#yall really need to stop

[blackwoolncrown]

american "expats" who move to meso/south america and REFUSE to say Spanish words with the proper accent drive me up the wall.

idk if I'm in the minority here but I feel like when you say a word from another language in a sentence that is otherwise in your language- and that language is english, contextually speaking- you need to say it how the native speakers say it bc that's what the word is.

always saying spanish words without a spanish accent sounds so lazy and I feel like these are the same people who when they learn spanish speak with a heavy american accent even after years bc they just don't think it matters at all.

ppl do the same t hing w japanese and it's so...clunky. Like I really feel like it's less about ability and more about a psychological refusal to give up a linguistic identity. There's a kind of like, "I'm allowing this other language to change the way I use my mouth" that you have to go through when taking on another language properly and I feel like Americans are chronically averse to it.

[adriles]

when we’re done with our overwhelming grief we’ll eat i guess

[ridibulous]

MFs will go We hate the gender binary! And then proceed to make another gender binary that hurts people to circumvent their old binary that hurt people which was made to circumvent that older binary that hurt people and so on so forth ad nauseum

[willowser]

aww aww katsuki coming home to find you and your kiddos in the kitchen, a disarray of gingerbread and icing and candies spread out across the dining room table.

you'd managed to dye your daughters frosting pink, and she's jumping up and down on her tippy-toes when she sees him, grinning so hard the tendons in her neck are straining. she'd wanted to build and decorate her own gingerbread house this year, but so far she's spent the last twenty minutes being very particular about only the first wall.

"daddy!" she leans her head all the way back when he puts his hand on her face, giggling beneath his palm with her little squished nose. "look at mine, look at mine!"

your wobbly son jumps up in his own chair, using the table as leverage to balance himself as he lets out a squeal of gibberish that vaugely sounds like an echo of what his sister is saying. at the excited pitch in his voice, her head whips around, free from katsuki's grip as her brows furrow.

"he's not even decorating anything," she protests—and she's not wrong; whatever your little boy is doing hardly classifies as 'decorating', and is more like 'eating all the frosting he can before getting caught'. there is a mess of sugar dried all around his mouth.

still, your son squeals in his chair, jumping up and down with even more energy when you place a hand on his butt, in case he slips. the promise of you only encourages him, and katsuki reaches across the table to snatch him up when he tries to get his little knee up on the surface.

your daughter's frown grows; sharing attention remains a soft spot for her. instead of saying anything, she only makes an annoyed little sound and presses her cheek into her dad's hip.

"stuff's gonna give you cavities," katsuki murmurs, though he picks up a few red and green candies and shares them with your already sugary boy—who hums happily. "need a toothbrush for christmas."

"no," your daughter pulls back and tugs on his belt loops, sneering up at him playfully when he pinches her nose. "you have cavities!"

katsuki makes a point to bare his teeth at her, and then presses his forehead to his son and does the same until they're both giggling. "ain't me, bighead,"

"you're a bighead!"

"yeah, 'n i am big, so what's your excuse?" a wicked little grin splits his face when she starts swinging on him, and he deposits your son into your lap before scooping her up off her feet, her girlish scream vibrant and happy in the space around you.

katsuki waits until she calms down a bit, holding her to his chest like a baby, before coming around the table to get a good look at her little pink masterpiece. he presses his mouth into her hair, like he does with you, and her little ruby eyes sparkle when he murmurs, "looks good, kid,"—just to her and only to her.

[pettytiredandjewish]

I can’t believe that I have to say this but I guess I have to (since I keep seeing people say this kind of sick shit on different social media platforms)…

The I/P war is not a Palestine holocaust. Okay?! It’s not even close to a fucking holocaust. It’s a really horrible war in which innocent people from BOTH sides have sadly lost their lives. This WAR would not have happened if Hamas didn’t attack Israel and killed/kidnapped a whole bunch of innocent people (Israelis and non-Israelis)… did yall forget Hamas started this fucking war?? Not only that but other terrorist organizations also decided to jump in and join in on the war to wipe out all of Israel. These fuckers AKA Hamas doesn’t care about their civilians. It’s been proven multiple times that Hamas uses their civilians as human shields. Those who tried to fight back were killed by Hamas.

