#emotion dump

[nebulalesbian]

documentation day one:

we couldn’t see the sun this morning, it was covered by the smog. the entire sky was bright white and orange and everything was covered in a light grey haze. there were times when you could feel the air get thicker. while i was working to work, the air was filled with tiny particles. everyone outside soon realized that this was ash and/or debris. no one is talking about the fires but ash is literally falling from the sky. when i got out of work, the air was even thicker. it was hard to see, like when it’s really foggy outside, except this time, it was smoke.

it’s scary because this is all so unpredictable. my life has always been unpredictable, things are always changing. but that doesn’t make it easier. it’s hard not knowing what’s going to happen, not knowing if you’re going to make it to next week. no one seems to be reacting to what’s going on. it’s scary. people in my province have started evacuating. will i have to do that?

#mental health #canada #canada wildfires #documentingspace #journey #final moment journal #emotion dump

[comfortpotato]

I can't expect others to love me if I can't love myself

#emotion dump #my thoughts #feeling alone

[nevermore-neverwhere]

Everything that's happened over the last few months keeps catching up to me at random intervals and makes me cry/makes me nearly have a panic attack, which is fun. Kinda feels like everyone's done with my pity party, but I'm moving in just over two weeks and I feel like I'm kind of avoiding it a bit because I'm scared. Which makes it all worse.

#emotion dump #nowhere else to put this really

[weekovi]

Kovi's Diary 🪽

This is the day I decided to turn my Tumblr account into some kind of diary of mine. I want to write and I don't wanna waste any paper so here we are. And I can't make my account private or at least I couldn't figure out how so probably some people will find this.

Have you ever thought that you aren't good enough? Of course everybody thought that before at least once but if you're thinking that too much, that's the problem.

Everybody ended a relationship before. Maybe because of death, maybe with a break up or maybe just stop talking. It can be a friendship, a relationship, a family member. And relationship ends are hard. It hurts. But what hurts more is that not being grateful about the memories. I've had a relationship end too. That's why I'm writing this now. I don't care who was right, who was wrong or if there was someone who is right from the beginning. I'm not the best talker, that's the other reason why I decided to write my feelings because they weren't making me feel good.

We were friends. I cared about them, I loved them, I tried my best to be a good friend. And they were too. I never felt sad when I was around them and my other friends. I thought everything was good but I guess it wasn't. They started to become distant. They stopped talking to me and our other friends. Giving short answers when we asked them how they are. Like "I'm fine, I'm sick, I'm tired". We first thought that there were some other issues. Because we didn't do anything so it couldn't be about us? We texted, never took an answer back. There was a school photoshoot and all of our year was there. Of course they were there. One of my friends asked them about the problem. If we did something bad and they said "No. It isn't about them". Relieved of course. Then it must be about their personal life. We took group photos and they were there too. After that we were going to take some other photos somewhere else and they knew about it. Their work hasn't been done yet so we told them to call us when their work finished so we can tell them where we are. We waited, they never called. And then we simply split up because all of us had to go somewhere else. A couple days later, we got blocked by them from everywhere. It was in school break and we couldn't contact and we waited till the school opened. We talked, apologized about something that we did but don't know what. They were sad, that we didn't care about them. How can you expect someone to continue talking to you when you don't give them an answer and act cold and distant? But it doesn't matter. We apologized and wanted to at least end this relationship with good. I was angry and sad of course. It was so easy to abandon your friends? Then everything seemed to be settled up. One or two weeks later they decided to not be our friends again cause that was "making them sad"

I'm perfectly fine with that. I can't make someone my friend by force. If they don't want it, it's sad but okay. The thing that makes me angry, the thing that I probably won't forgive them is acting like a 3 year abuse victim. They left us, they abandoned us and still they are the one acting like the left behind. They are the one who blocked us. They said they don't want to be friends anymore and post reels on their story about how we are toxic and bad friends. Isn't this what the left behinds supposed to do? We were friends, we were happy, then why are they saying "Their life was fading when they were with us" We were happy... Right?

