#this is not a joke i genuinely. hnn.....

[spaceysillyswitch]

it's so late at night but i just want to keep edging myself stupid

[rallamajoop]

What is your bunny called?

Ah, what the hell, it's Easter, season of the bunny ‒ let's do this properly.

Meet Attila the Bun!

(I can't actually take credit for that name, but that's a longer story.)

Anyway. The first and by far the most important thing you need to know about Attila is that he wants you (yes, you) to rub his cheeks.

If you asked him, "Attila! What is best in life?" he would respond, "Cheek rubs!" And while you sit there waiting for him to maybe list another best-thing or two ‒ maybe getting into the vegie beds, or digging big holes in places he's not supposed to, or at least the inevitable, treats! ‒ he'll be down there, significantly nudging your ankle, because excuse you, he said cheek rubs, why are aren't you rubbing his cheeks yet?

Don't get me wrong ‒ like any pet, he loves treats too. He loves grape vine leaves so much he has effectively trimmed our grape vine from the bottom up to as high as he can reach. Some days he will jump up on a chair just to reach higher. He will regularly do a little happy dance just because he's seen me go near the grape vine, which can only mean one thing (sure, I may claim I'm there to hang out my laundry, but he isn't fooled).

But frankly, most of the time, you can leave the treats, he'll eat them when you're gone ‒ while you're here, how about rubbing his cheeks? Reach down to offer this guy any treat he's not completely in the mood for, and he's liable to go, hnn, y'know what, this here hand could be rubbing my cheeks. His happy place is sitting with his face in my lap, getting rubbed on both cheeks at once (a single cheek is acceptable if you're holding a camera, but we both know you can do better).

Attila mostly spends his days in our back yard, but by around 5:30 most evenings you'll find him sitting up top in his two-storey hutch, patiently waiting for the miraculous appearance of tasty rabbit pellets he's learned to expect in the evening (post-pellets, you will usually find him snoozing in a happy pellet coma). In the morning, however, convincing him that the hutch is open again, and that he can totally come out and enjoy the garden, is often complicated by the fact that you're standing near his hutch, and you could definitely be giving him a good head-scritch or some cheek-rub through the bars.

He spends so much time doing this that I have been known to joke that if someone ever stuffed Attila then propped him up at the bars of his hutch in this exact position, it might genuinely take me a while to notice.

It is to my great shame that Attila had been living with me for some time before I happened upon a random youtube video by a fellow rabbit-owner who mentioned in passing that her bun liked having her cheeks rubbed. Believe me when I tell you that nothing I have ever done for this lil' guy has improved his quality life more than the day we discovered just how much he enjoyed this particular form of attention. From that day forth, I am no longer his owner, I am his cheek rub delivery service.

(He will still attest that I do absolutely give the best cheek rubs. No-one else in the household is nearly so willing to flow down on the grass with him so he can shove his face up on my leg. The fact he usually gets a grape vine leaf afterwards doesn't hurt either.)

Now, just to end this post, I'm going to have to hope there are no underaged buns reading, because I am about to share some filthy bunny-porn.

[momonyu]

zoro + red ? <3

amaranth red.

flushed cheeks. coy laughter. flirty touches and roaming hands. the hum of a party. the sweet taste of alcohol. a kiss in the dark. kisses in the hallway. kisses and kisses and more kisses.

you fall onto zoro's bed, bouncing ever so slightly as he rushes to take off his shirt. zoro tosses the shirt onto a nearby chair and when he looks back, he meets your eyes.

for some reason, he blushes. maybe it's the way you're looking at him, or how perfect you look in his bed. maybe it's the fact that he finally has you all to himself after weeks and weeks of holding himself back.

shy is not an emotion that you see often on zoro, but you decide that it looks wonderful painted across his cheeks in shades of pink. you marvel at him with a starry look that he knows all too well — it's the same way that he finds himself looking at you.

"what are you doing?" you smile at him and his heart nearly explodes. "kiss me."

such a simple command but zoro does not need to be told twice. his lips are back on yours with a fervor that you can barely keep up with. zoro's kisses are hot, setting your skin on fire as they move to your neck and then your collarbones. his teeth graze your delicate skin, and you elicit the most delicious mewl that zoro can barely control himself.

and he's trying so, so hard.

there's always been something inside zoro that tells him you're not like the others. it isn't a carnal desire to devour you — it's a genuine want to be gentle, to enjoy every little moment with you. from every inside joke to every conversation that's made your eyes sparkle, zoro has found an incredible wonder in getting to know you. there is beauty in moving slow.

that is, until slow is too slow. you've never looked more tempting than you have tonight, and the beast inside of him has reared its head.

he wants more.

tonight, your name tastes sweet on his tongue, and — if you'll allow him — he could get drunk off your honey voice.

"hnn, zoro..."

"hm?" his breath tickles your skin.

"i want you," you whisper. "i need you."

zoro pauses. he shifts back to search your face, looking for any sign of uncertainty.