It’s not a Palestine holocaust. The holocaust AKA the Shoah happened during WW 2 when the nazies wanted to kill all of European Jews. (Because surprise- us Jews were blamed once again for every single problem that was happening around that time- kinda like how we are now being blamed for what’s currently happening… history does love to repeat itself- I wonder why). Jews were sent to ghettos and camps (work and death camps) all throughout Europe. A majority of them were brutally murdered by the nazies. Those who escaped and survived the shoah either went to Israel or fled to other countries like the USA or Canada. I was lucky that my great grandparents fled before WW2 (they left Germany due to anti Jewish hate crimes that was getting worse and worse…). But sadly my other family members did not leave Germany/Poland and were sent to the camps. Only a few survived.

So for the love of- just please stop comparing this war to the holocaust. Okay?! Because it’s not. Holy fucking shit some of yall need to know your history….

[kirayamidemon]

i fucking hate this mfotherucker

[oceanwithouthermoon]

ive come to realise that i dont actually hate kubokai, i just hate the way people write them

[5h0w1sh]

Best friends having a meeting

[sunsetsandsunshine]

~ 𝙻𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚕𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚎~! ~

💜👻🧡👻💜👻🧡

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝚃𝙸𝙲𝙺𝙻𝙴𝚃𝙾𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝙳𝙰𝚈 𝟸: 𝙵𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝚂˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟷,𝟺𝟿𝟻

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙳𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚒𝚎 🐢💜

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚜…𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚠?

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝙲𝚞𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 <𝟹

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙷𝙴𝙴𝙴𝙴𝙴𝙴𝙷𝙴𝙴🕺🏾✨!!!˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

“Remind me why I’m here again?” Donnie said as he stood in the middle of his youngest brother’s room, crossing his arms and tapping his foot impatiently, “I have very very important work that I need to get to ASAP.” 

“Oho yeah?” Mikey giggled as he sat on his bed, resting his cheek on his palm, “What work?” 

Donatello huffed, glancing to the side of him, “Just plain old work, Mikey. Now tell me why I’m here so I can be on my merry way.” 

“With pleasure.” The box turtle grinned, going under his bed to get a closed cardboard box, “Y'know that since The Invasion I’ve been able to use my cool mystic hands sometimes, right?”

“I’m aware.” The older nodded. 

“Well, Barry’s been teaching me to control it and use it for the past couple of months. And I wanna see how much I’ve improved!” Michelangelo smiled, turning back to his brother.

The turtle in purple nodded in understanding, dropping his crossed arms as he put a hand on his hip, “So…where do I come to play in all of this?” The softshell asked.

“I wanna test how good I’ve gotten! And you’re the perfect person to test this tactic on.” The light scarlet eyed teen mused, turning back around to open the box, “And besides, you’ve been grumpy all week…you need this.” He mumbled to himself.

The scientist cocked his head to the side, “What was that last part?”

“Nothing!” The youngest said innocently, getting two feather’s from the box and giving them to his brother; one in each hand. 

“…Feathers.” Donnie deadpanned as he raised a confused brow.

“Feathers!” Mikey repeated. 

“…So…I’m just going to hold up these feathers for…how long?” The elder asked.

“Just hold the two feathers up and I’ll take care of the rest!” The smaller turtle smiled, a small orange hue glowing around a singular feather in the box. 

The now orange hued feather floated towards the softshell, gliding across his right side.

Donnie let out an embarrassing short squeal, dropping his arms as me marched over to his brother on the bed. Mikey raised an amused eye ridge, floating another feather to his older brother’s other side.

The purple banded turtle bit his lip, squirming as his knees buckled together. “I-I did— GHK! I-I did no— HNGK!! I did n-not agree t-t-to this!!!” He seethed. 

“Uhuh…yehes you did.” Mikey snickered, “I’d advise you to keep your arms up, big bro.”

“A-And why— ACK! Is that?!” Donatello glared.

“Well you see…if you put your arms down I’d have nooooo choice but to take the feathers you’re holding and let them join their friends in tickle tickle tickling you~!” The scarlet eyed teen smiled sweetly.

“WHAT?!” The young scientist gasped, going back to stomping to his baby brother, “Mikey I hAVE w-work to do and I— AUGH!!!” He screeched, going to the ground as the two floating feather’s made their way to his ribs. “Nohoh! Cohohome ohan!!” 

Donnie shook his head whilst kicking his legs on the carpet, trying to not give his brother the reactions he was seeking.

The softshell had work to do! He didn’t have time for these foolish games…!

