#yknow. like a liar. ]

[emberchii]

eat your heart out

[lxghtbound]

“I have never put on a cat outfit in my life.”

[hellishgayliath]

@somerandomdudelmao definitely not emotional over these two no siree wont spot any feelings from meee

[shepscapades]

49. Moon Waltz - Piano Version — Cojum Dip

Tuna, i don't know HOW you picked this song but it's literally one of the most heart wrenching things on dbhc Tango's playlist so. congratulations. i think <3 I think I said ages ago in some tags that Tango was about to get the dbhc Etho Angst treatment, and i got very quickly distracted/consumed by Destruction and Doc/Xisuma related Angst, but boy oh boy am i glad i get to finally hit on a little bit of this poor man's trauma LDFKJGDFG

I'l try to keep this brief but. I'm insane enough about the hermitcraft season 8 finale as is, and even more than that i'm crazy enough about Tango's hermitcraft season 8 finale, and then on top of all that, you're telling me a jaded, bitter android whose characterizing moments of anger and failure are carried on his sleeve is the same android who tried to be the hero and save his friends, only to let an oversight be the reason he not only fails, but destroys his body in the process???? ?? ? A machine who isn't supposed to make oversight mistakes???? A machine who somehow let a rabbit be the reason he failed ? ? ??? I dont know what you expected from me other than to be extremely unwell about him and this whole arc in general

The base version of this song is just as good, but something about the piano version gets the vibes just right for these scenes... Something about the waltz-style cheeriness of the vocals contrasting to how horrific the lyrics and situation actually are. Idk man i'm fine don't look at me

[altrdecho]

Im never beating the johnny silverhand liking allegations

[smokbeast]

Drogo pals for @crazybookcat :D

[culperscomet]

my theatre professor knows about turn. had to act nonchalant. FAILED.

[kubosai-central]

Thinking about Saiki Kusuo making a playlist about Kuboyasu and over analyzing every detail of every song to see if it fits

[sunlitmcgee]

I feel sooooooo safe as a transmasc abuse victim after today <3 yup. so so safe

[lemon-shortbread]

I won't ever pressure you to take help that you don't want. I would, however, make certain things easier for you when I can.

Can't reach something in the cabinets since the pups haven't gotten bigger? No problem baby I'm rearranging everything in them so whatever you need to grab is within arm's reach.

Suddenly get a craving for something but put off going to the store until your day off? You'll come home from work to find a note detailing where the craving food is so you'll be able to have it whenever you want.

Starting to feel overwhelmed or tired about the cleaning or how the nest isn't ready yet? No problem I'll do all the hard tasks to make sure you won't overwork yourself after work and being the soul carer for our litter. As for the nest I've been scenting all of my jackets and shirts, snuggling all of the softest blankets, and being sure to get dozens of extra pillows for you to make the nest as comfortable as possible.

When you really give me the green light to baby you and take over everything you BET I'm taking daddy duties over with glee!!! My handsome puppy is not going to do more than he needs because I am more than capable of taking care of the house upkeep. You'll get to rest on the couch or in the nest while I do my house husband duties. You're even in for a treat since I've made sure to get loads of cocoa butter so throughout your entire pregnancy I can give you belly massages.

You're not dumb baby! You're just a good boy who wants to show me how you'll be the best daddy ever to our pups before they're even born!

Wait this is so cute wtf, Gabe youre too damn sweet 🥺🥺🥺 maybe i will accept a little help 👉👈 but only when the pups really are getting too big to deal with 😤

[tacagen]

please please lets talk about how barry and hunter percieve thawne and his relationship with barry. like im sure barry had no idea of thawnes crush on him (along with what even was his motivation in general before rs) like up until 'the only time' confession and him calling thawne pathetic for that is his live reaction to this realization under the influence of negative speed force. and we KNOW he knows at the very least after that because of these mfs!!!

they are fear constructs and they are based on barrys fears!!! THEY ACT EVEN FUCKING GAYER AND CREEPIER THAN THE ORIGINAL ONE!!!

and barry oh poor sweet barry. he had no idea that this!

was thawne meaning time with barry and barry alone! and barry didnt fucking see that! barry related to these words because they reminded him of his parents and naturally he supports The 25th Century Flash! AND THAWNE HEARS THAT 'I UNDERSTAND' AND THINKS THAT BARRY UNDERSTOOD EXACTLY WHAT HE MEANT!! THAT BARRY FEELS THE VERY SAME FOR HIM!!! JUST LIKE HE IMAGINED ALL THESE YEARS!!! AND NEVER QUESTIONS THAT CONCLUSION!!! AND LATER CALLS BARRY A LIAR FOR THAT!!! FOR NEVER FEELING THE SAME DESIRE TO SPEND TIME TOGETHER WHICH BARRY NEVER ACTUALLY IMPLIED!!!!

