#cw: self harm

[stil-lindigo]

lead balloon (the tumblr post that saved me)

if this comic resonated with you, it would mean the world to me if you donated to this palestinian family's escape fund.

--

no creative notes because this isn't that kind of comic.

I know I don’t owe any of you anything but I still felt compelled to write about my long term absence. And I feel far enough away from the dangerous spot I was in to be able to make this comic. I have a therapist now, and she agreed that making this could be a very cathartic gesture, and the start of properly leaving these thoughts behind me. I am still, at seemingly random times, blindsided by fleeting desires to kill myself. They’re always passing urges, but it’s disarming, and uncomfortable. I worry sometimes that my brain’s spent so long thinking only about suicide that it’s forgotten how to think about anything else. Like, now that I've opened that door for myself, I'll never be able to fully shut it again. But I’m trying my best to encourage my mind in other directions. We'll see how that goes.

I am still donating all proceeds from my store to Palestinian causes. So far, I've donated over $15K, not including donations coming from my own pocket or the fundraising streams which jointly raised around $10K. In the time since I made my initial post about where this money would be going, the focus has shifted from aid organisations to directly donating to escape funds.

If you'd like to do the same, you can look at Operation Olive Branch, which hosts hundreds of Palestinian escape funds or donate to Safebow, which has helped facilitate the safe crossing and securing of important medical procedures for over 150 at-risk palestinians since the beginning of the genocide.

#cw: suicidal ideation #cw: suicide #cw: self harm #cw: mental health #cw: depression #i made the balloon the main representation of my self destructive urges for a reason but im not going to explain it #i tried to keep a lot of the details in this vague #it would be my worst nightmare if this comic encouraged someone to hurt themselves #so. please dont #for a long time even the thought of making this comic felt so insipid and narcissistic #with the state of the world as it is #having the only threat to your life be yourself felt so privileged and trite and shameful #but doing this comic made me sit down and process things in full #and im just. very grateful i didn't give in to my thoughts back when i sincerely felt i'd be more useful to the world dead #i also feel the need to say that this wont represent everyone's battle with mental illness. its unfortunately different for all of us #there is no fix-all #and im afraid this might be one of those comics that either resonates a lot or misses the target by a mile #i made it for myself foremost. and now that its done im glad i did it #thank you for reading #and please stay alive #stillindigo art #stillindigo comics

[deadeyedfae]

Here it is! Part 3 of Dead Eyed Ivy Second Puberty Edition 💜🏳️‍⚧️

#transgender #queer artist #transfem #small artist #artists of tumblr #lgbtq #furry #lgbtqia artist #furry oc #zine #tw self h4rm #tw s3lf harm #tw misgendering #cw internalised transphobia #cw sui mention #cw misgendering #transphobia cw #cw: self harm #cw: transphobia #cw dysphoria

[anti-kawaii-daily]

Today's Anti-Kawaii Character of The Day is Runa from the oneshot manga, Dangerous Love!She wears Dark Girly most of the time but she does wear China Kei at the Cafe where she works, she also fits into the Yandere archetype!

#dangerous love #Runa dangerous love #dark girly #girly kei #china kei #yandere #also Runa is a rare LGBTQ yandere and that makes her stand out amongst characters like Yuno Gasai or Kotonoha Katsura #cw: self harm

[lynxgriffin]

Three small dreams of bright sharp things

I was just thinking recently how all three of the main Lightner teens seem to have some kind of affinity/joking nature/interest in sharp things that can hurt, and wanted to art about it. There’s probably lots that can be said about that, but I do hope they all realize solidarity in that and get the kindness they need!

Little darker than my usual stuff, but it’s fun to branch out in subject matter!

#lynx art #deltarune #cw: blood #cw: self harm #cw: impalement #susie #kris #noelle #did pretty quick color for this #also if anyone's going to bring up the 'monsters don't bleed!' deal: please refrain #it's just dream imagery my dudes it's not real

[fivewholeminutes]

A Series of Small Offerings

PART ONE -8- The Way That You Were

To tear that knife from what once / Would have been dead fingers

I have. Struggled a lot with this one, but I am glad it is done. I've had this idea rotating in my brain for a month and I have tried starting it at least 3 times both traditionally and digitally before I decided to turn it into a cut out, because I feel the most confortable making cut outs, actually.

HUGE, ENORMOUS shotout to @copper-sands / @ancientbygone for being my hand anatomy expert!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Without it this piece would look way worse <3

#me: hey let's stop having hand-related ideas for the small offerings maybe #also me: okay. so how about a piece with 6 hands in it- #come to think of it. the ghost hands would look better digitally but oh well #a series of small offerings #sleep token #sleep token fanart #alex vs the mortifying ordeal of having her art perceived #if you were wondering i am still shit at editing <3 #and now the warnings #blood #suicide #suicide attempt #implied suicide #self-harm #self harm #cw: blood #cw: suicide #cw: implied suicide #cw: self harm #pls let me know if i forgot something #ALSO SORRY LEVYNN THAT I POSTED AFTER A LONGER BREAK AT THE SAME TIME I SHOULD'VE CHECKED TUMBLR BEFORE POSTING

[newnap]

I was thinking of deltarune and wanted to apply that line about human blood in undertale world

#undertale #cw: self harm #comic #newnart #cw: blood

[snekky-arts]

This is love

.

.

Normally I wouldn't post art this close together but inspiration struck and this little painting experiment turned out WAY better than i thought so I just had to share Mr. TheQuack, who deserved every bad thing that happened to him but we're gonna draw sad art anyway

also fun fact, goat hearts don't really look all that different from human hearts

also also photo references WILL save your life DO use them

reblogs are welcome, reposts are not!

#my art #art #artists on tumblr #dsmp fanart #dream smp fanart #dream smp art #dreamsmp fanart #my paintings #quackity fanart #quackity #c!quackity #c!quackity fanart #tw: blood #cw: blood #tw: self harm #cw: self harm #it's not really visible in the final render but it is there #also can you catch all the accidental symbolism #because this went from cannibalism is quirky to serious emotional damage

[sylvermage]

I'm not the biggest Mission: Impossible fan, but Dead Reckoning Pt 1 has given me feelings about something (Benji, okay, it's Benji) and I need to talk about them.