I mean we should've been happy. I tried everything. I tried my best. And they were also happy. Laughing, talking, taking our gifts for them. I was there, we were there when they were sad, We tried our best to help them with something they were struggling with. If they were so sad, why didn't they say anything? Was I really not good enough? Were we really that easy to abandon? I know that I didn't handle the situation the best but still it wasn't about our past. We couldn't do anything in this situation but that wasn't because we hated them, that was because they didn't say anything to us. They didn't talk, not a single effort to communicate. We tried everything and still we are the "haters". The toxic friends who made their life horrible and miserable. Even only one month ago we were happy. Could I do something? Could I try more? I don't hate them. They have new friends and it's good. I don't want them to be alone. I just don't want them to do this to their new friends. Yes we aren't friends anymore but if they need something I would be there. I don't hate them, I don't think anything bad about them. Just angry, just sad but not bad feelings. They were loved, we loved, we tried.

In the end it's me. Always tries, never enough

#kovisdiary #emotions #emotional #diary #emotion dump

[sittinwithyou]

OMFG. I'm am so done with the human race today. I think it's because I was itching all night but lacked the drive to get up and pop a Allegra to make my nerves calm the fuck down.

Now I'm irritable, foggy headed and I feel like I gotta mask up if I'm going to convince my job to pay me in two weeks.

Existence is annoying right now.

I'd like to abstain for a bit, if I could.

#keep it real #emotion dump #i'm so done

[joycrispy]

One thing I love about Crowley --never stated, but consistently shown-- is that he is, at heart, an engineer.

I have a few different things to say about that. Let's unpack them.

As the Unnamed Angel, we see his designs for the Pillars of Creation are millions of pages long, comprised of cramped text, footnotes, diagrams, schematics, etc. It's very...Renaissance polymath, in the way it implies a particular intersection of artist and inventor.

Also: in the naked romanticism with which he views his stars.

We already knew he made stars, but in s2 we learn that he did NOT sculpt each of them by hand. He designed a nebula ("a star factory," he says) that will form several thousand young stars and proto-planets, and all --aside from getting the 'factory' running-- without him lifting a finger. We also learn that these young stars and proto-planets stand in contrast to those made by other angels, which are going to come 'pre-aged.'

...I'm reminded of Hastur and Ligur's approach to temptations. Damning one human soul at a time, devoting singular attention to it over the course of years or decades, and how that stands in contrast to Crowley's reliance on, quote, 'knock-on effects.'

Ligur: It's not exactly...craftsmanship. Crowley: Head office don't seem to mind. They love me down there.

Hm.

I'm also reminded of the M25.

The M25 may not be as grand as a nebula (sentences you only say in GOmens fandom...), but LIKE his nebula it's an intricate, self-sustaining engine that does Crowley's work for him, many times over. Again.

That's some pretty neat characterization --and so is the indication towards Crowley's disinterest in victimizing anyone tempting individual people. It takes a considerable amount of planning and effort (and creeping about in wellies), but in accordance with his design the M25 generates a constant stream of low-grade evil on a gigantic scale.

Cumulatively gigantic, that is. Individually? Negligible.

But no other demon understands human nature well enough to parse that one million ticked-off motorists are not, in any meaningful way, actually equivalent to one dictator, or one mass-murderer, or even one little influential regressive. That's the trick of it. Crowley gets Hell's approval (which he NEEDS to survive, and to maintain the degree of freedom he's eked out for himself), and at the same time ensures that any actual ~Evil Influence~ is spread nice and thin.

It's some clever machinery. And he knows it, too:

The Unnamed Angel and Crowley are both proud of their ideas.

(musings on professional pride, Leonardo da Vinci, the crank handle, and 'the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale' under the cut)

In the 1970's Crowley gives a presentation on the M25, projector and all, to a room full of increasingly impatient demons. Maybe the presentation was work-ordered; the 'can I hear a WAHOO?' definitely wasn't.

Before the Beginning, the Unnamed Angel can barely contain his excitement about his nebula. Aziraphale manages a baffled-but-polite, "....That's nice... :)"

11 years ago, Hastur and Ligur want to 'tell the deeds of the day,' and Crowley smiles to himself because (according to the script-book) he knows he has 'the best one.'

(Naturally, his 'deed' has nothing to do with tempting anybody, and everything to do with setting up a human-powered Rube-Goldberg machine of petty annoyance. Oodles of 'Evil' generated; very little harm done.)