and what about hunter? oh he saw the events of running scared alright. and more, he has an unlimited access to the info about thawne, both personal experience and flash museum archives. he relates to him, he finds fucking comfort in him and his story. he is just like me fr! thawne is his poor little meow meow too and hunter takes it so much more serious than i do due to percieving him as Tragedy Personified!

in fact thawnes death in running scared fucks him up so badly he gives up his ideals and beliefs about flashes in favor of 'they are unfixable and deserve only to suffer'. besides, hes a profiler, he studied psychiatry. like, that guy should understand thawnes character deeply, right?

..............

hunter. hunter my sweet summer child i dont know how to tell you. this is SO not the reason thawne kept it.

he is the BIGGEST (and the only) fan thawne ever had. he knows about him SO MUCH and yet he straight up cannot figure out the most obvious thing about him because he PROJECTS HIS OWN ISSUES AND BELIEFS ABOUT FLASHES ONTO HIM AND REFUSES TO THINK FURTHER. yall im fucking crying. no comments.

THE CLOSET IS GLASS AND NO ONE FUCKING SEES THROUGH AND I AM PERFECTLY NORMAL ABOUT IT!!!!!!

[ladytauria]

Oh love the bfu au. The banter!!! The “what was that?” - “nothing, you didn’t see anything” glaring the supernatural threats away. Take me out. Like on a date? Or with a sniper gun. Surprise me

riiiight?! lmfao

just for this (& bc i love sharing) have some of what i've written for the AU~

“No,” Jason says flatly. “Absolutely not.”

“C’mon,” Tim wheedles. There’s a stubborn set to his jaw, his shoulders. He’s not the kind of person to let go of an idea, once it lodges in his brain. Jason admires it; the sheer force of will packed into all five feet and eight inches of him. He also hates it, especially when it leads to scenarios like this, the two of them on opposite sides, and unwilling to back down.

Because Jason is stubborn too. “No, Tim,” Jason says firmly, digging his metaphorical heels in. “I can think of oh, about a dozen better ways for us to spend our time.”

Tim frowns at him. Jason hates how adorable he finds it; hates the irrepressible urge he feels to smooth it away, perhaps with his own mouth. Tim jabs a finger at Jason’s chest, though the diner table between them keeps him from making contact. “You’re just afraid we’ll find proof, and you’ll have to eat your words.”

Jason scoffs. “Hardly.” He bats Tim’s hand away.

Tim isn’t actually far off the mark. He wants to go ghost hunting—no, more than that, he wants to start a ghost hunting show, exploring Gotham’s more haunted areas, and Jason… well. Jason is worried that they’ll find something. Not because he’ll have to eat his words, though, but because it could be dangerous.

If they stick to the locations that most people considered “active”, they’ll be fine. Those places aren’t haunted, not really. Maybe they had been once, but now it’s all residual energy, brought to life by overactive imaginations and nerves.

But Jason knows Tim—has gotten to know him quite well, over the past couple of years—and he knows that, while he may start with the popular locales, he won’t be satisfied with them forever. That’s charted territory. Tim prefers the unknown; the unexplained. So he’ll go digging, and probably find reports of places that are actually haunted.

And considering that this is Tim, who can find trouble just by walking down the street… well. It’s a recipe for disaster.

Not that Jason can say any of that. As far as Tim knows, Jason doesn’t believe in any of that bullshit. (Honestly, most of the stuff Tim talks about is bullshit, so it isn’t even that hard to pretend.) Jason wants to keep it that way.

Is it cruel, to lie to his best friend the way he’s doing?

Yeah, probably.

But it’s keeping Tim safe, so Jason never lets himself feel bad about it.

“I’m actually worried about you, I dunno, tripping over a raised floorboard and ending up with tetanus, or something,” Jason says. Which, to be fair, also a real fear, if less pressing.

Tim scowls at him and kicks Jason’s knee under the table. “I’m not that bad,” he protests. “And, anyway, even if I was, that’s what you’d be there for. To keep me from getting tetanus.” Tim smiles winningly, and Jason knows he’s lost.

He swipes a hand down his face, letting it linger over his mouth until the urge to smile back dies under resignation. “If I tell you no for real,” he says, “you’re just gonna ask someone else, aren’t you?” Someone with no experience, no training, no abilities. Someone who couldn’t keep themself safe, let alone Tim.