Spoilers and ramblings under the cut.

So, while the Entity definitely fears Ethan and the rest of IMF for being the only people with enough braincells to want to KILL the Entity instead of use it (honourable mention to Degas; please join IMF, dude), it strikes me that right from the beginning, it's gone after Benji.

We start with the bomb. The Entity knew Benji would be the one to come looking for it. Why? Because Benji is usually Ethan's eyes (noticing the suspicious bag), and it's a pattern that when Ethan is in danger or out of reach, Benji takes to the field.

Of the team, Benji is most likely to be susceptible to the psychological prodding from the bomb's questions. He doesn't compartmentalize the way the others do; he brings his whole self to every mission, and that makes him a good agent; it's why he babbles when he's nervous, cries openly, complains about the sheer insanity of what they're attempting to do, and then walks straight into the fire without hesitation.

So right away, the Entity wants Benji to know that it knows him. And by doing so, it's letting US know that it knows who Ethan's lynchpin is.

Then it takes it a step further: it steals Benji's voice. Listen to the commands it's giving Ethan through the comms, they're disjointed, haphazard, but Ethan never stops to question it. Why? Because it's Benji's voice. Ethan has always given himself completely over to Benji's directions (Benji told him to jump off a mountain onto a speeding train, and Ethan's thought process isn't nope, find something else, it's how in the goddamn hell am I going to do this. Because if Benji says it's the only way, then that's good enough for Ethan.)

And this hurts Benji. You can see the panic in his face, because he knows Ethan will trust his voice, and he's completely helpless. The Entity has attacked him psychologically, it's undermining his greatest skill (working with tech), and now it's taunting him with the trust Ethan places in him. It's slowly rendering him powerless.

Even though the line of self-harming was removed from the final product (and personally, I don't mind, but that's another discussion), we know Benji has his demons. He's had a bomb vest strapped to him, and he's nearly been hung (which is a TERRIBLE way to die) and both situations rendered him totally helpless.

But I think it's interesting that the Entity never asked him what it was he most feared, because we already know, we've already been shown what it is: Benji fears being a liability.

Specifically, a liability to Ethan.

And although I'm hoping against hope that they WON'T kill off Benji, because he's my favourite and because I think the MI world would be so much darker without him, I can think of no better way to push Ethan into despair than to put Benji in a situation where he has to sacrifice himself for Ethan. Because Benji is the only one that Ethan has repeatedly promised, with words, 'I will not let anything happen to you'. He couldn't even make that promise to Grace, because he's not sure anymore that he can keep it. But he HAS made that promise, repeatedly, to Benji. And Benji knows better than anyone how far Ethan will go to protect someone, how far Ethan has pushed to protect HIM specifically. He has sat there with a ticking timer among innocents completely aware that Ethan is not going to walk away, because abandoning his friends and partners (abandoning Benji) doesn't even appear on Ethan's radar. And that's a lot of weight to carry.

Of course Benji is afraid to die; he's stared death in the face many times. But he's more afraid of being a liability to Ethan. Of being the thing that leads Ethan to fail.

And the Entity is SHOWING him this, it's showing US this. And it scares the hell out of me. Because the one thing that could break Benji, is the one thing I can think of that would break Ethan. Forcing Benji to choose between death and Ethan's failure…and Ethan being forced to watch him make that choice.

Killing Benji before Ilsa might have struck a stronger blow against Ethan; the only reason to hold off is to make it even more painful. Show Ethan he can't keep his promises to protect those closest to him, put the doubt in his mind…then make it a reality. Destroy the one person he's always promised to protect, right in front of him.

And even if they don't kill him off (plzdon'tilovehim), even if they find a third option, the amount of damage being in that situation would do to both Ethan and Benji would be catastrophic.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have made myself sad, so I'll just be over here, writhing in agony until 2024.

#Mission impossible #MI7 #Mission impossible spoilers #MI7 Spoilers #Dead reckoning part 1 #Dead reckoning spoilers #cw: self harm #benji dunn #benjamin dunn #ethan hunt #simon pegg #tom cruise

[mitchelf-citadel]

Maya goes outside! (+ bonus sketches)

Bit of a filler week, the next drawing is taking a while.

Image #1: Maya suffers the misfortune of going outside

Image #2: The amazing grimdark circus

Image #3: Gondola chooses to be joyful in the face of mind bending horrors (mspaint drawing)

Image #4: American Soycho (ink drawing)

#my art #digital painting #grimdark #horror #fanart #maya #ongezellig #pomni #gondola #shitpost #ink drawing #mspaint #cw: self harm #emo

[perelka-l]

deep thought for today is that kieran is more of a snork mimimimi guy and drayton is a honk shooooo type

#elite four drayton #trainer kieran #rival kieran #exchampionshipping #ex-championshipping #dragoncheershipping #okay let's try and tag this bad boy #cw: suggestive #cw: self harm #(barely there but tbh i never dipped into this territory and im still a bit uncomfy so if that's enough for me that's enough tot ag lol) #cw: self-harm #cw: blood #cw: injury #are those burn scars yes is that supposed to be a chunk of his torso almost bit off also yes #they just wrecked each other pretty nicely not much else here #also draytons ass #yeah i am unwell what of it #watch me and my fail art #if i forgot to tag smthn pls tell me thanks #i may or may not overdid size diff but not like it would be the only thing i overdid lol

[blaisenova]

(half) brothers

Miguel O'Hara finds out the rather unfortunate truth about his biological father and makes a decision to do something really stupid, but not without properly saying goodbye first.

or

Gabriel O'Hara does not think it's cool that Miguel suddenly wants to call him his "half-brother."