Hastur and Ligur don't get it, of course. That's also consistent.

Nobody ever knows what the hell he's talking about.

It didn't make it on-screen, but, in both the novel AND the script-book, Crowley was friends with Leonardo da Vinci. The quintessential Renaissance polymath. That's where he got his drawing of the Mona Lisa --they're getting very drunk together, and Crowley picks up the 'most beautiful' of the preliminary sketches. He wants to buy it. Leonardo agrees almost off-the-cuff, very casual, because they're friends, and because he has bigger fish to fry than haggling over a doodle:

He goes, "Now, explain this helicopter thingie again, will you?" Because he's an engineer, too.

(It is 1519 at the latest, in this scene. Why the FUCK would Crowley know about helicopters, and be able to explain them, comprehensively, to Leonardo da Vinci?

...Well. I choose to believe he got bored one day and worked it out. Look, if you know how to build a nebula, you can probably handle aerodynamics. And anyway, I think it's telling that this is his idea of shooting the shit. 'A drunken mind speaks a sober heart,' and all. He probably babbled about Aziraphale long enough to make poor Leo sick)

Apart from Aziraphale, Leonardo da Vinci is the only person Crowley has any keepsakes or mementos of.

Think about that, though. Aziraphale's bookshop is bursting with letters, paintings, busts, and personalized signatures memorializing all the humans he's known and befriended over 6000 years (indeed: Aziraphale has living human friends up and down Whickber Street. He's part of a community).

Crowley doesn't have any of that. It's just the stone albatross from the Church (for pining), the infamous gay sex statue (for spicy pining), the houseplants (for roleplaying his deepest trauma over and over, as one does), and this one piece of artwork, inscribed, "To my friend Anthony from your friend Leo da V."

To me, at least, that suggests a level of attachment that seems to be rare for Crowley.

...Maybe he liked having someone to talk shop with? Someone who was interested? Someone engaged enough to ask questions when they didn't immediately understand?

...Anyway.

There's also the matter of the crank handle.

This thing:

This is one of the subtler changes from the book. In the book, Crowley knows Satan is coming and, desperate, arms himself with a tire iron. It's the best he can do. He's not Aziraphale; he wasn't made to wield a flaming sword.

The show, IMO, improves on this considerably. Now he, like Aziraphale, gets to face annihilation with what he was made for in his hand. And it's not a weapon, not even an improvised one like the tire iron.

He made stars with it.

[both gifs by @fuckyeahgoodomens]

If you Google 'crank handle,' you'll get variations on this:

Crank handles have been around for centuries. Consisting of a mechanical arm that's connected to a perpendicular rotating shaft, they are designed to convert circular motion into rotary or reciprocating motion.

Which is to say they're one of the 'simple machines,' like a lever or a pulley; the bread and butter of engineering. You'll also get a list of uses for a crank handle, archaic and modern. Among them: cranking up the engine of an old-fashioned car... say, a 1933 Bentley. That's what Crowley has been using his for, lately. But he's had it since he was an angel and he's still, it seems, very capable of it's angelic applications.

Stopping time. For instance.

(This is conjecture on my part, but, I like to imagine that Crowley has the ability to stop time for the same reason I can --and should-- unplug my computer before I perform maintenance on it. Time and Space are a matched set, after all, and in his designs in particular, one feeds into the other.)

I know everyone has already said this, but: I REALLY LIKE that when he needs to channel the heights of his power, he does so not with a weapon but with a tool. Practically with a little handheld metaphor for ingenuity. One from long-lost days when he made beautiful things.

(And he loved it. Still loves it --he incorporated that metaphor into the Bentley, didn't he?)

Let Aziraphale rock up to the apocalypse with a weapon: he has his own compelling thematic reasons to do exactly that. Crowley's story is different, and fighting isn't the only way to express defiance. And if you've been condemned as a demon and assumed to be destructive by your very nature, what better way than this?

He made stars. They didn't manage to take that from him.

Neither Crowley nor Aziraphale are fighters, really --they have no intention of fighting in any war. They'll annoy everyone until there's no war to fight in, for a start. But between the two, if one must be, then that one is Aziraphale. Principality of the Earth, Guardian of the Eastern Gate, Wielder of the Flaming Sword... all that stuff. Even if he'd prefer not to, it's very clear that Aziraphale can rise to the occasion, if he must.

