#the deadly illness

[garby-gremlin-boi]

Me: trauma dumping and oversharing is unhealthy

Also me: * telling everyone I knowy mom has cancer because I don't know what else to think about*

[lou-loujrs]

[kimsangie]

highest form of love i can give a character: forked tongue

[tmos-time]

throws march eridan out into the internet like a farmer feeding corn to his chickens lol

[u3pxx]

[bad omens] smitten, i believe.

[system-architect]

wanted to doodle and try to figure out the design of my new chara, inquisitor toza ^_^

[sephirajo]

I know so many people besides me on SSDI who can only eat once a day, if that. Many of them are also on food stamps. When are we going to fuck shit up about this? Or will people keep ignoring it because it's the disabled and we're not worth it to so many of you, even other leftists who are okay throwing us off to die and never discussing just how intense these problems are, and how deadly.

[dark-falz]

What's your favorite zone in PSO?

CAVES 2 MY BELOVED!!! Because between ultimate and non ultimate looks I love it just the same :3

and Jungle gets an honorable mention because not only is it so pretty the map is fun >:3

[keewu]

Gowther and Merlin headcanons that have been festering in my mind.

They have separate rooms in the boar hat. But they often sit up at night doing whatever, like reading, experimenting. Tho Gowther is a little concerned over that Merlin doesn't sleep. (This lady has Insomnia fight me)

They go shopping together. Merlin usually acts a little bit like "I don't particularly enjoy this but I'll do it anyway" but in reality she thinks it's really fun.

More on the shopping. She is funding all of Gowthers crossdressing 100%. She loves pissing off Meliodas and Ban about this. But she actually thinks Gowther looks nice and gives him advice.

Gowther asks Merlin to do his make up one day cause he became interested. Merlin was like okay... But now they actually have fun and Merlin likes teaching him.

Gowther reads to her. He reads some romance story or something else like that for her. She doesn't really like the story, she listens though, it's mostly because it makes him happy.

Gowther really enjoys hearing Merlin talk about her experiments. She rambles off about something and he just sits and listens. But it's not like he doesn't understand he understands everything and will give her feedback about it.

Gowther is bad with social cues so he doesn't really know when to hug someone and when you shouldn't. So he just starts hugging her every time they meet. Like "Good morning Merlin!" Hug attack. Gowther is the only one who gets to hug her.

[shubblelive]

saw shelby's video and had a really busy class schedule today but i've been thinking about her all day. first and foremost, i support shelby. i don't care who it was that hurt her, she is a victim. she didn't name names for a reason, i'm not here to play detective on whether or not i should support this man i've never met, however i don't really feel comfortable in supporting wilbur very much at this present moment. maybe this'll change with more information, but regardless of whether or not wilbur is the man she metioned, i will always support shelby in this scenario, i'm so upset that she had to go through this and i'm so incredibly proud of her for standing up and calling her ex out.

[maelswife]

Couldn't help myself.

[dreamwatch]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest

Prompt: Greed | Word Count: 1313 | Rating: M | CW: Suicide, MCD, Mental Illness (referenced) Addiction (referenced) | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: Eddie, A Stranger in the woods, Dark themes, how far would you go to get what you want?, and what's the real cost?, spooky

AO3 version if you prefer... 📷

Happy Halloween! 🎃

He counts the gold records lining the wall of his study; eleven of them side by side, one for each of their albums. They’re to be kept together even after he’s gone, his will has strict instructions on who gets them, on who can be trusted with them; Gareth, Wayne, his mother. For now though they stay on the wall, looking down on him. Judging him.

No one comes out to the bench since Chrissy died. Eddie thinks some students are afraid it was him and that they’ll be next, and others are afraid that it wasn’t him and they’ll still be next because if it wasn’t Eddie…

Hawkins is a very strange place, after all.

There’s no drug dealing anymore, he comes here to draw or write during lunch; the cafeteria feels claustrophobic and his friends are well meaning but the constant attention is grating his nerves. He doesn’t need to be protected, and he doesn’t need them carrying his books, he can manage fine on his own.