Tim shrugs apologetically, suppressed triumph creeping into his mouth. “Probably.”

Jason sighs. Dammit. “Well,” he says, leaning back in his shitty booth seat, faux leather creaking beneath him. “I always did like Old Gotham. S’gotta kinda charm to her, you know?”

Tim beams. Jason’s heart skips a beat. “This is going to be great!” Tim pumps a fist in the air, heedless of the way several heads swivel their way. It’s Gotham, though, so they turn back to their own tables quickly enough. “I already have a ton of ideas for places we can visit.” He reaches into his backpack—the beat-up, ratty one he keeps his camera equipment in, not his fancy school bag—and pulls out an iPad. He brings a document on screen. “I was thinking that, in order to build up viewership, we’d start with some of the more well-known places, you know? The ones everyone’s heard of, even if they don’t live here. Then we can move into some local gems, hidden places people don’t usually investigate.”

Jason hums, feeling stirrings of fondness despite himself. He takes the tablet, scrolling through the options while Tim goes back to his milkshake, only half gone.

Park Row Theater—formerly haunted, cleared by a baby Bruce. It was the catalyst for Alfred getting more serious in training him, and impressing upon him the dangers of dealing with ghosts. Even—or maybe especially—ones that might be familiar.

The Clocktower—not haunted, per se, but definitely a place with strong paranormal energies. Babs goes there to tap into them for her visions, sometimes; when she wants a clearer idea of the future. Probably safe enough, but Jason will still set up some wards before they go.

Wayne Manor—

Wait.

“Tim,” Jason says patiently. “Why is my house on here?”

Tim looks sheepish. “There have been rumors that Wayne Manor is haunted basically since the founding of Gotham,” he says.

Jason is hardly surprised. Wayne Manor was deliberately built on a nexus of powerful energy in order to study the paranormal. It isn’t haunted, exactly, but it’s close enough. “We’re not ghost hunting in my house.” He pauses. “Besides, I already know something freaky lives there. His name is Damian.” He pauses. “And sometimes Dick. No human should be able to bend like that.” He shudders theatrically.

Tim sputters, milkshake dribbling down his chin as he laughs. “Dick’s not that bad,” he says, once he cleans himself up.

“See, you say that, but you’ve never had to live with him. I assure you he is that bad.”

[moodr1ng]

heres the real truth i never wanna admit to anyone ok: the real reason im so afraid all the time is i know i will never ever manage to hold down a normal job. i know im too disabled for it. and i dont want to. and i want to stay like this forever. i dont want more. i want to remain in this apartment and get my disability checks and do a little art and a little writing and have time to hang out with friends. i want that for the rest of my life. if that was ok then i would be ok. but i can never admit that because if i say that then i will be taken off disability and labelled a faker. because everyone thinks i can get better or its not that bad. even my doctor. but it is that bad. im never getting out of this, im never going to be functional like other people are. every time im good enough to have a job, i will have another depressive episodes for months or a year and everything will fall apart. its hardwired in me. if i could just be on disability for the rest of my life then id be fine. i would just live my life like i do now and i dont need more than what i have now. but im not allowed to want that. im supposed to want to "get better" and "be healed", even though its not possible, and im supposed to want to get off disability and have a "normal life". but i know i cant have that. so i just want to be on disability for the rest of my life and be allowed to glean what little happiness i can still get from the sort of life ive been handed. but im not allowed to want that. if i was honest and said this to my doctor he would never renew my disability benefits bc hed think i was faking it. so im always scared and always ashamed. so there it is.

[aeoris4lovers]

Angstpril 2023 Day One: Liar

There were very few things in life that Eadwulf insisted upon without any chance of compromise. Choosing battles was a matter of survival under the tutelage of Master Ikithon; incurring punishment was easy enough to do even without the added risk that stubbornness presented. To resist bending only made it inevitable that one would eventually have to break, and as far as Eadwulf was concerned, the world offered little of great enough importance to justify tempting that fate.

It was not an oath made lightly, then, when he promised that he would return every day that he was able to one particular cell in the depths of Vergesson Sanatorium.

Astrid refused to speak to him for weeks after the incident, after what he did that night to save her from a fate far worse than a scar. So, with no one there to swear it to, he made his promise to the gods themselves.