But underneath his cursing and scowls…he really did enjoy this— I mean whaaaaat…? Now who said that?!

“Ihi HAHATE YOHOU!!” The purple banded teen shouted as his little brother glided the feather’s across his underarms, “YOHOU’RE E-EHEEVIL! THIHIS IHIS EHEEVIL IHI SAHAHAY!!”

“Is it really~?” The box turtle hummed. 

“YEHES! YEHES IHIT— hic IHIS!” The other laughed, shooting his arms down and hugging his middles, the two feather’s he was once holding now on the floor. 

“Uh oh~! You put your arms down, Dee~! Y'know what that means~!” The youngest teased, a light and sparkly orange hue now surrounding the two dropped feathers, the both of them tauntingly floating around the taller turtle.

“Now~! Where should they go~?” The smaller turtle teasingly asked.

The young genius shook his head frantically, “NOHOWHERE! F-FUHUHUCKING NOHOWHERE!” 

“Mr. and Mrs. Feather don’t like your cussing, Don-bon~!” 

“WEHELL TEHEHELL THEM— hic! TOOHOO FUHUCK OHOHOFF!!” Donnie hiccuped as he kicked his feet helplessly on the ground; trying to at least get the feathers off.

Another wonderful reason for him to hate mystic stuff…

“Dee~! Your arms aren’t raised~! Raise them up for me, please~!” The orange banded mutant mused.

“NOHOH! NOHOH WAHAY IHIN HEHELL!!” The light golden eyed teen squawked.

“No~?” Mikey taunted as he grazed a single feather across Donnie’s shell with his mystic powers, “EEEEHEEEP!! OKAHAY! OKAHAHAY! KEEHEEP THAHAT AWAHAHAY!!”

“Then put your arms up!” The younger said innocently, moving the feather’s down to the other’s plastron area. 

The young genius groaned through his giggles, clenching his teeth as he begrudingly raised his arms up above his head once again, “Cohohount yohour hic dahahays…” 

“Uno reverse, Donald.” The box turtle grinned, making four more feathers glide all across the softshell’s tummy. 

“GYAHAH— hic!! MYHYHY hic! NO! NOHO NONOHAHAH— hic!! GEHET THEHEM AHAHOUT!! GEHET THEHEM AHAHOUT!!” 

“Whaaaat~?” Michelangelo hummed.

“G-GEHEHET THEHEM AHA— hic! OHOHOUT!!!” The elder cried, stomping his feet repeatedly on the ground as he struggled to keep his arms up.

“But why, Tickle Tello~?” The box turtle mutant cooed, slowly walking over to his brother.

The purple banded turtle’s face turned a bright red at the tease; not even trying to put on a tough face facade anymore as he caved into the tickles, “DOHOHON’T hic CAHALL MEEHEE THAHAT hic hic YOHOU ASSHOLE!!”

“Okay, Tickle-Tello.” The smaller teen smiled innocently, sitting next to his older brother that was laughing his absolute shell off.

“Do you remember what we agreed on~?” Michelangelo asked. 

“NOHO— hic! N-NOHOH PUHUHUTTING MY AHARMS DOWN!! IHI GAHAT IHI— hic!! IHIHIT!!!” The light golden eyed teenager squawked. 

“Oh? Then why are you, hm~?” The youngest asked as he pinched the other’s hip mercilessly, resulting in the taller one to shoot his arms down almost immediately, pushing on his brother’s wrists. 

Donnie understood the rules…he really did! 

But this was just plain unfairness at this point.

“MIHI— hic! THAHAHAT’S CHEEHEEATING YOHOU— hic! B-BIHIG CHEEHEEATER!!!” Donnie squealed, his glasses falling off of his face due to the fact he was wriggling snd giggling so much.

The art loving turtle giggled, casually yawning and stretching as if there wasn’t someone literally dying of laughter beside him. 

“It’s not my fault you put your arms down.” Mikey commented smugly.

“YEHEHES IT hic IHIS!! IHIT IS!! IT hic IHIHIS— hic IT IHIHIHIS!!!” Donatello howled. 

“Oh? Is it~?” The box turtle asked, wiggling his fingers above his older brother’s thighs. The purple banded mutant’s eyes widened as he kicked his legs desperately on the floor in a small attempt to keep his little brother away…

…But who is he kidding?

When has that ever worked?  