He sketches a boy in armour swinging a sword, another blood soaked at his feet. He has words for a poem to go with this one, he’ll add them later, maybe.

“You’re very good.”

Eddie spins, flinching at the pull in his side. A man stands behind him, his face shadowed by the trees.

“What the fuck, dude?” he pants. 

“I’m sorry,” the man replies. “I didin’t mean to frighten you.”

Eddie closes his notebook and slides it inside his bag. “I’m allowed to be here, it’s part of the school grounds, and I’m not—”

“Of couse you are. I’m not here to chastise you. I was hoping to talk to you.”

Eddie watches suspiciously as the man approaches the bench. He peers at Eddie over his glasses, but his eyes are dark, hidden by his hat. 

“Look, I’ve kept my nose clean since I’ve been back, man. I’m on time to class, homework completed, tests—”

“Oh, I’m not a teacher,” the man laughs like it’s absurd, and there’s a sharpness to it that leaches under Eddie’s skin. “But it certainly seems that you’ve worked very hard. It must have been a terrible struggle coming back to school, facing all of Chrissy’s friends. Your uncle must be very proud.”

The birds have stopped singing.

Eddie feels the first pinch of anxiety, can feel his heart kick up when he realises he didn’t tell anyone where he was going for lunch. 

“Who are you?”

“Someone who can help you.”

In the aftermath of everything, Eddie has been left with a healthy fear of pretty much everyone outside his immediate circle. People like to leave messages for him on his van and the trailer, and both have never been so clean. What people haven’t done is try to help him. So consider him unconvinced.

He grabs his bag, and his cane, and pushes himself up.

“I’m good, thanks,” he says sarcastically.

“It must be terribly hard,” says the man, motioning to his leg. “To be so young and to be left horribly injured.” He mouth stretches, a horrible attempt at a smile. “You have scars, don’t you?”

“Fuck you,” Eddie spits. 

“Tell me, Edward, do you still play the guitar?”

He stops dead, never takes his eyes off the trees ahead of him.

Why are the birds not singing?

“Who the fuck are you?” 

“I’m someone who can help you. I’m someone who understands how hard it is to be different.”

The world is silent but Eddie hears his heart beat, feels his blood pump, the tippy-tap reminder that this is happening, that this is real. There should be cheerleaders out on the field, but he can’t hear them. Can’t hear the birds, can’t hear the wind, can’t hear the trees. 

“I don’t need any help,” he says, and he’s trying so hard to be brazen, to be the Eddie of before, not the scared boy of after, but it sounds choked even to his own ears.

“But you do,” croons the man as he circles Eddie, so close that he can feel the tweed of the mans suit on the back of his hands.  “I can return the things that were stolen from you. I can give you the things you have always dreamed of.”

Eddie breathes, ragged and harsh, and he knows the man can feel his breath on his skin.

“I don’t—”

“Oh but you do. You want, Edward. You want so deeply, so much has been taken from you, hasn’t it? Since you were a small boy, life has treated you unfairly. You’ve suffered. And your uncle has suffered, think of what you could do for him? Think of what you could give him?”

“No, that’s—”

“You dream of Madison Square Garden, and of fame, and fortune. You dream that your mother is alive and that your father is dead—”

“I don’t!”

“You dream of a boy that you can never have. So brave and so handsome, but you know Steve will never be yours.”

His breath catches. He can’t know these things, he’s never told anyone these things. They’re secrets, they’re his, they’re private things. 

“Who are you?” 

“I have powers you can barely imagine, Edward. I can manipulate time, make what was dead, alive. I can give you what you covet. Your band are talentless shoolboys, but I can make them good. I can fix you, make you play guitar the way you used to, better than you used to. People will worship you, shower you with awards. I can give you Steve. You can have all of these things, Edward.”

This is ridiculous. It’s not real.

Tippy-tap.

He shouldn’t contemplate it because its lunacy. But…

What if it isn’t?

Eddie’s limbs shake and he let’s himself fall backwards to the bench. He swallows the acid in his throat. 