He knelt on the floor of his bedroom, hands clasped together in his lap. Outside the small window above his bed, the cool light of the nearly-full moon fanned out across the skies, setting the shadowed room aglow with the night’s ghostly haze. His gaze settled on the nearest mountain peaks; ancient and immense and unmoving, he thought they must be the closest things to gods he would ever lay his eyes on. When thoughts of his past, of his people, of his own actions that night threatened to creep to the front of his mind, he pressed them back into the darkness of memory. They were gone now; there was nothing more to be done for them. Instead, he turned his thoughts again to Bren, to bright red hair and wild eyes and roaring flames and the crack of rock against bone. 

“If I condemned him to this fate,” he whispered, so quiet it was more thought than speech, “let me be the one to see him through it.”

Only a moment later, the soft moonlight was eclipsed by the silhouettes of two ravens coming to rest on the windowsill, and he knew somewhere deep within him that his oath had been sealed.

The next morning, he rose earlier than usual and ate his breakfast as quickly as he could manage to hold it down. The sun still hadn’t even begun to show itself in the young day’s sky when he slipped past the guards at the sanatorium, giving each of them a look which told them not to stand in his way if they valued their lives. They had no way of knowing that, in truth, he wasn’t sure if he would have the courage to make good on that threat; they only saw the determination in his eyes and stepped aside. 

As he pushed through hall after hall, he wasted no time looking at anything other than the faces in each cell, searching for blue eyes and red hair. Any strange looks that may have been aimed his way were lost in the blur of stone and bars and wrong faces. 

When he finally turned a corner and saw a short-cropped burst of orange in the nearest cell, he was just in time to stop the guard who was preparing to enter with whatever sad excuse for a breakfast they had prepared for the day. He caught the guard by the arm, stooping down to look her in the eye, and pressed a few coins into her hand.

All he said was, “Let me.”

She stared at him for a long few seconds, head tilted to one side, before shrugging.

“If you insist.”

Handing him the tray of oatmeal and water, she unlocked the door of Bren’s cell and started off toward the next one down, leaving Eadwulf there alone. He slipped through the door, closed it behind him, and crouched down next to Bren, truly taking in his current state for the first time. 

Perhaps the most noticeable thing should have been how beat up he was – the dark bruises, the blood that no one had bothered to wash from his skin. But instead, all Eadwulf could see was how empty he looked. There was always such a fire behind his eyes, a kind of passion and life there, like his mind was working so feverishly to puzzle the world together that you could watch it happening from the outside, and now? That fire had been all but doused. His eyes were glazed over, wandering helplessly around the space, looking through it all and not truly seeing any of it. There was a slight strain on his face, a clench to his brow that Eadwulf knew his resting face didn’t possess, which betrayed some process of thought, no doubt an unpleasant one. It was distant, though, and passive, as though the thoughts had taken on a life of their own within his mind and he, in this clouded state, was helpless to resist or engage them at all. When his gaze finally fell on Eadwulf, there was a soft spark of recognition that sent Eadwulf’s heart into his throat.

Eadwulf returned every morning after that, and again every night, so long as he wasn’t off on a mission or locked away for the sake of some punishment. Each morning, he fed Bren whatever breakfast the guards had prepared, careful to make it a far more gentle process than the other meals likely involved. As Bren’s hair grew longer with time, Eadwulf took to brushing it, and trimming it when the ends began to fray. A few times, he considered cutting it short again; surely, it would be more comfortable for Bren to have less of it. But there was no ignoring how his eyes fluttered closed at the feeling of it being brushed, or how he hummed in a way that almost seemed to approach contentment — better to keep it long, Eadwulf always ultimately decided. 

At night, Eadwulf would clean him — easy enough to do with a simple spell, but most nights Eadwulf wiped his face and hands the mundane way first, probably more for his own sake than for Bren’s — and tended to whatever wounds may have been sustained since the last visit. Then, he would take out whatever books he had been able to find that day, sit by Bren’s side, and read. Bren’s favorite of the books, judging by the way his eyes brightened ever so slightly at the sight of its cover, was an old children's story about a young boy and a cat prince, so they always started and finished with that one. In between, they cycled through as many of the other books as Eadwulf thought they safely had time for, and by the time he closed the fairytale for the final time, Bren was almost always slumped against his side, asleep. 

Eventually, once the rifts between them had been repaired, Astrid joined him for some of his visits, though she was quickly given more responsibilities than him and often found it more difficult to get away. On those days, Astrid would braid Bren’s hair once he had brushed it in the mornings, and alternated reading with him at night.

And after every nighttime visit, he would sit in his bed and write a few lines in a journal: how the day’s visits had gone, what had gone on in the outside world that day or over the past few days, what he and Astrid were doing in their own lives. Someday, he told himself, Bren would have his mind back. Someday, he would hand over the journal, a meticulous record of the days Bren was locked away. Someday, Bren would be able to read it, and it would be as if he hadn’t missed a thing at all.