"are you sure?"

you sense the hesitation in him — this supposedly rough swordsman who is far more kind and endearing than you could've ever guessed.

you've never been more sure.

you lace your fingers through his hand, your other hand tracing the scar over his eye. your touch feels like home and zoro has never wanted anything more than to belong to you.

"i love you."

every seed of doubt disappears with those three words — those three delightful, wondrous words that sound as if they were meant for zoro to only hear from you.

in his heart, he knows that this runs deeper than lust. in fact, he knows exactly what this is.

"i love you, too."

and love is all that you'll find in zoro's room tonight; love between two bodies and two hearts that are finally ready to rush through the rest of what life has to offer together.

send me a character + colour and i might write something for ya!

[daringyounggrayson]

watching the world go dark

Last night I was in a mood and wanted to write some serious Angst, so I stayed up until four in the morning writing this. It’s not exactly what I wanted, but it’s close enough

Warning: This fic deals with suicide and suicidal thoughts. No one in the fic dies of suicide, but please be aware that suicide and depression are major themes throughout the fic. 

(AO3)

Before anyone is allowed out in the field, they need to learn how to use a grapple gun properly. Bruce taught all of them how to aim quickly and efficiently, how to prepare for the tug, and what to do if it gets stuck or jammed. It becomes instinctive to reach for the device, pull it out, and aim it toward the best location. They can do it so quickly because as soon as they walk into a room, they know where those spots are. It’s ingrained into each of them.

The point is, Dick knows what he’s supposed to do when his feet no longer have anything to stand on. His hand is on the grapple gun, but Dick doesn’t pull it out. He hesitates.

The thug that knocked him out of the building is being taken care of. Batman is probably securing him right now, getting the remote for the bombs and saving the city. So, really, there’s nothing more for Dick to do. Gotham is saved; there’s no need for Dick to go back up there.

Wind rushes past his ears, and his mouth is filling with blood from where he bit his tongue when the thug punched him. His fingers twitch over the device training is telling him to grab, but—

Let go. His thoughts say. What’s the point? Isn’t this what you want?

His fingers relax and he closes his eyes. It’s over. He gets to let go.

He falls down down down, but when he lands, darkness doesn’t greet him. Consciousness remains and a mix of disappointment and shame bubbles in his chest when he realizes that the fall didn’t kill him.

Looking up, he notes that the building he fell from is only two stories high. Mixed with the half-full dumpster that cushioned his landing, he’s probably looking at some serious bruising and a concussion. Possibly a few broken ribs.

It only takes a few seconds for Bruce to join him in the alley. When he finds Dick alive and not at immediate risk of dying, his worry shifts to anger. Dick, however, can’t bring himself to care about such things.

Dick is ordered to stay still, but he has no plans on moving. He just stares into the streetlights, not saying a word.

“You better hope your grapple gun malfunctioned,” Bruce growls as he secures Dick on a backboard.

He doesn’t know why Bruce says it; they both know it didn’t. Dick would’ve yelled for help if the grapple failed, or the thing would’ve at least been out of its holster.

The drive back to the Cave is tense, and Dick continues his silence. He can’t help but think that none of this feels real.

Alfred is waiting for them when they pull in, and he helps Bruce get Dick out of the car and over to their makeshift hospital. He looks Dick over and confirms that he’ll live.

They leave him alone after that, with instructions to stay put and rest. Bruce also tells him that they’ll talk later—threatens that they’ll talk later.

If everything didn’t hurt so much, Dick would run off without a second thought. But everything does hurt that much so he settles for sleep.

oOo

Dick is fine. He’s always fine. Everything is fine, so why do people keep looking at him like that?

“Can I help you with something, Tim?” Dick asks. He tries to go for a light, joking tone. It comes out snappy and impatient.

“Sorry,” Tim mumbles and looks back down at his plate.

Dick goes back to picking at his breakfast in the same fashion as Tim. God, why does he have to make everyone so miserable? Why is he even still here? Why wasn’t that building just a bit taller and that dumpster just a few feet to the right? Why couldn’t he have just—

Dick hears footsteps running down the hall, followed shortly by a tight but loud call. “Dick?”

He turns his head, popping a bite of pancake into his mouth. He chews it slowly as he watches Bruce appear in the doorway. His face shifts from somewhat panicked to anger before going neutral.

“You shouldn’t be out of bed.”

“I feel fine. Alfred said I was fine.” His back is bruised, his spine will stick around for a while longer. Painkillers and ice. Rest. No more jumping out of buildings.

“Hnn.” Bruce walks over to where Dick is still seated. He places a hand on Dick’s shoulder and leans forward, mouth close to Dick’s ear. Tells him in a quick, hushed tone, “Let’s talk.”

“I’m eating,” Dick protests loudly, shoveling some eggs into his mouth to prove his point.

Bruce grabs the back of his chair, pulling it back so roughly that it causes Dick to coughs on his eggs. “Now.”