“How?” he asks, a near breathless whisper.

There’s no movement, the world is locked out, just the two of them in the clearing. He feels putrid, damp breath on the back of his neck, icy lips touching the shell of his ear.

“Bring me the girl.”

Eddie shakes his head, confused. 

“The girl?”

The man’s eyes flash and Eddie feels the sting of bites.

Edward Anthony Munson (July 23, 1967 - November 11, 2011) was the lead guitarist, co-founder and principal songwriter for the heavy metal band Corroded Coffin. He was known for his virtuoso playing and intricate guitar solos. Munson co-founded Corroded Coffin in 1982 with school friends Gareth Jones, Jeff Williams and Matt Morris. Corroded Coffin released 11 studio albums, 2 live albums, and 19 singles. Munson is regarded as one of the greatest guitarists of all time.[1] 

Munson struggled publicly with chronic mental health problems and addiciton from the beginning of the band’s success in the early nineties. He faced increasing ridicule in the last decade of his life for his often bizarre behaviour during interviews, most famously on Late Night with David Letterman in November, 2004.[2]  His obsession with the occult was cited as a major contributor to Corroded Coffin’s breakup in 2009, Munson making demands that decisions about the band’s future should be made using numerology. After Munson’s death, Williams was quoted in Metal Hammer magazine: “We thought if we ended the band it would help. But it was too little too late. The number thing was just…he was so far gone.”[3] It was also believed to have been one of the contributing factors in the breakup of his marriage.[4] 

Munson died at his home in New York in November 2011, from a self inflicted gunshot wound to the head.[5] 

Born July 23, 1967, Hawkins, Indiana, US

Died November 11, 2011, (aged 44) New York City, US 

Occupation Musician · Songwriter

Genres Heavy Metal · Thrash Metal

Spouse Steven Harrington (m. 2006; div. 2011)

Instrument Guitar

Years active 1982 - 2009

Formerly of Corroded Coffin

*New York was 11th state to ratify the United States Constitution. Eddie was going to be 45, but 44 is divisible by 11... you get the picture 😆

That's it, seven more fics to add to the stash. Thank you so much to @thisapplepielife for putting this together, it's been a blast!

@the-unforgivenn I'm going to write you something sweet to make up for all the trauma!

[hiemaldesirae]

(claws my way out of my grave) hai... oc dump time. one of these days i will work up the courage to reintegrate myself into the tumblr ecosystem (hi..... guys.....) but for now .......... my homunculi

(to be clear the first 4 are all guys and the last 3 are all girls)

+ extra two characters (acis and ephies siblings)

and ++: sort of inaccurate height chart (ephie and ira shouldnt be That tall because voraci is 5'9 which would make ephie like 7'10) but it helps me visualize them a bit better

[yume-fanfare]

wataei are truly like if a 70s class s yuri manga was a 2015 all-male idol mobile game

[elvenmoe]

So I started watching Delico's nursery and none of them know how children work

Its hilarious

Anyways TRUMP screenshots:

The lack of hot women is very disappointing but expected, I also have the men liker debuff alongside my love for women so partly enjoying men struggling to look after children

EDIT:

I am crying they treat a baby like an alien-

[joenhead]

Just a thought I had while cleaning but realistically would anyone know Sol’s birthday? Like. Since he’s a clone and all. Like imagine the weird situation with that right?

Sorry my memory for the beginning of campaign three is hazy and maybe I’m being dumb but like. He wouldn’t. Know his birthday. Right? MAYBE He would consider his birthday the day he and Albin met? Maybe he celebrated alongside Albin’s birthday? Maybe he wasn’t celebrated at all?

If he and Swag got the chance to talk then would he consider Swags birthday to be his birthday as well? Maybe he hasn’t even thought about the fact he doesn’t really know or have a birthday. Maybe he only realizes once Callie and Calder start talking about their own birthdays? If something about a Sol birthday is mentioned in canon then unmm ignore this post pretend you never read it but regardless I think it’s fun to think of the duck team scenarios that spawn from that.