In all that time spent in Bren’s cell, Eadwulf never feared being discovered by Master Ikithon — not out of carelessness or apathy toward the consequences he would inevitably incur, but because he knew it was foolish to assume he hadn’t already been discovered at the very start. The archmage’s gaze took immense care to avoid, and nowhere was it more omnipresent than in the halls of the sanatorium. The chances that he had gone unnoticed were laughably slim �� it was better to assume Master Ikithon was well aware, that a confrontation would come soon enough.

And come it did.

One morning, nearly two years into his visits, Eadwulf arrived at Bren’s cell to see his teacher standing there, calmly watching him approach. Inside the cell, he could see Bren’s eyes wide and his face held more tensely than usual. He was shifting slightly where he sat, as though his own body were the walls of a prison preventing him from running away.

All at once, Eadwulf was overcome with the urge to run forward, to lunge at Ikithon, to scream, because how dare he come here and strike that kind of fear into someone so helpless, hasn’t Bren been through enough? But he pushed the urge down and kept calm as he walked in spite of it. It was him that the archmage was angry with, it was him who would face the consequences of his actions; Bren had no reason to be afraid.

As it turned out, neither did he. Master Ikithon wasn’t angry, not at Eadwulf nor Bren; he never said or even suggested that Eadwulf would be punished, and the calm smile never fell from his face. He seemed entirely unfazed — pleased, even — by Eadwulf’s actions. 

“You are welcome to visit our dear Bren whenever you wish, Eadwulf,” he said in a tone that could almost be mistaken for good-natured, “as is Miss Becke. In fact, I think it’s wonderful that you three have grown to care so much for each other, even after all this time. By all means, do continue to come visit him if it pleases you.” Moving closer, he added in a lower tone, “I would only urge you to remember that it is for you, yes? As much as it pains me to say this, Bren is — how shall I put this? — absent, by all accounts. You are a smart boy, I have no doubt you’ve noticed. Each time you leave this place, it is to him as if you were never here at all; he won’t remember. The sharp young man we knew is, I’m afraid, no longer with us.”

And every night since then, as silence fell over the sanatorium’s halls, Eadwulf would look down at Bren, tucked against his side the same way they had once grown used to laying in their beds, and ask himself: how could that possibly be true?

How, when he still squirmed at the mere sight of his old teacher standing nearby, when his eyes still sparked at the sight of his favorite fairytale’s cover, when he still remembered how to fall asleep next to Eadwulf like it was as simple as breathing, could Bren be gone? How could it be possible that such a sharp mind, so full of passion and of life, simply slipped away? Even if he remembered none of it, even if each day felt to him like the first time, Bren seemed in his own way to welcome their company far more than any other’s, to relax in some small way at their presence; did that not count for something?

It would take him many more years to truly make sense of it, to fully understand the weight of what it meant, but the simple fact remained: that Bren was gone was the first of Trent Ikithon’s lies that Eadwulf ever saw through.

[brown-spider]

I didn’t even think about that part with Pav! That’s so fucked. You know now I’m wondering how he would’ve felt knowing that his friends were gonna also let that shit happen! Like “Gwen, you were really just gonna let that happen to me??” She has no defense because we literally watched her not only do just that, but try to prevent Miles from disrupting it.

yeah. I think Miguel has an order to either take dream weaver out, or to capture them. But dream weaver is pretty good at out maneuvering them.

Sunny being kicked out would get a compliment from them if anything. Like “nice job.”

I'm imagining a scenario where everything is the same except Gwen stopped Miles. Like, how that conversation would go. She probably didn't think she would ever be THERE when another spiderperson's canon event happened, she's probably completely unprepared to deal with it.

Pav would react to the event the way you'd expect, of course. Crushed. I think if Gwen was right there, she'd want to comfort him afterwards somehow, especially now that she played an active part in making sure it happened. Maybe she timidly approaches him in the immediate aftermath, says something like, "listen, I know it hurts now, but it was supposed to happen." Because she knows a lot of spiders take comfort in the idea that there was nothing they could do, that the tragedy makes them Stronger.

"Gwen." Hobie warns.

But its too late, cuz Pav is looking at her and asking "What do you MEAN it was 'supposed' to happen?"

And Miles is looking at her too, wondering the same damn thing.

I would like to see that conversation play out.

[slashersweethearts]

i think a lil bit too hard abt the very good chance of melina having pictures where she is posted up exactly like this w the hickses and start crying screaming throwing up banging my head into the wall and things of that nature. actually