“Fine.” Dick throws his fork down on the table and storms out of the kitchen. He can feel eyes on him, but they just make him walk faster. Bruce is following him rather than herding him, so Dick leads them to the gym. It smells like a mix of sweat and chalk and something that can only be described as childhood nostalgia. He knows other people might classify the smell as something more along the lines of unpleasant, but it makes him calm.

He hops up on a tall stack of mats, pulling his legs into a full lotus and leaning back on his outstretched arms. He looks at Bruce, tilts his head, and waits for what he already knows is coming.

Bruce opens his mouth, closes it, takes a breath, and tries again. Dick brings one hand in front of himself, gesturing for Bruce to continue. Bruce pulls a hand down over his face, fixes Dick with a firm look, and finally asks in that special, serious tone reserved only for conversations like this, “How are you feeling?”

“Hungry. Someone rudely interrupted my breakfast,” Dick quips. “Next question.”

“Dick.”

He smiles, almost laughs as he continues, “Come on, old man, I’m going for the lightning round here. Hit me.”

Bruce tightens his eyes and crosses his arms. “You can’t honestly expect me to believe that last night was an accident.”

Except here’s the thing: it was. At least when “accident” refers to Dick’s survival rather than the fall, which, for Bruce, it, of course, does not. “Of course I don’t. You never believe anything; you just hunt down leads until you know.”

“Then let’s start with the facts.” And there it is, the confirmation that this is an interrogation. An attempt at evidence collection. “You didn’t remove your grapple gun after you fell out the window—explain.”

Dick shrugs. “Can’t. One second I was in the room, the next I was hit and in a dumpster.” It’s not a total lie.

“Are you implying that you blacked out?” How far are you willing to take this? is what Bruce is really asking.

“I guess.” In a sense, Dick’s common sense, his preservation to live, blacked out. “What else would explain it? Plus, I have the concussion for your probable cause. Can I go now?”

“That’s not—” Bruce stops himself, massages his eyebrows. “And you weren’t able to come up with this cover story last night because?”

“One, not a cover story, it’s the truth; two, concussion; and three, you wouldn’t let me talk,” Dick lists off, bringing his hands back in front of him again so that he can count his reasons off on his fingers. “Does that check out, officer?”

“Dick.” Please.

There’s genuine concern in Bruce’s voice now. He knows it should—used to—have a calming effect on him, or at least make him realize that he’s not alone, that someone’s looking out for him. But now? In this mindset? He just wants to run off and maybe break his own fist in the process.

He slides off the mats. “Look, I can’t deal with this today. Go play parent with Tim for a minute.”

“Damn it, Dick, stop.” He grabs Dick’s arm, holds him steady. “Let’s discuss this. Something is wrong. If you’re not comfortable talking with me, I understand, but you need to talk to someone. Hiding the fact that you’re struggling won’t help in the long run. Trust me.”

He tugs his arm away, fixes Bruce with his own glare. “Oh, and this is coming from you? ‘Cause you’re so great at confronting your problems, right?”

It’s quiet. Dick’s face eventually softens and he shifts his weight.

“Look. Last night was—it was dumb. It won’t happen again.”

“You can’t be sure of that. That’s not how these things work, you know that.”

(He does, he does know that.)

“I was exhausted and it’s been a rough week. It just took me a second too long to realize what I was doing.”

“Rough weeks don’t push healthy brains into suicidal tendencies.”

“I’m not suicidal,” Dick quickly defends. “I’ve never—” Not for a long time.

His mind quickly reminds him of his go-to plan from his teenage years, quickly reminds him of how easily he could still access that plan. But he won’t, because he’s not suicidal. He’s fine. He’s always fine.

Bruce puts his hands—those heavy, rough, warm hands that Dick has known for more years than not—on Dick’s shoulders. Dick takes a deep breath, focuses on the smell of the chalk.

“I need you to be safe.” You scare me. I’m worried about you.

“Or do you just need someone to save?” Dick shoots back. He needs to get out of here, he feels like he can’t breathe. The chalk in the air is getting too thick to breathe, and it’s hot. Why is it so hot? Isn’t the AC always on in here? He needs to go. His bike is in the garage.

Bruce doesn’t say anything, doesn’t reach out again. It’s what Dick wants, but it makes anger flare up anyway.

“That’s what I thought.” He pushes the gym doors open, storms out without another look.

Bruce doesn’t follow.

“Master Dick, are you alright?”

Why does everyone have to ask him that?

“Sure, Alfred. I’m going to take off, see you later.”

His ears are ringing, his head is spinning. Is his vision going out? He still can’t breathe, that could explain the black spots dancing across his visual field. But he can’t smell the chalk anymore, so why is the air still choking him?

His fingers fiddle with the bike, and he debates on the helmet for too long. He decides not to be an idiot two days in a row and slips it on. He pulls out of the garage and the sharp air tells him he forgot his jacket.

He also didn’t grab his duffel. Or his Nightwing suit. Idiot.