-------------------------------

a fun little exploration of gabriel and miguel's relationship that's inspired by this post by @/flipsidesfangs! needless to say, i was inspired.

because of sensitive content (suicidal thoughts/ideation as well as implied/referenced self-harm) the actual work will be beneath the cut, but, despite the angst, it does end happily!! gabriel and miguel brotherhood for the win!

i'd also like to apologise if any of the spanish is off at all. i've been learning it for years now, but some of the stuff i wanted to say was a bit beyond the stuff i can consistently get down just yet. i did my best to research the stuff i was unsure about, but the internet will never be as good as an actual speaker. if you speak spanish, please don't hesitate to correct me!! (thank you @/anneichigo for the correction already!)

anyways please enjoy <3

-------------------------------

Maybe, before, there was a time that Gabriel would have been grateful to find out that Miguel was technically his half-brother – namely, when he’d first found out about whatever was going on between Miguel and Dana before that, too, fell apart (which, really, just proved even more that they were family; they both had the shittiest luck with women, though Miguel’s misfortune was, admittedly, a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy) – but, regardless of how much his asshole of a brother could piss him off and make him wish they weren’t related, Miguel was still one of the only good parts of Gabriel’s childhood and would always be the closest family he had.

So, when Miguel had dropped by in the middle of a nasty rainstorm (fortunately, during one of the rare occasions that their mother was out) looking an awful lot like he’d just been told his holographic dog got run over and he was ready to jump in front of the car, too, Gabriel hadn’t hesitated to bring him inside and lead him to his couch; even if the rainwater that had soaked Miguel to the bone jumped to Gabriel’s couch, as well.

There were very few times that Gabriel had seen this look on Miguel’s face – eyes distant, their red hues not hidden behind sunglasses for once, and even redder than usual, like he’d been crying – except for maybe when their parents would fight. Then, Miguel would go distant just like he was now, but, even then, he had never stopped holding Gabriel until the sound of shouts and shattering glass bottles settled back down to silence. It wasn’t often that Gabriel got to return the favour, and even less often that Miguel would let him, though he was, admittedly, kind of miffed that Miguel had chosen right now to finally take him up on the offer; getting beaten by cops didn’t exactly leave him feeling ready to take care of someone else.

It took Gabriel a few moments to collect himself and regain his bearings as he rooted through his still unfolded laundry for a towel in an attempt to save his brother from hypothermia, but, with a deep breath, he clenched the half-threadbare, yellowed fabric in his hands, and returned to the living room where he’d left his brother.

“Think fast,” he quipped, tossing the towel towards his brother in some attempt to bring him back to reality, only to flinch when the towel simply landed haphazardly on Miguel’s head without garnering a reaction.

Gingerly, Gabriel settled himself next to his brother, pausing and scooting a bit away when he felt a bit of water seeping through his pants. He fixed Miguel with a pointed look, though the look quickly turned to a frown when the older wouldn’t meet his eyes. A hand reached up, and he gently flicked one of the man’s cheekbones, mouth falling agape when even that didn’t earn a reaction.

“Dios mío, Miggy,” he mumbled, sitting up just enough to reach the towel that had landed on Miguel’s head to scrub it around enough to sop up the excess water, “And here I thought I was having a bad day.”

Gabriel removed the towel from his brother’s head, leaving behind a fluffy, tangled mop of hair that he couldn’t help but snicker at; strands of half-dry hair stuck up in the air in a gravity defying show. The short sound of laughter was enough to earn a glance from Miguel, though his eyes just as quickly darted away again, and Gabriel just caught the subtle way that his older brother’s brows furrowed even more.

With a frown, he rolled the towel up into a deadly weapon and skillfully snapped it against Miguel’s chest with soggy squelch.

That was enough to earn the older man’s attention in full as he bit out a yelp, sitting up stick straight before fixing Gabriel with a snarl, fangs bared. “¿¡Qué chingados?! What was that for?”

For all of Miguel’s ridiculous height and increasing amount of muscle that turned him into quite the intimidating figure, Gabriel just didn’t have it in him to be afraid of his own brother. Miguel may have been much bigger now, and, even without the super powers, he could have folded Gabriel easily, but that felt more like an older brother staple than just a S-Man thing.

“Mi, mi, mi,” he unabashedly mocked, towel held out threateningly in his hands. “It was for freaking me out, you dick! What the shock is wrong with you tonight?” He shrunk back a bit, a finger pointing at his brother’s fangs accusatorily. “Put those away… I’ve been beat up enough for one day.”

Cheeks reddening a bit, Miguel dropped the snarl, carefully situating his fangs back behind his lips. His voice turned more muffled, almost slurred, as he worked to keep his teeth hidden. “I shouldn’t have come here,” he bit out, venom in the words. “I should’ve just-”

“Ay, coño- Alright, Miguel, I get it,” Gabriel began, raising his hands, only to wince backwards when Miguel all but yelled,

“No, Gabriel, you don’t get it!”

Silence filled the room again, thick and tense like the humid, smog filled rain that pressed down on them outside. Gabriel’s eyes narrowed as Miguel’s widened, the light of the overhead lamp doing well to illuminate the bright red of the older brother’s eyes that had replaced the brown they used to share. In a way, it was almost poetic that the physical characteristics they shared would be ripped from them as their sense of blood bond was ripped away, too. After a few moments of tense eye contact, Miguel was the one to break it, eyes darting to the ground with a frown.

“Gabri, I’m-”

“No, no,” Gabriel cut in once more, waving what he hoped was an apology off. Bitter words rested right on the tip of his tongue, but he swallowed them down, forcing himself to remember the uncharacteristic distance that Miguel had entered the house with. “Help me understand, then.”

Suspicion flashed behind Miguel’s eyes as he forced himself to look at his brother again, though his expression softened as he didn’t seem to find the sarcastic vitriol he was searching for. His shoulders remained tense, muscles flexing and unflexing beneath his shirt in an unconscious, nervous rhythm that both impressed and worried Gabriel. Rain sounded from outside enough to make the onward stretching silence just a bit more bearable, though only for so long as seconds turned to minutes.

“Miguel?” Gabriel coaxed carefully, feeling an awful lot like he was talking to a wounded animal, a strange and novel experience with his brother who used to protect the both of them; though whatever had ended up with Miguel becoming 2099’s Spider-Man had seemed to shift something in the man he once knew, for better or for worse. “Talk to me, man. What’s going on?”

Talon tipped fingers came up to rake across Miguel’s face (which only momentarily scared the shit out of Gabriel before he realised that the claws seemed to retract when they came into contact with skin), and the older man sighed.