“NAHAH— hic! NAHAHO!! AHANGEHELO hic hic PLEHEASE I-IHI’M SOHO hic SORRY!! Hic HAHAVE MERCY!!!” The softshell screamed as he hugged his middles tighter.

Mikey snickered lightly at the other’s plead, squeezing his brother’s thighs as the other threw his head back in complete hysterics. 

Happy tears rolled down Donnie’s face as his hands curled to fists, banging on the carpet floor as his legs stomped.

“Awe~! Someone looks like they’re having fun~!” Michelangelo giggled. 

“IHIHI’M NAHAHAT!!” The taller turtle protested loudly.

“You sure~?”

“YEHE— HIC!! YEHEHES MYHY GAHAHAD!!!”

“You positive~?”

“YEHEHES!!!”

“D'aww…that’s a shame~! Maybe this’ll help~!” The younger cooed in a fake pity voice as he lightly nibbled on his brother’s stomach whilst kneading the softshell’s thighs. 

The softshell in question wheezed loudly in result, pushing on the other’s plastron as the feathers quickened in speed, “OHOHAH— HIC!! MYHYHY GAHAHAD YOHOU AHARE HIC SUHUCH HIC AHAN AHASSHOHOLE!!!”

“And you’re digging yourself into an even deeper hole.” Michelangelo retorted as his elder brother let out the most loudest squeal known to man. 

“MIHIHIKEY!!!” Donnie cried.

“Yeeeeees~?” The youngest smirked.

“EEHEE— HIC!!! EEHEENOUGH! HIC EHENOUGH! E-EHENOHOUGH!!!” 

“Aw~!! But I didn’t even get to tickle your shell yet~!” The other pouted, wriggling his fingers near the taller’s shell.

“MIHICHELAHAHANEGLO!!!” The older screeched. 

“Okahay, okay, drahahama queen.” The scarlet eyed mutant chuckled, snapping his fingers which resulted in all the feather’s going back into the box. 

The smallest turtle helped his brother up, giving him a small glass of water he got prior. “Lihihike Ihi hic sahahaid: cohount. yohour. dahahays.” Donatello grumbled through his giggles.

The orange banded turtle rolled his eyes fondly, putting the now closed box underneath his bed once again, “Oh~? So does that mean you wouldn’t wanna help me the next time I practice my mystic powers?”

“…I-I nehever sahaid thahat…” The light golden eyed teen huffed.

“Soooooo, same time next week?” The smaller teen grinned knowingly.

“…Whahatever.” The taller said, quickly turning away and leaving the room to try and hide the evident genuine smile slowly morphing to his face. 

Michelangelo rolled his eyes fondly, sitting on his bed as he scrolled through his phone ever-so casually, “Same time next week it is, then.” 

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[ricky-mortis]

A portrait of Sir John Herschel because I‘m normal about Pulp Musicals

[introspectivememories]

tim and bernard who break up and it's nothing big, no one cheated or anything. it's just their lifestyles didn't work out well together. tim cannot give up vigilantism currently and bear cannot handle the level of danger tim puts himself in. and on the other hand, tim cannot handle the fact that bear chooses to run into danger as an emt bc he already worries about everything but now he has to worry if he'll find his boyfriend convulsing from fear gas in a random alley but also bear who felt the life drain out of darla cannot stand the thought of not helping people and runs headfirst into dangerous situation after dangerous situation hoping that every person he saves can somehow make up for the fact that he could not save darla.

(he very pointedly does not think about the fact that there was nothing he could do because if he thinks about that, he'll spiral until they have to lock him in arkham too)

and so they break up but they were tim & bernard in high school and when they started dating they balanced out the worst of each other and they became tim&bernard. and everyone who knows them, knows that they're better together but they cant be together, they refuse actually because they cannot lose another person to the violence of gotham and by the time they figure out that they cant work together as long as the other is an emt or vigilante, it's too late for both them. they've already left too many pieces of themselves in each other.

tim still knows what bear means when he says "tim" in that exasperated voice. tim still goes boneless when he hears bear say "baby" in that firm tone. bear can still read tim like a book. he still knows the right way to massage tim's neck so that tim can go to sleep. everyone at the first responders gala knows not to bother ceo drake-wayne and senior emt dowd when they're talking.