He rides for a long time. He focuses only on propelling his bike forward, letting the road hypnotize him until what he now recognizes as the symptoms of a panic attack have all ebbed away. He’s not quite sure where he’s going, but away is good enough. He doesn’t know what time it is either, but he guesses it’s now sometime between four and five because the traffic is moving kind of slow. His thoughts have slowed down, too. He takes it as a good sign.

Dick pulls over and figures out where he is, then makes his way back to his place in New York. He debates over staying somewhere else—maybe with friends—but decides against it. If Bruce looks for him and doesn’t find him, it will only make things worse in the long run. (And apparently, it’s all about the long run. Who cares how he’s doing now as long as he’s prepared for the future, right?)

When he gets to his place, he immediately makes his way to the upper cabinet in the bathroom, opening it up and pulling out a bottle of extra-strength Tylenol. His back is sore, and his head is killing him. He takes two pills and swallows them dry before heading to the kitchen to find food. Nothing looks particularly appetizing, but he doesn’t feel like leaving the house or even going to answer the door for delivery.

He shoves a couple of handfuls of dry cereal into his mouth and walks back to the fridge. He pulls out a slice of cheese, ripping off pieces and chewing them methodically as he stares into the cold shelves of food. There’s not much in there—he really needs to get his act together and go to the grocery store like a real, functional adult would. He closes the door, making the almost empty bottle of milk rattle as it shuts. He shuffles back over to the cupboard, grabs a handful of crackers, and then goes to bed as chews them.

He plugs his phone into the charger and swipes away his unread messages, deciding to deal with them later. He should go on patrol, he’d probably enjoy going on patrol, but he really can’t see himself following through on coming back if he heads out. Not like this. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with him, but he pushes off the mystery to be solved another day and closes his eyes.

oOo

Two weeks later . . .

He hasn’t moved from his bed all day.

Actually, that’s wrong. He got up to pee a few times, and at some point, he made his way into the kitchen. He ate what technically counted as food and he’d brought a box of cereal back into his room with him. Now all that’s left is emptiness and crumbs in his sheets.

He keeps refreshing social media accounts. He opens one up, scrolls for a few minutes, realizes he’s bored, and then opens a new app. He cycles through the same three apps over and over and over again out of something close to habit. It makes him feel restless.

To say the least, it’s been an unproductive, meaningless day. It exhausts him all the same.

He’s yet to turn any of the lights on today, but he never closed his curtains last night, so he hasn’t been in complete darkness. The sunlight had been bothersome during the day, but after a good ten minutes of staring at the window and telling himself to just stand up and pull the curtains shut, he rolled over to face his wall. The room’s lighting slowly shifted and got brighter throughout the day, but now he’s just lying on his bed, watching the world go dark.

He thinks he’s going dark too.

Is that what this is? Yeah, depression. He’s depressed.

Though, when he thinks about it, Dick isn’t—can’t be—depressed. Part of the clinical definition of depression is when the feeling is an abnormal, persistent response. That’s why grieving isn’t classified as depression, except in cases where it has gone on too long (but who gets to decide when someone should be done grieving?). And this thing that Dick is feeling? It’s a normal response to all the shit he’s been through. This is a normal response to realizing that Dick is a shitty person who’s shit at everything.

So, yeah, maybe he’s a bit depressed. But it’s a normal response and it will last within the normal timeframe. He doesn’t have clinical depression; he has a case of the human condition. He felt too much, failed too often, and now all he has is numbness. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism, his brain rebelling in order to get a vacation.

He closes his eyes and doesn’t open them for what must be hours. He thinks he hopes that they won’t ever open again.

The next day, the motivation to leave his bed still hasn’t arrived. The sunlight creeps through the window again, irritating him when it shines over his face. Pulling a pillow over his face, he thinks that maybe Bruce is right, maybe he should talk to someone.

oOo

This has happened before. Dick has been very depressed—clinically depressed, Major Depressive Disorder depressed—before. He has been passively suicidal with all of the suicidal thoughts and lack of self-preservation a person could take and then some. He’s had the lack of motivation and the feelings of worthlessness and the complete and utter physical and mental exhaustion.

It’s not ideal, but it’s familiar, and he knows from experience that it will be hell to work through and beat. Worth it, of course, but hell all the same.

It’s been almost eight years since the first time it got really bad. A combination of trauma, teen brain, and perhaps some genetic factors made him an ideal candidate. It had started slowly and then somehow turned into a hurricane. Bruce had seen it coming more so than Dick had, because, apparently, people never really know how bad they are or what they’re capable of doing until it’s too late.

The passive suicidal thing had gotten him benched. Back then when it first started, Bruce said he was being careless and reckless; Dick knows now that he just freaked Bruce out more than anything.

Dick remembers feeling isolated, and a part of that, a big part, was kind of his own doing. Depression thrives in isolation. Depression survives when the affected person doesn’t want to get rid of it. An illness’s job is to thrive and survive, and depression is really good at it because it attacks the part of the body that controls behavior and motivation.

