#try the three C's

[peebls]

Seeing a lot of hopeless and no actual coping mechanisms in the notes, have some semi-silly-but-actually-serious advice from a much younger me:

More serious ramblings in the tags

Chronic suicidal ideation is your brain’s response to having no other coping skills. Your brain is trying to keep you safe with the comfort of knowing you can just opt out of [your problems] life at any point. Equipping yourself with better coping skills, better options, is the only way to combat this defense mechanism.

[wandixx]

Seriously chaotic fashion misadventures

I realized I posted a teaser and never really followed up on it, so here is some more of that

“Hey, Dami?”

Boy hadn’t looked up from the kittens he was bottle feeding but let out a hum indicating he listened.

“I'm thinking about trying out a more girlish style. Do you think it would suit me?”

Well, Damian had no idea but if Dani wished to give it a chance, then, well, the only proper reaction was to offer his aid.

*-*-*

“Father, I require access to your rouge gallery.”

Bruce almost choked on his breakfast when his youngest made this announcement.

Rouge gallery, as his children playfully called it, was vast collection of lipsticks, which he collected to uphold his Brucie persona. Famous playboy with head constantly in the clouds couldn’t not show up with discreet signs of scandal from time to time. And it couldn’t always be the same shade. Or scent when he choose more subtle approach and used one of his more feminine perfumes.

In all honesty, he enjoyed this.

But that’s not the point, point was that Damian wanted to use it and Bruce needed to know what disaster would fall upon him if he agreed.

“Mind telling me why, chum?”

Dick, who visited Manor for a weekend, barely stifled his laughter while Tim stared at his empty coffee mug like it personally betrayed him. Cass just wore her usual knowing and mischievous smile.

Damian shifted in his chair, hands clenching on butter knife. He was nervous and suddenly Bruce dreaded the answer he was about to hear.

“I don’t see how me sharing this information would change anything. It won’t be used to cause harm to anyone but it’s necessary in the extracurricular project I just started.”

“Dami, what project?” Dick asked, voice oozing with genuine curiosity and excitement. He was almost bouncing.

“I don’t want to disclose it.”

“Is this a hero or civilian type of deal?”

Damian didn’t look any of them in the eyes, both hands clenching on his seat as he kept shifting. Bruce narrowed his eyes. Was his youngest… flustered?

“Civilian”

“Alright, great” Dick swung back with single clap, almost tripping his chair over “I think B won’t have anything against you using his rouge gallery, will he?” Man knew his oldest son well enough to recognize his ‘don’t you dare to disagree’ tone. He was confused but there wasn’t any harm so he nodded with affirmative hum.

“Thank you, Father”

Boy practically inhaled rest of his food and rushed outside. Despite all his training and all his efforts, they clearly saw his excitement. Tim pinched himself and returned to staring at his mug.

“Cass, have you seen what I’ve seen or am I overreacting?” Dick asked, barely restraining his enthusiasm. Girl nodded eagerly, shoving more crumbs into her mouth. Young man cheered, throwing his hands up.

“What have I missed?” Tim mumbled, frowning a little.

“BABY BAT HAS A CRUSH!”

Cass nodded again with wide smile.

Oh.

Oh no.

Who were they? What did he know about them? Was Protocol 3r0s started? Did someone run a background check already? What could they do if they somehow hurt Damian? Was this person a risk to their identities? Oh gods, oh no.

He probably will have to do The Talk™.

He always dreaded having The Talk, with any of his kids. He felt The Talk with Damian would be even worse. Understandably so.

“Also sleep in at least three da-”

“Fuck off, dick.”

“Was this insult or-”

His children remained obvious to how much work it meant, cheering and sassing each other like they often did.

*-*-*

Damian did not know how it was possible but he lowered his guard enough to get caught.

"What are you doing?" Brown choked out after they stared at each other for a long moment.

