " He hears Wes say, as Bruce walks by the viewing room the two boys were in.

Unable to help himself, Bruce peeks into the room, fighting the urge to lecture Danny. The reason for the lecture is that Danny is currently sitting in Wes's lap, his back to Wes' chest, and both are staring at the book "Useless Information" in Wes' hands.

Not dating his ass.

"So what you're saying is: Tango is gay," Danny affirms, cuddling into the blankets tucked around him, and leaning further into Wes. "The dance of our people."

Wes hums, "If only we could dance."

"Boys." He calls because he really wants to step between them, but Bruce is already doing that against his kids, and he is done being the civilian in Jason's novels. "Would either of you like to go to an opera tonight? I have some box seat tickets a close friend gave me, but I had other plans and didn't want them to go to waste."

Bruce didn't, but a little white lie wouldn't hurt anyone. He could easily buy them before the kids got to the opera house.

Wes's eyes practically sparkled. Bruce knew they would; he heard Wes play some songs from three famous operas the other day while Danny was showering. "Opera with box seats!? I love to go!"

Danny grimaces, clearly not that big of a fan. "Now look what you did, Master Bruce."

"Please, can we go, Danny?" Wes whines, "I'll let you haunt me if we go."

Danny cracks a smile, and Bruce is stunned by its softness. Had he not noticed how empty Danny's smiles have been until now? "Okay, Okay, we can go. But if I fall asleep you can't complain."

"How could anyone fall asleep at the Opra?"

"Easy. It's boring." Steph snips, leaning on the door frame. Bruce hadn't realized she was there. He frowned in her direction, not missing how Wes rolled his eyes.

"Hello, green-eyed monster. How are you this evening?" He said, making Steph eyes narrow. Danny was swinging his head between them, looking confused, but before he could ask, Wes continued, "Want to go with us? Danny needs more people to cuddle, and my visit has an expiration date."

Steph looks taken back, but her whole face breaks into the largest smile Bruce has ever seen on her face in a while when Danny nods, seemingly embarrassed. "It would be nice to have more cuddles. I, ugh, realized I was going too long without them."

Hmm, that's the fifth time the two have mentioned cuddling since yesterday. Bruce knows he ignored Wes's entrance when he got here yesterday, but maybe he should look into it.

If Alfred allowed, of course.

"I'll go get ready!" Steph shouts, racing down the hall. There is a brief pause before a loud "Hey, watch it!" and quick, distant "Sorry, Jason!"

His second oldest stridden into the room, grumbling at the giant front stain on his shirt. A half-empty cup in his hand lets Bruce know Steph bumped into him, making him spill his precious soda.

"Can't get any peace around here," Jason mumbles.

"I can clean that for you, Master Jason." Danny is quick to say, standing up from his seat. Wes lifts his arm to let Danny wiggle out of his grasp, but Jason only shakes his head.

"Nah, it's fine, kid." With one hand, Jason yanks the shirt over his head. Wes drops his book, and Danny's face goes very red. Bruce has a moment of utter horror, but Jason doesn't seem to notice, throwing the ruined shirt over his shoulder. "I was going to shower after some reading anyway. What are you crazy kids up to?"

"O-Oprea," Danny shutters, staring up at Jason with strange emotion in his eyes. Wes looks like a deer caught in headlights beside him.

Jason's face brightens. "No way! I love the opera."

"You do?" We gasped.

"Yeah, though, I'm more of a play guy myself. I love the theater. Once a drama kid always a drama kid." Jason winks and, oh no, Wes looks to be swooning. What's worse, Danny seems to be swooning too.

"Want to come with?" Wes blurts, and Jason considers the invitation carefully before shrugging.

"You know what? Yeah, I love to. Let me go take my shower then get ready. It's at what time?"

"Seven," Bruce answers, stepping in when both boys seem unable to get their tongues to work. Jason nods, and then a wicked smirk grows on his face.

Bruce is instantly weary.

"Let's make this a family event. You guys don't mind, right?" Jason turns back to the boys, shaking their heads like bobble figures.

"The more, the merrier, Master Jason."

"Perfect" Quick as a whip, Jason pulls out his phone and sends a quick message. He leaves the room, but not before calling over his shoulder "I'll meet you in the main doorway at six-thirty."

Bruce's phone buzzes. He pulls it out, reading the message: Hey losers, Danny wants to see the Oprea. The really romantic one. Do any of you want to join us?

He feels a headache coming on. Especially with Wes and Danny looking at each other with shocked open mouths, looking like they were wordlessly expressing how attractive they thought Jason was.

Tim comes sprinting down the hall. Bruce is unsure what he is doing, seeing as his hair is wrapped in a towel, but he is wearing half of a chicken costume as he runs by. "I want to go, I want to go, I want to go! Don't leave without me!"