One night, Dick found himself benched and alone. He had a plan. He’d thought about it a lot, stepped up to do it a couple of times, but had never actually followed through. That night he decided he was officially done and committed to ending it. He wrote out his goodbyes and carried out his plan.

Around the same time, Bruce had called for backup. Dick didn’t answer his comm so Alfred went to go get him, thinking that Dick was simply in too deep of a sleep to hear it or that he had dropped the comm somewhere in the manor. Instead, he walked in on a half-dead teenager in need of an ambulance and Bruce had to run home.

Dick woke up the next day confused and still hurting with Alfred and Bruce next to him, tears in their eyes.

The conversation that followed felt mortifying at the time, but things got better after that. Dick got help.

After physically recovering in the hospital, Dick stayed in a psychiatric unit for another week to make sure he was stable enough to start an outpatient program. It was a lot of work, but Brue helped him through it, every step and setback along the way. He saw a psychiatrist and got meds and saw a psychologist Bruce knew they could trust with their other life. And it helped.

Three years of that and he wanted to see if the depression was gone, so they agreed to wean him off antidepressants. He was fine. Had been fine.

After nearly five years of relatively good mental health, he’s been beaten back to ground zero with a bat. At least he knows the Bat will help him get back into fighting shape again, just like last time. He’s not looking forward to trudging through all of the hard stuff and setbacks that come with recovery, but on the bright side, maybe it will be good to head back home for a few months. He’s been lonely, isolating himself again.

He’s ready to take the first step, this time before things get out of control and someone else has to take it for him. He pulls out his phone and calls Bruce.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

“Hi, you’ve reached Bruce Wayne. I can’t—”

Dick hangs up and redials, panic suddenly seizing his throat. The phone rings until he gets voicemail again. He calls one last time—no luck.

He decides to leave a voicemail, just in case he chickens out later. “Hey, Bruce, it’s Dick. Call me back when you get this. I’m ready to talk.”

He hangs up, bouncing his knee and biting his lip as he thinks about what to do. Before he can decide, his computer lights up with an incoming video call from the Watchtower. He grabs his Nightwing mask and slaps it on before he answers.

When he does, Batman is on the screen with a grim expression. “Darkseid has invaded Earth.”

All of Dick’s problems fade away as he zeroes in on the current crisis. “How can I help?”

oOo

In the end, they’re able to stop Darkseid. But not everyone makes it home. Bruce doesn’t make it home.

oOo

Things get worse after that. Everything feels like it’s spiraling out of control, and as much as Dick wants to give in and fall apart, he doesn’t have the luxury.

So he does what he has to do. He moves back home and takes on the Batman mantle. He gives Damian Robin. He tries to help Tim.

But the manor doesn’t feel like home and the Cowl is suffocating. Damian is difficult, for a lot of reasons. And Tim—Tim leaves.

Dick is not fine. He’s never fine. He just wishes someone would notice.

[jamaisjoons]

6 facts tag!

I was tagged by the wonderful miss Tali and miss Jane aka @readyplayerhobi and @peekaboongi

I’m incredibly boring but yeet lets get this bREAD

1. I love to cook and bake! I usually tend to cook for myself but I equally love cooking for my friends. Although, I do 100% prefer baking and I usually bake my friends’ and familiy’s birthday cakes! I’m completely self taught because ain’t nobody got the time nor the money to be going to professional classes lmao

2. I LOVE marine biology and I’m hoping to complete both my masters and potentially a doctorate in it. I spent my summer of 2018 researching homing in crabs while on the beaches of Portugal and I can completely dissect a squid and name each piece of its anatomy while also giving you a brief description of what the appendage/muscle/body part is used for

3. I’m actually not a fan of reading surprising for someone who writes lmao but all the books I HAVE read tend to be centered around mythology, most notable Greek, and a lot of minimalist poetry. Other than that I don’t read at all,, and the reason for that is...

4. ... I CANT PICTURE/IMAGINE THINGS. This isn’t a joke hnnn, my brain is genuinely can’t consciously imagine things. I also don’t daydream, only dissociate. However I CAN dream because that’s not a conscious thing. I only have a voice in my head and I only hear it and everything in my head exists only as words. It’s not very common but the inability to be able to picture/imagine/visualise is known as aphantasia. But because I’m unable to consciously visualise things, it makes any long description of settings or imagery very taxing for me because it’s an overload of words and information and it causes my brain to ache. Therefore, unlike people who get ‘lost’ in the worlds of a book, I cannot do that, hence I just do not read. This also means that when I write stories with a lot of world building, I always feel like it’s bad or that it doesn’t make sense (to me personally) because I cannot see what I’m trying to describe. So I usually need constant reassurance that what I’m writing makes sense and does in fact paint a good picture (thank you Sora for being my constant writing emotional support help). This all also means that writing stories with world building is completely mentally exhausting for me but I’m trying to do it more because I know that the majority of people CAN see imagery in their head!