“I just… came to tell you that I loved you. In case something happens with the whole ‘Spider-Man’ thing,” he began, a nervous waver concealed behind monotony that might have fooled anyone else, but not Gabriel. “I know things haven’t always been great between us, considering everything with Ma and Dad, and…” a beat, “with Dana too, I guess. But you’re still my brother…”

The word trailed off, and he sighed again, his fingers pinching at the bridge of his nose.

“Coño, estoy jodiendo esto…” Miguel mumbled, so quiet that Gabriel almost didn’t hear it. “Look, what I’m trying to say is that I care about you. I wanted you to know just in case anything happened.”

If possible, Miguel only seemed to get even more tense once the words were out there, as if it pained him to say. Gabriel watched him with some semblance of disbelief, eyes narrow and mouth slightly agape. When it became clear that was all his brother was going to say on the matter, his eyes only narrowed even further.

“¿..En serio?” he squeaked out, only to backtrack as Miguel gave him an extremely pointed look. “I mean, you’re a little late on that, aren’t you? You’ve been doing the whole S-Man thing for a while now. Are you in trouble? What’s going on?”

“Nothing, Gabri,” came the response, bit out in the same way that things always were when Miguel was lying, “I just wanted to make sure you knew. That’s all.”

“No chingues, man,” he scolded, doing his best to sound angry and only succeeding in expressing his concern. “Seriously, what’s up with you? This sounds like a goodbye.” A nervous laugh fell from him and landed flat; Miguel wouldn’t even look at him, his hands wrapped so tightly around each other that his knuckles were white. Horror settled in Gabriel’s stomach, heavy and nauseating. “...Wait. Wait, Miguel-”

“Don’t be stupid,” Miguel hissed, too little and too late. There was a sort of desperation to the way he shot to his feet, eyes still anywhere but on his brother. “I have to go.”

Gabriel was quick to follow him off of the couch, grabbing onto his brother’s wrist and not letting go even when Miguel bared his fangs at him once more. “‘Go’?” he echoed. “Where are you going?”

“Let go of me,” came the hiss.

Gabriel didn’t deign to fulfil the request. “Answer my question first.”

“What are you, my mom? I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“Then you’re not going anywhere.”

That earned a bonafide laugh, dark and bitter, from the larger of the brothers, and Miguel stepped closer, shoulders squared and talons out. His fangs flashed noticeably in the light as his lip curled back in a snarl as he finally met his brother’s eyes, their red almost seeming to have a faint glow to them. “You’re going to stop me?”

To his credit, Gabriel didn’t flinch. “I sure as shock am. I’m not just going to let you leave and kill yourself, Miguel.”

“You can’t keep me here,” he seethed.

Gabriel’s grip on his brother’s arm only tightened, his brows furrowing into something pained. “So, you don’t deny it, then?”

At that, Miguel’s face fell again – eyes wide and terrified – and his shoulders went tense once more. “I…” Then, all at once, the rage was back, and Miguel pulled against his brother’s grasp again, enough to pull Gabriel forward with the force. “I shouldn’t have to deny something that stupid. Let me the shock go, Gabriel, I’m not kidding.”

“And I don’t believe you,” Gabriel retorted, undeterred.

“I didn’t come here to be mothered.”

“Yeah, you came here to say ‘goodbye,’ and I’m not letting you,” he said, grabbing Miguel’s arm with his other hand and practically wrapping himself around his brother. “So help me, Miguel, I’ll latch onto you like a shocking koala. The only way you’re killing yourself is with me attached to your arm.”

“What is wrong with you?” Miguel tried again to push Gabriel off, to no avail. “You’ve already been beaten all to hell once today, do you seriously want to make it a second?”

The thinly veiled threat drew a scoff from the younger, who looked up at him entirely unimpressed as he tightened his hold on the other’s arm. “What, you’re gonna beat me up if I don’t let you commit suicide? So much for ‘you’re my brother! I love you!’”

“Half-brother,” came the shout, and that was enough to get Gabriel to pause.

“...¿Cómo dices?”

Caught off guard, his grip loosened just enough for Miguel to successfully push him off, giving him a much better view of the anguished expression on his brother’s face.

“Half-brother,” Miguel repeated, the words spat out like they were something foul.

For a moment, Gabriel could only reel at the admission, and, when he finally managed to force something out of his mouth, his voice came out equally as strained. “I… ¿Te cae?”

“Me cae.” Then, again, quiet, until Miguel couldn’t seem to take it anymore. “I was… I was furious about what that bastard Tyler Stone did to you, and I… I was going to kill him, Gabriel. I really was.” He almost seemed horrified with himself at the admission, his hand coming up to his face once more. “I was at his house. I was going to break in, and I was going to kill him. It was going to be so easy. No one would’ve known it was me, and I wouldn’t have regretted it. Not one bit” His own pathetic whine cut him off, and Gabriel, with his own muted horror, could clearly see the way tears had sprung to his eyes once more.

After a moment, he quietly – half afraid, but not in the way Miguel had so desperately wanted him to be mere moments before – pushed, “...but?”

“But Ma was there,” Miguel answered immediately, sounding rather out of breath for how much he was breathing. “Ma was there, and she blackmailed him into letting Kasey go.” A laugh; short, breathless. “I thought she was talking crazy, or lying out of her ass, like always, and I thought I was going to have to break in to save her, but Stone just laughed and- and kissed her.” His expression screwed up into something equal parts disgusted and mortified, but he didn’t pause, even for a moment. “They argued, and he admitted that all the bullshit that led up to me becoming this monster was nothing but a lie, and, as if that wasn’t enough, Ma says he’s my father. Casually. As if it didn’t mean anything. And Stone didn’t deny it.”

Cautiously, Gabriel laid a hand on his shoulder, so gently he wasn’t sure it would catch his brother’s attention. “Miguel, breathe-”

Fortunately, the feeling was enough to knock Miguel out of the horrific retelling, but the agony didn’t leave his eyes as his head darted to look at Gabriel as tears finally spilled over. “I can’t live knowing I’m his son, Gabriel. I can’t live knowing all of this was for nothing – just a lie.” His breathing hitched, almost stopping completely, as he mumbled breathlessly, “necesito morir. No quiero vivir. No lo puedo hacer. No puedo más. No puedo más.”