"It does not concern you–"

"You're rummaging through my wardrobe, not many things concern me more and also, that's frickin creepy don't do it to anyone outside of the family"

She did have a point however he was not convinced it would be the correct approach if he shared his plan. Father's wards (even unofficial like Brown) tended to make assumptions and overreact based on these conjectures. Dani wasn't easy to scare off but he didn't want to check if his family would manage. They often did things thought to be impossible.

He tried to get away but the blonde stood fiercely in a door, leaving the window as the only way out. He wasn't this desperate. Yet.

Girl looked more and more angry at his silence. He had to give her some answers.

Now that he actually considered it, she could be a useful asset. She was far better versed in women's fashion and if he phrased it correctly, he wouldn't even need to bribe her. Question was, how should he phrase it?

"I have an acquaintance- I have a friend," he corrected himself "from the animal shelter I volunteer at. She mentioned wanting to try out more 'girlish style' and asked for my opinion. I wanted to see if you had any clothes that would fit her. She is smaller than me so I thought that whatever I take, it wouldn't be missed." 

Brown grinned with an unsettling gleam in her eyes. He suddenly regretted opening his mouth if not coming to this room in the first place. 

"Say no more, I have a plan Demon Child"

[ask-spiderpool]

Dear mod. I just wanted to ask how you're doing atm? Are you eating good food and sleeping well?

Oh bless you, anon! Regrettably, neither of those things, no. My appetite has been very poor since my surgery, and I'm more than a little sleep deprived with all the jobs I'm juggling at the moment - buuut... I'm alive. My head is good. My work is good. Always manage to make everyone happy, oh, yes sir, but can't wait to pass out for a whole day and then hang out with some friends. It'll heal me.

[cheriecelestial]

Jacob Black’s Self Saving System and His Shenanigans™️

[floccinaucinihilipilificationa]

Hello may 31th anon! Look at that, another year behind us and a new one to come. Have a nice day! ₍՞◌′ᵕ‵ू◌₎♡

[causeimanartist]

I'm trying to just get back into drawing more so have some sketchy sketches

[cdroloisms]

my insane c!stageduo headcanon list (incomplete) (aka: communication skills, just NOT these guys' forte, jesus christ)

c!dream never tells c!punz about scrapped lore. if he was really betrayed, after all, it would be more optimal to keep his potential betrayer from knowing what really happened, wouldn't it? if that happened. he's safe, no matter what, really. he has an impenetrable fortress and he's the only one with the keys. let them buy his mercenary, let them pound on his walls. sapnap has been howling outside for months and even with the greenery that's begun to grow in the cracks, nobody has ever managed to step a foot inside. quackity's fake cell had none of the defenses of the real one, he has nothing, just a pale shade of the glory that had resulted from countless hours of building and brainstorming and carving the glory that is pandora's fucking vault out from the sea. the next time they meet, it's almost a month later, and nothing further happens. he's not ambushed. there's no traps, no cells (he would be able to escape anything anyway, with pearls and totems and gapples in his inventory) (he only surrendered on that stage because it was the part to play, not because he couldn't literally make his way out with the gear he had) (he was in total control then. he still is now.) (when wilbur and tommy show up in the prison lobby just a few weeks later, for a second, he still wonders.)

c!dream never tells c!punz how long he was tortured. c!punz's job was to watch and wait. he did. he didn't make a scene of it, of course, and neither did he spend much time on spying on the prison, specifically (there was work to be done, after all. knowledge to gather. time, he found, is a delicate thing, and it would be remiss to not take advantage of the lack of scrutiny that comes with being seen as the server's hero) but part of keeping an eye on the server means keeping an eye on the prison (if anything is compromised, he'll have to take their research and run as soon as possible. they have a hidden base somewhere far out, where he can revive dream if necessary.) he has to watch a little bit closer after ranboo gets locked out, but he knows better than to try and visit--he sees quackity getting in an out, and well, a visitor means there must still be a prisoner to see, doesn't it? the first time he catches quackity visiting is march. the last time he does, it's september, and quackity looks harried as he runs to las nevadas. punz passes dried blood on the prime path a few times. dream tells him things went south, and mentions plans to attack quackity a few months after his escape with a keycard now dangling between his fingers, and so when he tells purpled over half a year later, it's just math, isn't it.