5. I’m a very quick learner! Like incredibly quick. I only really need to be taught something one and then do it once to be able to grasp it. But because of this my mind constantly needs to be learning (I love learning but I hate being forced into it) and because of this I’ve self taught myself lots of things at their very basics. I learned to read Hangul in less than 3 days (even if I can’t translate it rip), I taught myself how to read and code HTML and CSS (again just the basics), I also learned a bunch of BTS choreographies (Fire, BST, Mic Drop, Fake Love, Anpanman, Baepsae and a couple others) just by watching and them and copying them,,,, and also a couple other things that are now escaping my mind hnn

6. I listen to a lot of music. Like a lot. I basically can’t function without music and the only time I’m not listening to it is when I’m asleep. Other than that, I start my day by opening up Spotify and I usually go to bed closing Spotify. But because of that I’m constantly looking for new music because I tend to get bored of what I’m listening to really quickly (I’m the type to repeat a song over and over until I hate it rip) and as a result I listen to a lot of random things (sometimes I switch directly from KPop to Heavy Rock and it’s,,,, jarring to say the least)

Hnnn okay somehow I managed six but ne weighs I’m gonna tag:

@honeymoonjin @gukgalore @countrysundae @hobiwonder @ironicarmy @kimlinecult @ddaenggtan @guksthighs @jeonggukingdom and anyone else who wants to do it!!

[yuanzhous]

For @nxxttime, who I still can’t believe likes my writing when she’s an Actual Legend, and gave me the prompt:  "Did my best, now I'm scared to death; I might lose everything." Had to tweak it slightly, hope that’s okay. 

One would have thought that after all the times he's been hit with fear toxin Bruce would have developed an immunity to it. But it turned out you couldn't inoculate yourself against fear. It didn't matter how many times he'd had the same chilling vision, how many times he'd told himself it wasn't real and he just had to keep it together until he could take the antidote. Somehow, each time was worse that the last.

Tonight the after effects were particularly vicious, and even hours after he'd come back to himself he couldn't shake off the anxiety crawling under his skin. His children, bloody and beaten. His children dead because of the life he’d brought them into. He knew it hadn't been true today – but what comfort was that?

It had been true before. And fear whispered to him that it would be again, and again, no impossible resurrections this time, no tricks, until Bruce had destroyed everything he loved and he was alone. It would be kinder, fear insisted, to let them go now. Maybe they wouldn't understand, and he'd still be alone, but at least they would be alive.

But he couldn't afford to go down that path. Pushing his kids away was one of if not the worst mistake of his life, and one he made routinely. Nothing good had ever come out of it. He had to do better, be better, for their sake.

Long after the kids had all gone to sleep or left, Bruce lay awake, an oppressive weight on his chest. He rose from his bed with a sigh, giving up even the pretense of sleep, and traipsed silently through the house.

There was no comfort to be found indoors. He exited the manor through the back door in the kitchen and made his way through the grounds to where his parents' headstones awaited. It was drizzling, little inconsequential droplets of water coating his hair and clothes. Once he made it to his destination, he knelt in front the graves, head bowed.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

He made a point to come here on certain days: their death day, birthdays, anniversary, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd visited them spontaneously like now. Maybe that was a good thing. Now did not feel like something to be envied.

“I thought I lost my kids again tonight,” he murmured into the silence. “I knew it wasn't real. I've dealt with Crane's creations enough that I always know. But what I know and what I believe...”

Even as he spoke, he had the urge to seek them all out just to make sure they were still breathing. Only Duke and Damian were staying in the manor tonight. Dick was in the penthouse, Tim and Jason in their respective apartments. Cassandra was all the way in Hong Kong, and it broke him a little to know that if anything happened, he was too far away to get to her in time.

But with all the mistakes he'd made, all the times he'd alienated them, intentionally or not, he felt grateful just for the privilege of knowing where each of them was. It was not so long ago that Jason refused to disclose the location of his real apartment to any of them, and Damian still sometimes stormed off after arguments without telling anyone where he was going.

“I keep telling myself that I did my best,” he confessed. As woefully inadequate as his best might have been. “But I'm scared to death. I might lose everything.”

The graves had no answer for him, but someone else did. A small figure stepped out of the shadows, coming to stand beside Bruce.

“You won't,” Damian said.

Bruce rose to his feet and brushed the dirt and mud off his knees. “How much did you hear?”

“All of it,” Damian replied steadily, an undercurrent of worry in his voice. He tutted in admonishment. “If you were still suffering from the effects of the toxin, you should have alerted someone.”

“That's not what this is,” Bruce said. “There's no reason for concern. It's all out of my system.”

“I see. And is fear less worth noting when it isn't caused by hallucinogens?” Damian's tone was challenging now. “Because you've told me that fear isn't weakness. It isn't shameful. So why are you hiding yours?”

Bruce closed his eyes and exhaled. “You're right,” he admitted. “But I can't...I'm your father. I don't know how to share this without...burdening you. It's difficult.”