Wes squints at the open door hallway before laughing that strange, impish laugh of his. "This place is a riot."

Danny pauses before that same soft smile blooms on his face, and Bruce's heart melts. "Yeah, I like Wayne Manor too."

Maybe Danny isn't as happy as before, but maybe one day he will be. Bruce would be content with that.

[yesokayiknow]

okay so you know how it goes: fourteen comes to life in thirteen's clothes. and they're both too short and too loose and entirely too bright for his frame of mind. they worked with a doctor who hid everything behind a too wide smile; not so much with a doctor whose pain and tiredness is written across his face

he needs to change. obviously

and then the star beast starts, and fourteen leaves the tardis, and he's still in thirteen's clothes

he just. he doesn't know. how does he choose new clothes? he feels wrong. how will wearing something else change that?

(donna tells him that it's christmas, mate; it's bloody freezing. maybe wear longer trousers, yeah? also he's both too young and too old to wear braces. just a friendly note)

he doesn't have to explain who he is to the unit scientist, not with those clothes. instead he talks about how he doesn't understand why he looks like this. why he is this. why this face? why isn't he someone new?

actually. maybe he is someone new. was he ever this open before? hm

why do you look like that, sylvia hisses, trying to hide him from the daughter he destroyed ruined left

it's a lottery, he replies, purposely ignorant

he still has his thirteenth self's screwdriver. it's too small in his hands

(the whole time they were her, her hands were too small. she didn't like touching anyway, but whenever someone took her hand, it felt wrong. they were too small. sometimes it felt like if she worked fast enough, tinkered about without stopping, she wouldn't have to look at them)

everything goes wrong. his fault, like always

(blimey. of all the things to carry over from the first time he had this face, it had to be the guilt, didn't it?)

you shouldn't look like that, the doctordonna says, and he runs a hand down his face with a tired laugh

no, the doctordonna says, not the face. a hand reaches out to grasp at the collar of his shirt, at the dangling earring chain. this isn't you. who are you, doctor?

like he knows. like they've ever-

she dies.

she lives. he doesn't deserve it. it isn't about him. he still doesn't deserve it

we're letting it go, donna says, and he looks down at himself, at another him's clothes, another him's screwdriver

well, she never was subtle, his donna

the tardis is gorgeous, though when isn't she. he tries to show off his new console to donna, and she rolls her eyes, and drags him off to the wardrobe

unlike normally, where all the clothes are scattered about, the new tardis wardrobe now also has a line of wardrobes stood against the wall. fifteen of them, to be exact

the last wardrobe is open. and empty

he goes to the second to last, and opens it to reveal a wide array of rainbow patterned shirts. she probably would've hated for her things to be organised like this. always creating mess so she wouldn't have to think about anything important. he laughs. and he takes off the sky coloured coat and the worn boots and the earrings and gently places them inside. tag, he thinks, as he closes the doors

and then he moves down to the eleventh wardrobe, full of brown coats and blue suits and neatly pressed shirts and pairs of converse. and he stands in front of it. and he wonders

after a moment, donna's like wait do you want me to leave?? you never cared about nudity before, did you? and he's like oh actually i do feel more self conscious. huh. weird.

he doesn't have to say, i think i'm a different person. not to donna. she just gives him a smile, and a shoulder nudge, and tells him she'll see him in the console room

the last wardrobe is empty

he takes a breath, and then goes to rummage about in the rest of the clothes

[respectthepetty]

If the finale of We Are isn't just Pun and Chain's wedding, then what have I been witnessing for sixteen episodes?

Call me Streuselkuchen the way I'm surviving off of CRUMBS!

[eggsistential-breakdown]

trying this ONE MORE TIME are you kidding me. this is the definition of insanity. none of you will believe what I've been going through with this one silly sketch page

tumblr are you ready to not be mira phobic aka I'm going to murder you

The original caption was just "shaky mira car doodles" but I thought the captions for the 20+ tests I did were more fitting

I CANNOT tell you how much trouble I had getting this to show up. this wasn't showing up on dashboard or in any tags. good chance this one will decide to not turn up for a bit also. tumblr hates mira. cannot believe this. Also the fact that this was supposed to be my 250th post and I kept redoing it means my activity looks like this:

[pollackpatrol]

they need to make a version of adderall that's less effective

[rustycottoncandy]

WAIT I JUST UNDERSTOOD THE "BUT HER AIM IS GETTING BETTER" JOKE FROM STAN

IT'S A PUN

CAUSE 'MISS' HAS TWO DIFFERENT MEANINGS. YOU CAN MISS SOMEONE AND WANT THEM BACK OR YOU CAN TRY TO SHOOT THEM AND MISS

IT PLAYS WITH BOTH MEANINGS

I'm stupid what the fuck

[absolutely-zero-regrets]

getting back on my we were here bullshit by the way

[allylikethecat]