(and if they're standing a little too close to each other than what is normal, who are they to judge? everyone knows that dowd and drake-wayne have history)

and if everyone on the night shift has caught red robin with his head tucked into the crook of emt dowd's neck as emt dowd runs a soothing hand up and down the vigilante's back, well then, they just quietly back away.

(after all, dowd's one of like, five, emts that can get the bats to receive medical treatment so if turning a blind eye to whatever the fuck they have going on is what allows them to give back to their heroes, then the night shift will do it every time)

and of course, tim and bear are practical people. they loved (love) each other sure, but when your lives are fundamentally incompatible, well, you cant get too stuck on the what-ifs, that's for sure. and so they do find love with other people and yeah, maybe it's not what they expected love to be when they first fell in love with each other. it's not the bubbly, stomach-swoopy, cant stop grinning, feeling that permeated tim&bernard's early days or the i Know you/you Know me that was their middle or the quiet despair that was their end but it is contentment. and in a life with as many losses as theirs, contentment is something they hold dearly

and they're happy! truly! but sometimes, at galas when they're making each other snort champagne out their noses or in darkened alleyways when their clothes are both stained with blood or at rallies for stricter gun regulations in gotham where they both sit too close to each other, fingers enclosed around each other in a death grip, when the presenters inevitably bring up grieves

(worst school shooting in gotham in decades, there's blood on their hands and blood in their mouths and darla is dead in between both of them and there is a chasm so wide that they are screaming to get their voices across and she will always be dead and maybe this had always been the problem that she is dead and there is no coming back from that and that there is blood on their hands and blood in their mouth and blood on their han-)

but sometimes, most especially on opposite sides of the street, as life pulls them in different directions, just sometimes, they see each other and just for a second, nothing too long, the flap of a hummingbird's wings, the time it takes to blink, an electron's orbital, they look at each other and for the briefest moment, blue on brown, a barely noticeable stutter in their steps, the space between heartbeats, because this is all they will give themselves because they do not dwell on what-ifs or what-could-have-beens, or what-should-have-beens, or delusions of a softer world, their eyes meet and they think to themselves, god, in another life, i would have really liked just doing laundry and taxes with him.

[leronboi]

I wanted to draw outfits for the gang loll. I had other ideas but just wanted to keep it simple. This was supposed to be a doodle but I spent way too long on this one har har

[penumbra-mayhem]

Barely Breathing at All - Sam/Darlin' Fic

"Their heart was pounding so hard their chest ached. The car wasn't moving. Why weren't they moving?"

This is partly inspired by Hozier's song "Abstract (Psychopomp)". It takes place a few months after Sam teaches Darlin' to heal that little sapling. Also, I hc that Darlin' has a stutter, more on that here.

TW: car crash, light gore, PTSD/flashback

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Let’s take the long way home, yeah?” Sam asked, gripping his mate’s hand as they walked to his car after a long-winded pack meeting.

Darlin’ glanced up at him with heavy lids and gave a small hum in agreement. Over the past week, they had been struggling to sleep more than usual. Sam hoped a car ride would help.

He was right. With the windows down and old folk songs playing quietly, Darlin’ was slumped in their seat within ten minutes. Sam didn’t even need to glance over; he could tell they were asleep just by listening to their breathing. The balmy summer night saturated Sam's senses with a chorus of frogs and the scent of pine. It was a leisurely winding drive on the outskirts of Dahlia. Sam's core thrummed with satisfaction as he drove.

—

Darlin's eyes shot open as their body lurched forward, their seatbelt locking up to prevent them from crashing into the dashboard.

Their head whipped back, slamming into their headrest.

They blinked rapidly.

Their heart was pounding so hard their chest ached.

The car wasn't moving.

Why weren't they moving?

Darlin' looked frantically through the windshield to see what they'd hit.

Nothing. Just empty road.

They looked to their left.

Sam was frozen in his seat, his hands locked around the steering wheel. His breathing was fast—too fast. And shallow, like he was barely breathing at all.

"S-S-Sam," Darlin' croaked as they tried to push through their own disorientation, "Wh-wh-wh...h-h-h-h.....y-y-y-y-you h-h-h-hurt?"

"I uh.....I'm...." Sam mumbled.

With fumbling hands, Darlin' unlocked their seatbelt and clambered over to Sam. They started scanning his body, checking for any signs of blood or broken bones.

"I'm fine," Sam whispered, but his eyes weren't really seeing Darlin' and his chest was still moving too quickly.