“Of course it's difficult,” Damian agreed, almost flippant. His mouth curled at the corner, just the hint of a smirk, and he said, “Just do your best.”

“Hnn.” It was because they shared their sense of humor that Bruce realized it was as much as joke as it was a genuine request. “I will.”

[cherubsoda]

That ship meme with Dante maybe :Oc

thank you! but worm,, i hope i didnt force you to send this in ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` )

General:

Rate the Ship -  Awful | Ew | No pics pls | I’m not comfortable | Alright | I like it! | Got Pics? | Let’s do it! | Why is this not getting more attention?! | The OTP to rule all other OTPs | im too afraid to be indulgent 

How long will they last? - as long as this bitch wants me in his damn heart but um forever

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - like actually?? not just flirting? a good year and a half probably. its like gradual like haha i like you lets go out and one day its just like :0 shit this is getting serious oh damn alright!!!!!!

How was their first kiss? - probably awkward but heartfelt! because wow im your first kiss? thats whack,,

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Dante because im a pussy sad emoji. i swear,, someone else is gonna have to bring it to his attention like, you’ve been together for how long..? why not just make it official and he just :L fuck you’re right

Who is the best man/men? - I’m gonna keep it real with you chief, we would probably just get the papers signed and have a small get together to celebrate. but if anyone,, its Trish or Nero

Who is the braid’s maid(s)? - it’ll probably be my friend who i shall not tag bc she doesnt know about this account (she also self ships but sometimes,, i need privacy dsfghk) also Lady bc ilh 

Who did the most planning? - probably me but also Lady and Trish, please,, help

Who stressed the most? - surprisingly dante, like “is this a good idea bc um, i’m kinda prone to getting into dangerous situations” like yeah jackass i know 

How fancy was the ceremony? - ^^^ its not at all fancy. it’s intimate and to the point. We’d share our vows as in he pulls it out of his ass but its still sweet and genuine. He just doesn’t do hand written speeches.Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - um if Vergil didnt chill out,, him. But also Dante still loves and cares about him so,

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - hopefully none bc,, yikes

How many children will they adopt? - i will literally,, pick up every sad child on the street. Nero and Patty,, you are my kids now.

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - Me

Who is the stricter parent? - ME

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - both, Dante kinda laughs it off but I’m sweating bullets every time they run

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Me

Who is the more loved parent? - hnn both?

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings? - Mostly me,bc I,, look normal, buts also both of us bc good cop bad cop dynamic. 

Who cried the most at graduation? - Dante 

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Dante walks in and is like *disappointed but smug dad look* “don’t pull a me, your mom’s gonna be SO pissed.”

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Me; he’s not allowed in the kitchen unless someones in there with him

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - Me I guess, Dante would just eat, anything.

Who does the grocery shopping? - both, it’s a nice change of pace + domestic, if he goes alone he will forget the list and come home with items we didn’t need

How often do they bake desserts? - not too often, its usually a binge thing like wow this month we were just really into it.

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - meat!

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Dante? 

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - Dante

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidentally while cooking? - DANTE

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - Me

Who is really against chores? - Dante, like he’ll do it but I’d usually have to ask

Who cleans up after the pets? - Dante

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Dante

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - ME 100%

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Patty or Lady, thanks

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Me? 

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - both bc its cute and domestic 

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - I get festive in July but i dont like decorating or taking decorations down, so its been Christmas for 4 years

What are their goals for the relationship? - wow um, just be understanding of each other idk also have a kickass time

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - BOTH

Who plays the most pranks? - Dante; if it’s directed towards me he just puts stuff higher on the shelf

UM BIG NOT FOR WORK (⸝⸝⸝ª̷̛იॢª̷̛⸝⸝⸝)ᵒʰ┈

Sex:

Who is on top? - HA bitch- D a n t e. 

Who is the one to instigate things? - Dante; the only time i would ever do this is if i built up that confidence, but I joke about it a lot

How healthy is their sex life? -  um,, down to clown 24/7 alright Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 rip | They are humping each other on the couch right now

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - Dante has a LOT of stamina, ngl he could go all night, so after a few rounds I’d tap out or until i pass out zzz gn

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - I would try my fucking best,, but the bitch has so much stamina so unfortunately,, It’s not equal but Dante just go for it just get it. But I won’t leave a bitch hanging fuck that.

How rough are they in bed? - i guess it depends on the moodSofter than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - the best part??No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

[soreiya]

Art ask game: 7, 13 and 17

Thanks so much for the ask. <3

7. Show us a WIP

Let’s go into a bit of backstory before I show the WiP. What most people don’t know is that I received a death threat from someone in the Vat7K fandom. It kind of opened my eyes a bit. After that point I started noticing all of the little things. Not just about the fandom, but the concept itself. There are plot holes and things that made no sense on further inspection. Though to get back on point, one of the main issues is actually fandom related. I've found that certain HC’s are frowned upon because they go against some of the big stereotypes that are heavily enforced by the fandom. I guess I became rather rebellious because of this and decided to draw a tall Varian for a DTiYS. I just got so tired of this weird oppression? Never seen such a thing in any other fandom. o__O; I don't even have anything against short Varian, but the more I get told that drawing him tall is somehow wrong, the more I have to do it. Because there is no canon for adult Varian and people need to calm their shit and stop telling others what they can and can not do. LMFAO There are a lot of errors to correct, but it's the only recent WiP that I have. ;__;

13. How long do you usually take on a piece?

Between a 1hr – 10+ years? LMFAO I’m just joking since I never finish anything.