Crowley was never that kind of angel. He wasn't a Principality. He doesn't have a sword.

...And yet.

It's Crowley who protects. He's the one who paces, who stands guard, who circles Aziraphale and glares out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near.

In light of everything else I've said here, I think that's interesting.

Obviously part of it is that Aziraphale enjoys it and, you know, good for him. He's living his best life, no doubt no doubt no doubt. But what about Crowley? What's driving that behavior, really?

Have you heard the phrase, 'loved to the point of invention'? Well, what if 'the point of invention' was where you started? What if where you end up involves glaring out at the world, just daring anyone else to come near? What is that, in relation to the bright-eyed thing you used to be?

What do we name the point to which Crowley loves Aziraphale?

...Thinking about how an excitable angel with three million pages of star design he wants to tell you all about...becomes a guard dog. Is all.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #Crowley #Aziraphale #good omens 2 #good omens meta #unfortunately I do not have trains of thought #only long meandering strolls of thought #sorry about it #anyway tl;dr Crowley is a nerd #also I have a strange emotional attachment to the idea of 1500's Crowley... #...facedown in a pile of Mona Lisa sketches; drunkenly info-dumping about Aziraphale #and Da Vinci is just like. 'Ahhhh mio amico Antonio. You fucking simp.'

[heterochromicnachos]

The following post is a massive feelings dump because I need to get it out. Just a heads up.

Yknow, for how much people say tumblr is like the 7th circle of hell this is one of the calmest places I’ve ever been in on social media.

I tried twitter, left after 5 days because of assholes and how horribly people treated eachother.

Facebook is full of boomers who would probably say my autism isn’t real and that I’m just attention seeking.

Instagram will make me feel like shit about my art skills because their algorithm sucks

Snapchat just sounds like no fun

Reddit is full of freaks who will promptly ask me inappropriate questions the minute I share that I’m female.

TikTok is full of dumbasses who dance in front of someone dying.

(These are just stereotypes, but they do make up an uncomfortably large amount of the community.)

Tumblr, while having the occasional freak of nature, they’re very easy to avoid and people don’t attack each other here. People are so polite and nice and it just makes me feel good inside to know that all the adults and teens on this website have the general common sense to not attack people.

Take my Dislyte post about that- questionable post. I wasn’t trying to get them “cancelled” or dox them, or anything irrational. I just posted my feelings and tried to keep them anonymous. (Which didn’t work, people recognized them easily with how infamous that person was) and no one else seemed to have the intention of wanting to with them harm. They just said their piece of mind, explained some things, or just had a short circuit with me.

As a person who’s struggled with healthy interactions in real life (outside from my family, I am not neglected or abused don’t worry, I’m talking like school and shit) the internet has been one of the safest places for me. (Shocking, given how easy doxing apparently is) people here are actually nice and are willing to talk with me about things I like a lot. I can dump facts about turtles and ramble to someone about how a fictional skeleton man deserves the world to someone, and they LISTEN!

It makes me so, so happy to be able to talk about things I like and share them with the people I love. I kept dumping turtle facts on my family during dinner at a Mexican restaurant and they were fully okay with it. And I can get that same ability from total strangers here. I can have serious or lighthearted conversations with anyone and we can still have a good time because no one’s being hurt.

I fucking love tumblr god dammit.

TL;DR

Tumblr is my safe space and I love everyone here who isn’t gross

#nacho talks #text post #emotion dump #ranting #nacho spills about how much they love tumblr for like 10 paragraphs

[kulayakuza]

*warning emotion dumps*

Hi, I've only used this blog as a way to get memes and funnies, it's honestly been so nice coming back to Tumblr years later.

I'm sending this out into the internet void, just like a random bottled note in the vast seas.

I like creating. I've realized this over the past 3 years since I gave creativity a try. I was always one to just look at art or creative works and think "Wow, that can't be me."

But for the first time ever I felt the joy of making something from my own hands. Making new things appear that I always just dreamed or thought about.

