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#//to cope
great-and-small · 1 month
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My grandfather and my godfather (a beloved neighbor and dear family friend) had a long standing bet- for one dollar- about who would die first. Both of them being slightly pessimistic (in the funny way), they both insisted that they themselves would be the first to die. Any time my grandfather had a health scare, he’d gleefully call up my godfather to boast that he’d be passing “any day now” and he was sure to win the bet. It was a big family joke and they were always amiably sparring and comparing notes about who was in worse shape, medically speaking.
When my grandfather was in hospice care dying of liver cancer, my godfather was quite ill also. It took him great effort to make the journey to see his dying friend. As he came into the room, supported by a family member, he shuffled to my grandpa’s bedside and silently handed him a dollar bill. He was ceding his loss of the bet, as they both knew who was going first. My grandpa had been in quite bad shape for a while and was no longer able to speak but let me tell you he snatched that dollar with unexpected strength and literally laughed aloud. He knew exactly what the gesture meant and he couldn’t help but find the humor within the grief. It was the last time any of us heard my grandpa laugh, as he passed shortly after.
When I talk about my appreciation for “dark humor” I’m not so much thinking about edgy jokes, but rather the human instinct to somehow, impossibly, both find and appreciate the absurdity that is so often folded into the profound grief of life and death. When I tell this story I think it kind of perturbs people sometimes, but it’s honestly one of my favorite memories about two men I really deeply admired. I could never hope for anything more than for my loved ones to remember me laughing until the very end, and taking joy in a little joke as one of my final acts.
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personaglitch · 9 months
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"Self insert characters are cringe"
Bro I'm trying to survive capitalism with maladaptive daydreaming. Leave me alone.
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DEVASTATING the lyric you've been mishearing is better than the real one
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onioneyez · 10 months
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He's very easily peer pressured
(Edit: I meant by the goats)
Prints!
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plaguedarts · 1 month
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Gangle's Gift! [Comic]
⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎… ⋙
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sunlit-mess · 2 months
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thoughts
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levil0vesyou · 7 months
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public-benches · 4 months
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one of my favorite things in dunmeshi is how chilchuck turns out to be the guy in the party with the least to hide despite how much he goes out of his way to act all secretive. like the more we learn about everyone else it seems like they’ve all got like trauma or crimes or even just oddities that they don’t share explicitly not bc they’re hiding anything, but just because it’s never come up, or it’s too much of a hassle to explain, or it just didn’t occur to them. meanwhile, Normal Man Chilchuck is finding new gray hairs every morning because his friends want to know how old he is and his darkest secret is that his wife left him for being… too secretive. like up against a monster-phile, a dark mage, a circus attraction and Schrödinger’s cannibal, him making such a big deal out of having three adult kids is kinda epic
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armageddidnt · 9 months
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Best of Neil's stage directions/commentary in the good omens s1 script book
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I went back and read this to help me cope after s2, as one does
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eggsdoodz · 1 month
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the orange by wendy cope 🍊
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nipuni · 4 months
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David's BAFTA looks 🥰
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ionomycin · 4 months
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Maiden of Light
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moonflowergayy · 11 months
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You idiot, we could have been...us. I forgive you.
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punkeduppirate · 10 months
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same old married couple, another adopted child
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willgrahamscock · 3 months
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Imagine being a patient of Hannibal’s but you just received actual therapy and then took his advice and you’re thriving, but then it comes out that almost all his patients killed at least one person I’d start wondering what was so wrong with me that he didn’t try to harness the dark urges within me, why wasn’t I worth shaping into a furry killer or some unsettling little freak with psychosexual tendencies? I’d need extensive therapy after.
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satoruxx · 17 days
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you're sweating when you wake up, skin sticking painfully to your bedsheets as your bleary eyes dart around, attempting to make focus of your surroundings. the room is still dark, barely touched by the slight bit of moonlight that attempts to peak through the closed windows—defiant. it takes a minute to realize that the sounds that are breaking the silence are actually coming from your own throat—breathy, wheezing gasps of terror.
your stomach drops when your fingers grip cold and empty fabric. he's gone he's gone he's go—
"what are you doing up, pretty?"
your head snaps to the doorway. satoru stands there, sweats hanging low on his hips even as his hand remains curled around a glass of water. his hair is tousled with sleep, but his cerulean eyes are sharp and lively.
as soon as he sees the panic lacing your expression, his eyes widen, long legs practically tripping over themselves as he stumbles towards you.
"what happened?" he asks sharply, frantically placing the cup on the bedside table to take your face into his palms. shades of blue dart back and forth across your features as he perches one knee on the mattress and peers down at you. "are you okay?"
his touch sends electricity through your veins—a splash of ice water pulling you away from that painful reverie.
your heart both clenches and soars, the idea of what you saw being terrifying, and yet finding out it wasn't true being that much more relieving.
"i just—" your voice comes out choked, and satoru's fingers twitch against your skin imperceptibly. "had a bad dream."
you think your brain must be cruel for conjuring up a dream in which satoru could suffer to such abhorrent extents.
"oh sweets." satoru's sigh is sympathetically soft, thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek just barely. "it was just a nightmare."
"i know," you swallow, voice shaking. there's an uncharacteristic wetness pooling at your waterline. "i-it just felt so real."
"baby..." satoru immediately pulls you against the steady planes of his chest, thick arms snaking around your waist to eliminate any measly amount of distance between you two. you prop your chin on his shoulder, sighing as you feel his snowy hair tickling at your cheek.
"it wasn't real, sweetheart," he says, pulling back just slightly to push a piece of hair from your face. his thumb then drags under your eyes, wiping away the unshed tears. "see. you're here, i'm here. everything's all good."
"yeah." you're nodding, unable to take your eyes off of him because he's real and alive and so breathtakingly perfect. "yeah, you're right."
he gives you a lopsided smile, eyes bright and glowing. "i don't like to brag, but i usually am."
you snort out a laugh, missing the way his expression turns pleased at the sound. "hilarious. you love to brag."
"you got me there," he shrugs, grinning as you stick your tongue out at him. the lighthearted banter solidifies the fact that satoru is fine and unharmed and completely yours, but you can still feel the apprehension coursing through your veins. chills run up your spine—you try not to show it.
but of course, satoru has always been able to see right through you.
his teasing smile goes soft, and he inhales deeply.
"was it about me?" he asks, climbing into bed next you. you lay back down carefully.
"yeah," you mumble, watching him tug the blankets over your body and tuck you both under a cocoon of warmth.
"hm." something in his tone tells you he's not unfamiliar with the feelings you seem to be experiencing—his body shifts closer to yours. ocean eyes carefully asses you, deep and calculating and so concerned even as he smoothes a warm palm over your shoulder blades. "wanna tell me what happened?"
the truth is you do want to, because satoru has always understood you better than you've ever understood yourself—you have no doubt he'd be able to comfort you just as well as he normally does.
and yet...
"no," you answer, pressing your nose into his neck. a deep breath in, the lively scent that is so inherently your gojo satoru filling your very soul. "it's okay. i think i'll be fine."
when you shut your eyes, images flash behind them—of bloodied bodies and stitches and swapped souls. yet a chaste kiss to your forehead pulls you back to where you're supposed to be, warm and grounding.
"i know you'll be fine," satoru murmurs, lips tickling your brow as he speaks. you think you can hear the gentle smile as he says it, and your grip on him tightens—never letting go. "i'm right here after all."
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