c!punz meeting with c!purpled to tell him about the revenge plan against quackity was behind c!dream's back. the question we get repeatedly in this scene is why punz is the one carrying the message at all, and there's a difference between dream bringing up his torture and how punz was emphasizing how fucked up he got from it. further, while c!dream emphasized how important it was that no one put together that he and c!punz were on the same side after staged finale repeatedly in the finale streams, c!punz was the one to break their cover by reviving c!dream in front of clingyduo when he could've done so in secret after the two of them left, meaning we have a precedent for c!punz being willing to break their cover for revenge-related purposes.

c!punz sees the inside of the prison exactly once before the finale streams. c!dream shows it off a little while after daedalus, before the lobby gets overgrown with stalagtites and vines, before he's scrawled over the walls in ink. he shows off the keycard, the security mechanisms, the lava-filled antechamber, the main cell. punz makes a comment about the blocks of netherite, only a little awkwardly. there's still blood soaked into the chest, permanently. dream mentions that there was a dog that sat there once, before sam killed it.

before the prison, in the experiments that they run once they've ensured the book works, punz dies--actually dies--exactly once as well. he has a better familiarty with magic and runes than dream, who knows enough to muddle his way through enchants and little more than that, and part of the reason why he was chosen in their little trio to be the one with the revive book was his aptitude in more magical things. (dream was a survivalist, not a mage, and punz had a whole secret potion room before pretty much anyone on the server.) limbo has schlatt, and had wilbur, (and schlatt saw dream with his book of moon runes, and ghostbur knew about the revive book on doomsday) and dream was the one, after all, to make his agreements with both--it just made sense for him to be the one to communicate. made sense not to let punz's presence become too obvious, even to the dead--ghosts are real, after all, and not all of them are known for keeping secrets. dream was the one that needed to have lives to lose in their little show, and dream was the one that might need to be revived remotely, if there were any unforeseen issues, and dream was the one that needed to die in front of the server and be carried off into the heart of the prison--where his endurance would be key to their survival. where it certainly wouldn't hurt to be prepared, to know exactly what he may have to survive (i thought i would be fine with raw potatoes) (do you know what that does to a person?, and the warmth of dream's blood on his palms.) limbos change based on the way that you die, and tommy saw darkness, and then happiness that didn't belong to him, and dream--well it wasn't his first time--and punz said, you know, my limbo sucks, (singular). it's simply more efficient to keep one person clear-minded enough to do what needs to be done, and limbo puts you through the wringer. that's alright. punz and dream like efficiency.

dream never stops paying punz.

[cent-scratchnsniff]

reread tiphs dialog recently. i love them lots

[dykedvonte]

I think the most baffling thing about the Tulpar as a vessel to me is the fact that the ship really did only have a one way communication system.

I know it was cheap but even the most basic of vessels regarding major transport would have some way, shape or form for outside communication. Not only that but there was absolutely no form of innate emergency signal to show they may have been offline or in trouble despite clearly having a system to dock credits if they went off course. It's another factor that really shows that bad situations are made to get worse by design. One person who is required to relay all information to the crew and make all the choices without feedback. No way to update or call for help in case of a dire situation. No way to inform of inner personal conflicts and acquire procedures accordingly.

It really is like they are all in some sort of fucked up solitary confinement. They have their own world with strict roles that are meaningless in the end, as long as the cargo makes it, it doesn't matter what happens on that ship to the company. They don't want to hear anything and will come to conclusions on what happened based on how much pay they can withhold from the workers. Even what they do send is short, sterile and corporate to the extent it was likely written and sent out with a command by some random unmanned computer in an office.

There's something to be said about how unfair it is to force absolute power and control onto one person when you as an entity could do so much more to offload it but I've said it many times before so I won't again.

[fountainpenguin]

I think the funniest possible direction for post-Season 1 Dale is "Clocks something sus, develops a hero complex towards his abuser, and makes time for her while still ignoring his son."