It was, admittedly, extremely frightening to watch Miguel – Gabriel’s older brother, and the one that had, somehow, always managed to keep it together for the both of them, even if he’d become an asshole to do it – unravel before him, nails digging into his own skin as if it was the only thing keeping him from dying on the spot. His chest heaved dangerously fast, and Gabriel could feel the way his body trembled just from the minimal contact he had with Miguel’s shoulder.

“Miguel,” he called, gently.

The word earned him no response, and Gabriel frowned, concern spiking in his chest like a too firm grasp on his heart, and he rushed to try again, louder this time. “Miguel.”

When that, too, didn’t work, Gabriel was well and truly terrified, and, without thinking, latched onto Miguel’s hands, wrenching them from their grip on his own skin and leaving crescent marks in their wake.

“Miguel!” he cried, loud enough to make Miguel jump, but finally earning the man’s attention. “Mirame. Necesitas respirar, ¿vale? Respira, güey. Si no lo haces, morirás, si quieras o no, y yo no quiero eso, ¿entiendes?”

“No puedo,” Miguel wheezed desperately, voice trembling almost as violently as his hands. “No puedo.”

“Cállate,” his brother immediately shushed, squeezing Miguel’s hands tightly. “Sí, puedes. Hazlo conmigo.” It was a fairly straight forward demand that didn’t need much of an explanation, but, even then, as Gabriel took as exaggerated of a deep breath as he could managed, he was more than a little relieved to see that Miguel was attempting to follow along, albeit shakily.

The first few breaths Gabriel managed to coax out of his brother were still shallow at best, falling back off into wheezes the moment he finished exhaling, but, after a few minutes, Miguel had managed to bring his breathing back into some sort of regular rhythm. His shoulders still shook, and his hands still trembled, but he was, at the very least, no longer on the verge of passing out, or so Gabriel hoped. Once he was sure that Miguel could manage to breathe without his guidance, he allowed his hands to slip off of Miguel’s, brows furrowed in concern.

“You okay?” he asked, going right back to that gentle tone of before.

It took Miguel a moment to answer, heaving a sigh as his hands wrapped around one another again. “...Yeah. Lo siento.”

“Ay, don’t start with that shocking ‘lo siento’ nonsense,” Gabriel immediately huffed. He almost sounded offended, probably because, in a way, he was. The idea that Miguel would ever need to apologise to him of all people for something like that. “That was a heavy discovery,” he reconciled. “It’s not your fault you freaked out over it. In fact, I’d say you earned that panic attack.”

The wording earned Gabriel a glare, which he took as a sign that his brother really was feeling better, and he returned the look with his own shit eating grin.

“Gee, thanks, asshole,” Miguel drawled sarcastically, making Gabriel snicker.

“Hey, I’m your brother. I’m contractually obligated to be an asshole to you in your lowest moments,” came the retort, and there was a certain sort of pride to the words that only seemed to lighten the mood for a moment.

Visibly deflating again, Miguel mumbled, “half-brother.”

Whatever playfulness that had managed to find its way back into the atmosphere was immediately iced once more, and Gabriel couldn’t help but frown, his grin chased away by the sombre mood. For a moment, the two were quiet again as Gabriel considered and Miguel wallowed, before he not-so-gently pinched his brother’s bicep, drawing an ungraceful yelp from Miguel who immediately swatted away the offending hand with a snarl.

“¿¡Qué mierda?! ¡Pendejo!” he all but shouted. “Have I not suffered enough today? What’s your problem?”

“Don’t call me your half-brother, stupid,” Gabriel said instead of answering. His tone left no room for argument. “There is nothing half about us being brothers.”

Apparently not having the impact Gabriel had hoped for, Miguel gawked openly, blinking in disbelief. “Gabri, were you listening to none of what I just told you?”

“Oh, my god, Miguel-”

“No, I’m serious,” he said. “Did none of that mean anything to you?”

“Yeah, actually!” Gabriel answered bluntly. He fixed his brother with a look that said he was the one being weird here that Miguel clearly didn’t buy. “Who the shock cares who your biological dad is?”

“I do!” he hissed, clearly not getting the message as he gestured to himself furiously.

“Well, I don’t!” Gabriel hissed right back, shoving Miguel’s shoulder and trying not to be embarrassed by the fact that Miguel hardly moved. “We grew up together, man. I beat you when you’re already down. It literally does not get more brotherly than that.” 

“Acting like you’re my brother does not make you my brother,” Miguel groaned back, and there was a beat as Gabriel just frowned up at him. 

“I don’t care who your ‘real’ dad is,” he repeated, making his position clear and impossible to miss. “He’s clearly just as much of a dick as the one we grew up with, and that means he’s close enough for me.”

And there was that suspicious glare again, as if there was no possible way that what Gabriel was saying could be true, and that meant he must be lying. It would have been hurtful if Gabriel wasn’t acutely aware of the fact that it was more a reflection of Miguel’s shit mental state than of him. Red eyes searched brown and were once again left without finding whatever they were looking for. For the second time, Miguel’s face fell, and he leaned forward to hide his frown in his hands.

“I don’t get how this doesn’t bother you,” he mumbled.

“Miguel, how do you want me to react? I’m being honest with you, and I don’t care. Please tell me what you want from me,” Gabriel practically pleaded. “Do you want me to have a panic attack, too? Disown you? Tell you that if you’re not my full brother that you’re not my brother at all?”

There was a short huff of what was either a laugh or a sob; Gabriel couldn’t tell which with Miguel’s face hidden the way it was. “I don’t know,” he muttered. “Maybe.”

“You cannot be serious,” Gabriel deadpanned.

The tone made Miguel sit back up, frown clear as day. “I said maybe-”

Immediately, his brother cut him off, “Like that makes it any better?!”

“Wha- Doesn’t it?”

“No?!”

With a groan, Miguel raised his hands in surrender, though his expression more screamed frustration than defeat if the way his lips unconsciously twisted into a snarl said anything. “Ay, coño- Alright, alright. I didn’t mean it.”