Simpler stuff probably takes 1-3 hours.

More complex stuff I can’t really say for certain. Since I take breaks. Like there was one oekaki painting that I did back in 2005 that I worked on and off on for an entire week. Though I also spent a long time playing Sonic Adventure during the process. Hahahaha

Maybe once I have more confidence in my abilities I’ll use a timer app on the PC.

17. What do you love getting compliments about?

I actually feel awkward and undeserving of compliments. I’ve got a pretty low self image. I probably could use some advice on how to improve on this. x___X I remember recently @heatherthetiredwriter from the Of Rocks and Robots Discord server complimented my coloring on the AI comic and it made me cry. Though with group projects like that I’d rather not take the focus. Since a lot of work goes on throughout the process. Things wouldn’t come together as a whole if it was solely up to me. So I don't really know how to respond. It did feel nice though since that took such a long time to get done.

Hnn...

I’ve legit just sat here for a wile trying to really think about this question. I’ve come to the conclusion that my fave compliments come from when I’m doing something like practicing and I am genuinely struggling to learn? Like I’ll be expecting criticism on some anatomy and then someone will point out something that was done better than usual? It makes me feel like maybe I really can improve?

[docjamie]

oh damn its an a-z meme

Tagged by @mypoorfaves and @crinklednose. You guys are the best! (EDIT: also tagged by @nnatto, i apologize deeply)

Rules: Answer the questions in a new post and tag 10 blogs you would like to get to know better

a - age: 20

b - birthplace: The good ol’ south carolina of the good ol’ united states. You know, where its legal to marry your cousin. :) :) :)

c - current time: 1:28 AM cause I’m a nocturnal motherfucker

d - drink you last had: sweet tea (can you tell i’m southern)

e - easiest person to talk to: Oh man, everyone is nice, I’m the one that’s anti-social, lol

f - *current* favourite song: Serious by the Neighbourhood and FOOLS by Troye Sivan

g - grossest memory: Its fucking story time because I am randomly haunted by this memory. So I’m in 2nd grade and we’re waiting on the teacher to get to the classroom. This girl, her name was Princess, she had a chocolate milk carton from breakfast and it was almost empty. And then this bitch hocks up like this ball of sinful phlegm and spits it into her milk carton and PROCEEDS TO DRINK THE FRESHLY LOOGIED CHOCOLATE MILK. I randomly remember that memory vividly and I think I’m still shooketh from that unholy raunchiness.

h - horror yes or horror no: I honestly like them if I’m with friends!

i - in love?: No but I kinda wish. Seems like it would be nice.

j - jealous of people?: Hnn, I can’t even lie to myself. I do sometimes get envious of other people’s art and writing because I don’t think I have much of a skill set anywhere, so I can get really insecure about my art and writing sometimes.

l - love at first sight or should i walk by again?: I don’t know if there’s such thing as “love at first sight”. Its not the first glance that keeps my attention, its the genuine commitment and partnership that makes love

m - middle name: Amber

n - number of siblings: One. (Technically 2, but that’s another story)

o - one wish: You know I don’t care if I sound preachy, but I wish people minded their own business sometimes, you know? Its 2018. People are gay. People aren’t their assigned gender at birth. Women get abortions. Christianity isn’t the only religion in the world. Its not hurting you is someone in a different state got married to their same-sex partner Karen so stop clutching your pearls.

p - person you called last: My mama!

q - question you are always (often) asked: “are you okay?” by everyone. Its either a joke or sincere, lmao

r - reason to smile: I’m working on what I want to do in life, I have a family that loves me and close friends. I’d say things are pretty good right now!

s - song you sang last: Will He by Joji

t - time you woke up: My alarm is set for 8:15 AM, but I didn’t get out of my bed until 9:20.

u - underwear colour: Fancy paisley print

v - vacation destination: Canada or Japan (I think they’re a taaad sick of Americans though)

w - worst habit: I uh...might have a bit of a self-mutilation problem? DON’T BE CONCERNED, its just I pick at my skin to the point of bleeding a lot. I’m trying to break it.

x - x-rays: Of course there are the dental ones, but one time I really hurt my shoulder and had to get an x-ray for that. I also got an x-ray for my feet, but it turned out to be a muscle issue, not bone related

y - your favourite food: either mac and cheese or sushi.

z - zodiac sign: I’m one of those bitches that use cusps, but I’m sorry, there’s no way my social anxiety ridden ass is a full Leo. (leo/virgo cusp)