City Lights AU is a cursed reality where the reason Dev didn't know Vicky abused his dad is because Dale refuses to accept that his ex-BFF is a terrible person. I can make them worse... I will make them worse.

[indigo-flowers09]

I WILL POST ART TMRW RAAGHHHH!!!!!!

[seafoamsol]

Process gif for the [ last piece ]! It was a bit of a rough ride.

[dvchvnde]

You let the thoughts pass by as you reach for his old bible amongst the stack of books he left for you. You pick it up gingerly, the cover tattered and worn. The spine is broken, snapped beyond repair. You're not much of a believer in pristine book collecting, but the state of it leaves you feeling an odd assortment of pity and intrigue. 

The scent of him is thicker on the cover. Robust. You hold it to your nose and inhale. It smells ashy, of old cigarettes and charcoal. Pine. It makes you feel a little dizzy. The potency of it is strong, gluing to the fibrils of your lungs where it soaks, stains them with the sticky tar of his masculine smell. 

The cover is made of old leather. You peel it back, and run your fingers along the inscription inside. To our boy, it reads, the scratch of ink pressing hard into the soft give of the hide. May he always find the answers he seeks. 

This seems to be a hope he'd taken to heart. Blue lines bleed through the thin pages. Underlines, highlights. Sections smeared with oil and ink, blurring the words together as he thumbed across them over and over again. The margins are filled with his own notes. Doodles. Insights. He fills space with ink. Musing over his own questions, and underlining the answer he finds.  

It almost feels intrusive. Voyeuristic. Had he not left it amongst the pile, you might have closed the book and put it away for the sake of his own privacy. But it draws you in. Ensnares you. His questions grow broader, the subject evolving. The answers he finds in the pages become less and less frequent. 

It feels—

Lonely. 

His despondency shows vividly when he covers the words in art. An entire page bears the face of a woman. The likeness is shaded around the eyes, in the arch of their nose. It must be his mother, perhaps. Maybe a sister. You turn the page, marveling at the artistry line in dark charcoal. A rifle. A bird. A skull. Cigars, scotch. Dog tags. A cross. Bible passages with toiling lines circled around them. Notes. Little insights stenciled into the margins. 

Another page speaks about head trauma. Brain injury. Bullet fragments. Low caliber. tbi is circled in blue with lines branching out from the side of the curve. impaired thinking. memory issues. personality changes, depression. 

remarkable the cognitive recovery is stenciled in between the passages over and over again, as if he was reinforcing this notion to himself. 

It's jarring. Uncomfortable. 

The next several pages are even moreso. It screams its loneliness into the thin paper and you read each divot until you can't anymore. Until the words run together, and stop making sense. It's all nonsensical. Scribbles, doodles, and numbers that mean nothing to you at all. Unnerved, you go to put it away—

Something catches your eye. 

It's a photograph. 

A younger version of Johnny, maybe. Shaded in black and white. He's barefaced, too. Beard shaved down to a thin dusting of stubble, an odd sight compared to the thick tangle of hair you're so used to seeing on him. His hair, too.

A mohawk. The shorn sides cropped as close to the skin as he could get. The top coiffed and styled for the photo. His asymmetrical hairstyle makes sense now. You trail your finger down the slope of his jaw.

You deep an indent underneath. Ink pressed tight to the thin page, bubbling up from below. You tuck the photo of him, all cocksure and rough around the edges, back into the seam before turning the page.

And it doesn't make sense. Not at first. A series of small sketches cover the page, littered across it like small pondstones leading to the bottom. Nahanni, you know. Recognise the magesty of this gorgeous park. You follow the trail, thinking distantly of your old art teacher in school and the magnetism of the gaze, and—

The bottom is a black circle. Needlepoints cutting through the curves. Sitting in the centre is woman. She sits in the valley watching a moose graze at the bottom of knoll, and in her hand sits an apple—

"What'd ye got there?"

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

RED LIGHT

[rubiatinctorum]

ok who put Curse Of Delayed Package on me :(

[mccleans]

i've gone to sleep angry and woken up angry every day since last saturday