And, for a moment, Gabriel simply studied his brother’s face again. They had the same eyes – or, at least, they used to, before brown turned to red – and the same nose. They shared their mother’s rich, caramel skin tone and prominent cheekbones, and the same deep brown hair colour that almost looked red in the right lighting. Really, they were the spitting image of one another, stress induced wrinkling included, though Gabriel, admittedly, hadn’t quite earned the few grey hairs that Miguel had already managed to grow despite only being in his late twenties. Nevertheless, Gabriel couldn’t understand how Miguel didn’t see their similarities; the things that screamed beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were related; that they were brothers.

His brows furrowed as he continued to stare, and Miguel’s furrowed in turn. He glanced between his brother’s eyes and anything else uncomfortably, hands shifting in his lap.

“...What-”

“Were you really going to kill yourself?” Gabriel interrupted instead, and Miguel immediately went tense again.

“I… was thinking about it,” he finally admitted; whisper quiet as if he was afraid what would happen if someone else heard.

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed once more, the glance of suspicion now on his brother. He could only hope his look was as effective as Miguel’s was; that Miguel’s skin was crawling just a little bit under the glare. “‘Thinking’ as in ‘the thought crossed your mind?’ Or ‘thinking’ as in ‘you actually had a plan?’”

“What difference does it make?” Miguel murmured, eyes boring holes into the floor. “I’m here. I’m not dead.”

“Miggy, I don’t think you realise how much a non-answer reveals,” Gabriel stressed a bit desperately, though he quickly cut himself off as his brother shifted.

With a growl, Miguel threw his hands up in frustrated defeat, turning his glare to Gabriel once more. It looked more tired than he probably meant for it to, and there was a pang of guilt that hit Gabriel at the realisation. “Alright, fine, yes, okay? I was going to do it,” he hissed. “I fought with Dana, and I said goodbye to you. All I needed was to see Xina, and then I was done. So what?”

“So what?” Gabriel echoed in disbelief, eyes wide.

“Yeah,” he confirmed, the high of frustration still pulling the words out of him with ease. “So what?”

All of the anger seemed to dissipate as Miguel caught sight of Gabriel’s face; he looked crushed, and, honestly, he felt it, too. Tears threatened to spill over onto his cheeks, and, honestly, Gabriel had half a mind to let them just to try and knock some sense into his brother. It was a bit of a petty thought, and maybe selfish, too, but if selfishness was what would keep Miguel around for another day, then so be it. He could have thrown the Spider-Man card – told Miguel that he was the only one that could save people – but it wasn’t Spider-Man that Gabriel was trying to save.

“‘Lito, eres muy estupido,” he nearly whispered, voice strained. “Me importas. Te quiero mucho. No puedes decir ‘so what’ como si no estuviera loco si estuvieras muerto. ¿A ti eso no te importa? No quiero que mueras. Te necesito.”

Miguel shook his head, brows furrowing again, though his voice didn’t have the same bite as it did before. “Eso no es justo. No es sobre ti.”

“Pero estaría herido,” Gabriel insisted, and Miguel grit his teeth, averting his gaze once more.

“Me vale verga,” he spat, the words intentionally harsh and biting.

But Gabriel didn’t believe them. “Mentiroso,” he shot back without hesitation. “If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t have bothered to say goodbye.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I shouldn’t have,” Miguel snapped.

Again, there was a brief moment that Gabriel really wanted to be hurt, but he’d seen enough textbook cases of Miguel lashing out because he was frustrated with himself that he didn’t believe for a second that his brother meant what he was saying. He could be upset later, when his brother’s life wasn’t on the line. They could have that conversation once they finished having the more important one.

“But you did,” he insisted once more. “No es neta que te vale verga.”

“God, you’re so shocking full of it,” Miguel bit back, face flushed a furious red that almost matched his eyes.

“Yeah, if ‘it’ is knowledge,” Gabriel huffed.

Talons flipped in and out of hiding in a frustrated rhythm that, admittedly, made Gabriel a bit nervous as Miguel continued his furious rant. “Por el amor de Dios, why the shock did I have to end up related to you? You’re the worst brother anyone could ever get the misfortune of being stuck with.”

And, really, this time Gabriel couldn’t even want to be offended because how could he do anything but grin at that? “Yeah,” he agreed, “brother.”

Anger was driven away once more – and, really when had Miguel ever been able to stay mad at Gabriel – replaced by some sort of actual defeat, and he sighed as he placed his head in his hands again, correcting himself. “Half-brother.”

“Brother,” Gabriel insisted.

As if he was too exhausted to even feign anger for the fourth time in quick succession, Miguel simply allowed a half-hearted scowl to peek out from his hands. There was a hurt behind his eyes that he didn’t seem willing to acknowledge, but Gabriel knew him plenty well enough to see it clear as day.

“What is it with you?” Miguel feebly sputtered. “I’m not worth it.”

With his own sigh, Gabriel carefully leaned against Miguel’s shoulder, peering down at him with an equally as tired look and allowing his own hurt to shine through, too. Thankfully, Miguel didn’t move to try and push him away. “Shouldn’t I be the one who gets to decide if you’re worth my effort?”

“Maybe you don’t know what’s good for you,” came the weak retort.

“Oh, yeah, bold words from you,” Gabriel shot back; a much better counter, he felt.

Apparently, Miguel felt the same, grumbling out a frustrated and almost inaudible, “touche.” He allowed his hand to slip back over his face and hide the way his eyes shut wearily. “Can I leave now?” he tried, though he certainly already knew the answer.

Nevertheless, Gabriel humoured him with a snicker, leaning even harder onto his brother as if to weigh him down. “After all this? Fat shocking chance.”

“You know I’m stronger than you, right?” Miguel hummed. “That I’ve got superhuman strength?”

Unfettered, Gabriel wrapped an arm around Miguel’s with an exaggerated yawn. “Yeah, yeah, and you’re gonna, what, beat me up?”

Miguel sat up, knocking Gabriel’s head off of his shoulder but not managing to get his brother to let go completely, much to his chagrin and, even moreso, to Gabriel’s delight. Miguel fixed him with the same suspicious look as before, though there was a certain lightheartedness to it that hadn’t been there before, something else that added to the intensity of Gabriel’s shit eating grin. It wasn’t much, but it was something.