Chapters: 20/? Fandom: The 1975 (Band) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: George Daniel/Matthew Healy Characters: Matthew Healy, George Daniel, Ross Macdonald, Adam Hann, Jamie Oborne Additional Tags: Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Past Drug Addiction, Mpreg Summary:

Matty lied, which was probably a mistake since he was a shit liar on a good day, and today wasn’t a good day. He was much better at just, not saying anything, even though his therapist had told him that was really just lying by omission. He couldn’t meet Jamie’s eyes, and knew he was sweating nervously. He was hyper aware that he could feel the wand in his back pocket.

.

Just like in the bathroom after the show, two parallel lines stared back at him, confirming deep down what he already knew. The test was positive.

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

me doing data entry when a man lists his beneficiary as “live-in girlfriend”: mm-hmm. ‘girlfriend.’ enter.

when a man lists his beneficiary as “domestic partner”: mm-hmm. ‘partner.’ enter.

when a man lists his beneficiary as “long-term significant other”: mm-hm. ‘S.O.’ enter.

[saint-sebastian-coded]

i am so tired and im feeling so mean today

[whatareyoudoingwithamaserati]

Logically I understand that putting off going to sleep is not going to change the fact that I will be sent straigth for a recovery coma but……… what if I don’t Want a recovery coma

[catkin-morgs-kookaburralover]

writing poetry sometimes feels like you gotta cut yourself open to express it idk smear all your organs all over the page and hope somebody else reads something beautiful. is that like divination the way it's expressed in various places and things? I dunno. poetry never slides off your skin like water off a duck's back. it's from within I think. sometimes you have to tear yourself apart to get at the words and sometimes it just wells up from within and gushes out. always from somewhere deep inside. sometimes it's difficult and horrible and painful but the alternative would be worse. sometimes it's from sheer joy that must overflow into words. I think that's beautiful personally. skin splitting from joy. it happens, I think, to us all at some point. or maybe I'm just a creature of extremes. maybe that online test I did because a friend recommended it is true. it said my symptoms were high. I don't know. maybe it is true, maybe it's not. I read a book once where there was a character named Nathan Hill-and-Dale, and while I'm not nearly as extreme as he was portrayed, in my extremes, I know I'm a fairly volatile person. funny, for most people who see me IRL seem to think that I'm fairly calm. nope, I'm a volcano. watch out, even when I'm apparently calm I might blow up one way or the other. one of my residents' family members said today that I was young and bubbly and she was glad to see it because happiness is the prerogative of the young. a part of me wished I told her. I have actively tried to kill myself once; I have come extremely close to the same actions countless times including yesterday; I would sooner hurt myself than others; if I had my own choice I would simply starve. of course I didn't tell her. sometimes I think I'll never get better. at this point I would consider it a very high chance that I will either die by suicide or end up in hospital following an attempt. not now, of course. but despite my fierce love for my course it has stress associated with it and I think that it's very likely that no psych help on earth would fix my mental health enough for that not to be an option mentally in this short time. I think it's possible to recover from all of the things I struggle with. God help me, I hope it is. the real question is whether I will survive long enough to recover from them. and the answer? I know not. I was reminded of a past interaction with the boy today, where he called my name - I turned - his grandfather, a photographer, was waiting to see if he could get a decent photo, for we were at a church conference and he was trying to get photos everywhere. they were laughing. I could not help but laugh. that memory is tainted now, for he would not look at me now, let alone try to pull such a stunt again. I don't blame him. I don't blame anyone for it. I wonder what would happen if I blocked all my friends on discord; who would seek me out? part of me hopes people would, another part hopes they would not. sometimes I just want to be left alone to curl up and die. it would be easier. so much easier than living, and living, and living. I tried writing poetry just now. it felt like trying to cut myself open, I couldn't get the words out. it only made me feel rather wild. I'm desperate for change, for something. something. what is that something? I don't know. did you know I'm a sadist? I would not in a public place express the thoughts that led me to that conclusion. but I am. I wish I wasn't. there's an obvious solution to that. quick, and easy. so easy. too easy. I tried writing poetry, and then instead of writing anything coherent, I wrote this.

[19mhz]

a.

[un-pearable]

nourishing the evil part of me that enjoys torturing myself reading horrifically ooc crossover fic . girl help

[lauralot89]

I'm fourteen hours into the thirty-eight hour Beverly Hillbillies retrospective and now the family has a chimpanzee and I keep having flashbacks to Nope

I should probably take a break