"Wh-wh-wh-wh-what h-h-h-h-happened?" Darlin' asked, holding Sam's tense shoulders. When he didn't reply, they tried again, "Sam?"

"...deer...I tried...tried not to..."

Darlin' turned to look back out the window, just in time to see something jerk up and then fall back down out of view. They slid back into their seat, opened their door, and stepped out. Just a foot or two in front of the car was a deer, bleating weakly in distress as it moved to stand and then fell again.

Darlin' crept forward, trying to keep their own breathing under control. Once the deer was in full view, they could see that its right hind leg was broken, the bone jutting through the skin in two places.

"S-Sam," Darlin' called out. The deer grew louder as they approached and knelt next to it. They tried again, a bit louder, "Sam!"

Nothing.

Darlin' looked up. He was still frozen, his gaze distant and panicked.

"Sam I-I-I c-c-can't.......I d-don't kn-kn-kn-know how...."

They looked down at the deer. It stared back in abject fear.

"Fuck," they whispered.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

"Okay..." Darlin' muttered, ".....okay....I c-c-c-can d-d-do this."

First the deer. Then Sam.

Touch does make it easier.

They placed their hands gently on the deer's mangled leg, wincing when it bleated in pain and tried to pull away.

Close your eyes. It helps.

They squeezed their eyes shut.

Now we just breathe for a bit.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

Take a little bit to tune into the rhythm of your magic.

Darlin' focused on their core—felt it tremble. They tried to steady it, tried to strengthen it with each breath.

...reach just that little bit outside of you...it's just a little stretch...you just have to guide it...

Darlin' could hear something. The sound of movement. A car door opening. But they couldn't focus on that now. They were so close.

It doesn't need shape. It doesn't need form. It just needs to flow....it just needs your intention.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale...

Darlin' felt their magic rush from their hands into the deer. They felt the bone meld and the skin knit itself back together. Their eyes shot open. They quickly moved back, just in time as the deer scrambled up and raced off. Nausea washed over Darlin' as they sat there for one breathless moment, staring into the dark woods.

"Darlin'?"

They jumped, causing their head to spin. Sam was standing outside of the car, gazing at them. Darlin' rose on shaky legs before heading towards their mate.

"Sam, are y-y-y-you..." they trailed off as they scanned him again, worried they missed something in their initial search.

"...I'm alright...just...just..." he mumbled, body trembling.

Touch does make it easier.

Darlin' held his hands. "Y-you're safe. I-I-I'm r-right here."

Close your eyes. It helps.

"C-close y-your eyes. F-f-focus on m-my voice, y-yeah?"

Sam's eyes shut. His breathing was still too quick, too shallow.

Now we just breathe for a bit.

"C-c-c-can y-you m-match my-my b-breathing?"

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

"G-good. Y-y-you're d-d-doing s-so good, l-love."

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale...

The frogs started their chorus again. The scent of pine flooded Sam's lungs with each inhale. Everything began to settle, the spinning and trembling dying down like embers. Darlin' wasn't sure how long they were standing there. They would have stood there forever if they needed to.

Eventually, Sam pressed his forehead against Darlin's.

"You healed the deer."

"I....I d-did."

"Thank you."

[decoy-sammy]

Chalkboard looking sketches I suppose.

Redfire and Prowlscream.

[dykedvonte]

Reading MW takes on Twitter is like reading a summary of the Bible from someone who only watched like a Family Guy family special about it

[datmoongamer]

Too many Warframe players that were former Destiny players are obnoxious as fuck.

Some Destiny post: "Yayyy Destiny 2 :D"

The saltiest person you've ever seen: "You know what else is yayyy? Me after I quit this shit ass stupid garbage dog shit game to play Warframe. Warframe is so much better than Destiny. Anyone that enjoys Destiny is a Bungie dicksucker and needs to be unbrainwashed. What the fuck did you just say about me you little shit? I'll have you know I have 300 confirmed kills and raids on Al Qaeda and"

Some Warframe post: "Yayyy Warframe :D"

An entirely different, yet still salty, person: "Warframe is indeed Yay! Unlike Destiny, which is the worst game I've ever had the misfortune of playing, and all of its remaining players are mindless corpo sheep drones burning their money, and in this essay I will"

Stop doing this in the Destiny 2 tag holy hell. You people are so annoying.