“Maybe I will beat you up,” he threatened, but Gabriel was a brave man when it came to empty threats.

“You wouldn’t.”

At the very least, his unhesitant bluntness seemed to catch Miguel a bit off guard, his eyes widening for a moment before his face dropped back into a scowl. “Do you really wanna risk that?”

Again, Gabriel just yawned, being so daring as to release Miguel’s arm only to lay entirely across his lap. His eyes were half-lidded, as if he were mere moments away from falling asleep, and he made a show of settling into his position before meeting his brother’s eyes. “As a matter of fact, I think I do.”

An indignant choked sound was pulled from Miguel’s throat, though he didn’t move to stand up, which would have easily solved his problem and given Gabriel a few to deal with himself. The man crossed his arms over his chest, scowl deepening as he gave his brother the most overtly annoyed look he could possibly manage, complete with flared nostrils and a twitching vein in his forehead. Despite how many times Gabriel had drawn that exact look from the other, it still never managed to get old.

“I’m not feeling very beat up,” he teased. “Or, at least not any more than I already was.”

“Some half-brother you are,” Miguel mumbled, but he still didn’t move.

“Brother,” Gabriel corrected, allowing his eyes to slip shut.

And, a moment later, “brother,” Miguel agreed.

#blaise writes #miguel o'hara #gabriel o'hara #spiderman 2099 #spiderman: across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 1992 #atsv #astv fanfiction #fanfiction #hurt/comfort #angst #angst with a happy ending #cw: suicide #cw: self harm #neither REALLY happen but suicide is talked about a pretty good bit because miguel is fucked up #also this is majorly because i never see anyone talk about how miguel was quite literally planning to kill himself #like dude found out tyler stone was his dad and said “nah i'm done” #he can only take so much bullshit #god #i just love miguel #he's such a complicated and interested character and i so rarely see that get explored anymore #like yeah he's got fangs and talons and a phat ass but he's also got FEELINGS

[deadeyedfae]

Okay announcement time! Here is part 4 of Dead Eyed Ivy AND….a link to read the whole story so far on Webtoons 💜 shoot out to that one person who found my profile before I’d finished setting it up 😅💜💜💜

#transgender #queer artist #transfem #small artist #lgbtq #artists of tumblr #furry #lgbtqia artist #furry oc #deadeyedfae #dead eyed fae #dead eyed bunnies #dead eyed Ivy #webcomics #webcomic #webtoon #cw misgendering #transphobia cw #cw dysphoria #cw: self harm #cw: transphobia

[anti-kawaii-daily]

Today's Anti-Kawaii Character of The Day is Kosame Amagai from Magical Girl Site! She is inspired by the Menhera subculture and wears casual Yumekawaii Menhera based fashion! She also fits into the Dandere, Utsudere and Byoukidere archetypes!

#magical girl site #mahou shoujo site #kosame amagai #menhera #yumekawaii #dandere #utsudere #byoukidere #cw: self harm #hey why is it so hard to find any material on this manga series? I mean it never even had an English dub! #though if there was an English dub I imagine she'd be voiced by Michelle Ruff who voiced Yuki Nagato from Haruhi Suzumiya #either that or she would be voiced by Amanda Celine Miller who voiced Toko Fukawa in the Danganronpa games

[raina-at]

Bitter

I'm putting the tags here because of the content warning.

Thank you for the prompt @calaisreno

Tagging @lisbeth-kk @keirgreeneyes @jrow @thetimemoves @7-percent @totallysilvergirl @meetinginsamarra @helloliriels @topsyturvy-turtely and anyone else who wants to play.

Content warning: This ficlet contains something that could reasonably be interpreted as a suicide attempt. This gets dark, though it has a hopeful ending. Please proceed with caution.

John is drunk.

John is so far past drunk.

There’s not a word in his vocabulary for how far past drunk he is. And if it was, he certainly wouldn’t know it now.

He’s sitting in the dark on the floor in 221B, leaning against his chair. All around him, shards of glass litter the room. First he threw the whisky glass when it slipped out of his fingers. Then he threw the bottle when it was empty. Then he threw the vases with flowers left over from Sherlock’s funeral.

There’s a shard of glass cutting into his calf. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t feel much anymore, which is a blessing, really, because everything hurts. His chest burns with the alcohol and the tears that just won’t fall. The bitterness burns down his throat all the way down to his stomach, which is rebelling from too much alcohol and too little food. 

He doesn’t remember when he last ate. Or drank something other than whisky. He’s been back at 221B for hours, and he’s lost any sense of time.

He just wants to pass out in this ruined flat, his ruined life. Maybe he’ll choke on his own vomit during the night.

What a fitting end for the most useless person on the planet. 

Why can he never save anyone he cares about? His father, dead at forty, unable or unwilling to stop drinking and smoking and driving while drunk, which was what got him in the end. His mother, ovarian cancer, dead at fifty. All the hospital visits and experimental treatments and doctors he dragged her to and then she died when he was on his second tour. Heart attack. From the chemo, they said. The chemo he talked her into. She hadn’t wanted another round. He’d convinced her. And then she died, and he wasn’t there. Harry never forgave him. He lost her to the bottle not long after. 

And now Sherlock. Died before his very eyes, and John, useless, worthless John Watson, was unable to stop him. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, and takes another swig from the almost empty whisky bottle. 

Maybe he should stop drinking.

But he can still feel it. The pain. It permeates every cell of his body, right down to the very marrow of his bones. It never stops, not when he’s awake, at least. It’s like a scream that’s trapped in his body, cutting him up from the inside. The sound he couldn’t make when Sherlock jumped. 

He takes another sip. “And fuck you very much, too,” he whispers, then throws the bottle directly at Sherlock’s chair. 

The anger is almost as bad as the pain. It burns up and down his throat, bitter and hot and destructive. How could you do this to me? How could you leave me? How could you make me watch, make me complicit in your death? 

It doesn’t matter. There’s no answer. There will never be an answer.

He puts a palm to the floor, tries to stand up. The glass cuts into his skin. It feels good, this actual physical pain. He slips and falls down as he tries to get up, too dizzy to move.

He’s dimly aware that this is bad. It’s really bad. He can’t get up, he can’t see straight. He can’t really speak anymore. 

He takes out his mobile with shaky fingers, hits speed dial 3, drops the phone onto the floor.

It rings, rings, rings.

Someone picks up.

“John?”

He tries to answer and can’t.

The last thing he’s aware of is the door opening and Mrs Hudson’s scream.

*-*

Hands on him. Emergency lights. Someone is yelling his name. He thinks it’s Lestrade. 

He vomits all over the ambulance. 

A quiet voice asks someone whether there was a note.

Fuck, John thinks, and passes out again.

*-*

They wake him several times over the next few hours. He remembers almost nothing, just anonymous faces asking his name, what year it is, and who’s Prime Minister. They prod him and shine lights into his eyes.

He falls asleep again, dimly aware that he fucked up, but too exhausted to care.

*-*

The next time he wakes up, he must have been asleep for some time, because the clock on the wall and the light coming in from outside say it’s early evening.

He’s in a small, white hospital room. It’s very quiet.

Sherlock Holmes is sitting next to his bed. His clothes are dishevelled, he hasn’t shaved or bathed in several days, his face is pale as death and his eyes are red from crying.

John swallows and winces. His parched throat hurts infernally, he has a monster headache, his hands are bandaged and he feels like a car ran him over, then backed up and took another pass. 

So he’s clearly alive.

But he must have lost his mind, somehow. Happens. Psychotic break. He’s heard of it.

Sherlock looks terrible. Not only physically, but for the first time since John has known him, he looks like he doesn’t know what to do next. He looks lost. 

“Funny,” he rasps, his voice shot to shit from alcohol and vomiting. “I thought I’d imagine you like you were, you know, all put together. Maybe you look like shit because I feel like shit.”

Sherlock looks up and stares at him, wordlessly. He looks devastated. He blinks a few times, and John realises he’s crying.

“Why are you crying, exactly?” John asks, the slight slur to his words reminding him that the alcohol is still making its way out of his system. “I’m the one who’s gone round the bend, after all.”

Sherlock gently stands up and takes a plastic cup with a straw from the nightstand. “The doctor said you need to hydrate,” he says, and his voice sounds no better than John’s, rough and unsteady. 

He holds the straw to John’s mouth and John drinks greedily, grateful for the stale water that runs down his parched throat like the sweetest nectar. “For an illusion, you’re surprisingly helpful,” John says after he’s emptied the cup.

Sherlock puts the cup down on the nightstand and hovers on the side of John’s bed. He hesitates briefly, then he leans down and presses a soft kiss to John’s forehead. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, breath hitching with a muffled sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he mutters again and again, hands coming to rest on John’s shoulders. 

John blinks as slowly, very slowly, realisation dawns. 

Oh god.

“You-” he chokes out, throat closing up with an unnameable tangle of emotions, griefangerjoyragerelief all mingled together. “You-”

“I know, I’m sorry, there’s so much I need to tell you, I’m just so glad you’re alive,” Sherlock babbles, his lips still pressed to John’s forehead.

Anger rears its head out of the tangle and flows bitterly up John’s throat. “Get. Out,” he grates out between clenched teeth. “Get. The fuck. Out.”

Sherlock moves back. Removes his hands from John’s shoulders. He takes a step back from the bed, and he looks so - human, so - fuck, alive -

“Wait,” John chokes out, feeling the tears finally come, finally release out of his chest, that ugly ball of angerguiltgriefpain starting to soften, “Wait -”

Sherlock’s back in an instant, and John doesn’t know exactly how it’s happening, but he’s got his arms around Sherlock and Sherlock is sobbing into his shoulder and he’s sobbing into Sherlock’s chest, and they’re a mess of limbs and snot and muttered, broken words that make no sense. Sherlock climbs into bed with him, shoes and all. He’s filthy and he stinks and he’s a sniffling mess, but John wraps his arms around him and breathes in the rank smell of his hair. Slowly, his breathing calms. Sherlock rearranges them so John’s head is resting on Sherlock’s shoulder. Sherlock carefully pulls John’s arm over his chest so as to not disturb the IV line. 

“You have a lot of explaining to do,” John mutters into Sherlock’s chest, exhausted and still half-drunk and nearly delirious with relief.

“I know,” Sherlock mutters into John’s hair. “I have a lot of making up to do.”

“That too,” John slurs, already half asleep again. 

Sherlock’s fingers card through his hair, soothing and gentle. “Go to sleep, John. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Promise?”

“Swear.”

John nods against Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock’s heart is beating right beneath his ear. He can feel his ribcage move as he breathes in and out. Alive, alive, alive.

John falls asleep to that sound, knowing that things won’t be fine right away, but they will be eventually. 

Sherlock Holmes lives. Now John Watson can as well. 

Sorry this got so dark, you guys. I promise a fluff bomb tomorrow.

#cw: suicide #alcohol abuse #sherlock #ficlet #johnlock #heavy angst with a hopeful ending #be warned #please heed the warnings here people #may prompts #bitter #cw: Self harm

[opendirectories]

#open directories #knife #ketchup #cw: self harm #cw: gore

[hayleysayshay]

Nightcralwer in the X-men films scars himself 'for every sin' perfectly symmetrically on his body. Like, scarrification is not something your average christian does, why are we acting like this random mutant would do this. The scars are there because they look cool, they could have just been aesthetic mutant markings, it's not like there's any reason mutants look the way they do. If they felt adding texture to Nightcrawlers skin looked good on film, just do it, we don't need some 'he cuts himself for every sin'. Who does that??? The film is like 'yeah, self-harm is normal and cool'....

The rest of his potrayal is pretty normal and it's clear he relies on his faith for guidance the rest of the movie, like a normal person, but then they have to bring in this weird extreme element that would not work if he didn't look like a mutant.

He can't just be a practiciing catholic who looks like a devil, they have to make it so extreme.

#CW: Self harm #tw: self harm #nightcrawler #kurt wagner #xmen #x-men 2 #x2: xmen united #x2 #no i don't need to know about scars and catholicism in a history lesson. your average catholic isn't doing this