3 years later, ups and downs, I've finally reached a point of breaking down completely. I felt this sinkhole build of trying to please the one person who could not be pleased no matter how hard I tried: me.

I can no longer think about creativity without feeling an immense wall of stress and anxiety. I've shut down as a person, and I'm slowly just zombifying as days pass on.

I've been in therapy for 2 years and things seem bleak. It feels as though I'm a lost cause.

Thankfully, I'm surrounded by a loving group of people, and I cherish that every day even if I feel as if I don't. And they're helping me, slowly but surely.

I don't know what Tumblr is for honestly, I guess I just wanted to make this post as reminder in the void.

Maybe future me will see this, and feel better knowing I'd come so far.

Like finding a little letter in a bottle amongst the waves, old, and from far far away...

#emotion dump

[missgowgow]

told the friend group I can’t make it tonight bc I have plans, gonna go make some nice solo-date plans now so that I’m not a liar, I just didn’t want to go because it’s being hosted by the ex-friend who’s still a part of the group bc I didn’t want to make people pick sides and because her reasons for hurting me were deeply understandable to the point where intellectually I can forgive her for not being able to make better choices even though it will take all of my self control to not drop kick her into the sun if I see her irl

#emotion dump

[deadsetobsessions]

AU of my Gotham/Tim Drake! Danny where Danny doesn’t know any knowledge beforehand about the DC universe.

Danny doesn’t know how he got here, but the fact that he now shares something in common with Vlad other than their technical halfa status disgusts him

His new name is Timothy Jackson Drake. It’s so far removed from Danny that his parents had him examined for deafness because he didn’t respond to it. He got better at it, at putting on the mask Janet and Jack Drake wanted to see. So they took him to the circus.

He meets Dick Grayson. Danny thinks the kid is adorable, even if Danny himself is technically younger. He sees the flying Graysons fall. The buzzing in his head doesn’t go away.

He’s five, when the fading spirit of Gotham reaches out and pleads her King to protect her city in her stead. She is fading. He says yes, because she’s one of his. The buzzing in his head settles and oh because that’s what’s been missing this entire time. Danny didn’t have a haunt and Gotham gave him one.

He grieves when she dies, the new title settling around small shoulders, and the city grieves with him. In the city proper, Batman and Robin are having the worst night of their lives in the sudden storm.

He’s nine. Robin is Dick Grayson. Dick Grayson, in turn, is an idiot. Batman… well, he’s at least mentoring and protecting the child vigilante, which is more than Danny ever had. He grows fond of them. How could he not, when they tried their hardest to help his city? To help him?

He shows himself, to the duo, in his Phantom form. It’s still him, still modeled after Danny Fenton’s face instead of Tim Drake’s. Ghosts are a reflection of the soul, after all.

“Who are you,” Batman demands, shielding Robin with half a step.

“Gotham.” He replies. Danny wills the city to affirm his claim and the city wraps its arms around the vigilantes. Batman and Robin understands, a deep well of pure knowledge being tapped into in ways they weren’t truly meant to understand.

“…How?”

“Magic,” Phantom says, dry. He tells them of city spirits, and that they can call him in times of dire need.

Dick calls him to help with Two Face. Two Face learns the pain of unmelting ice to the balls.

His core aches when the Bats fight, but Danny knows now that it is inevitable. They’re part of his haunt, his ‘fraid. He knows these things far before they come into fruition.

Dick moves to a sister city. Phantom expands his haunt to Bludhaven because he doesn’t, won’t, ever leave his Robins to themselves.

Nightwing is hopeful, is pleasantly surprised, and very suspicious when he shows up during patrol.

“Gotham…? What are you doing here…? This isn’t, well, Gotham?”

“Satellite City. It is an extension of myself. You were Robin, yes. You’re Nightwing, now. But that doesn’t mean I won’t protect you when I can.”

Phantom goes back, and finds a kid trying to steal tires to make a living. He guides his Knight to him. The starved features, the bones Danny could see, it tugs at his core. It feels like the Ancient of Fate themselves were pulling him along.

“How’d you know I was taking the wheels?”

“Gotham.”

“Are you… high on shrooms or something?”

Bruce sighs. Batman asks Gotham to meet the new Robin, and chuckles when Jason is surprised by the glowing green figure.

Phantom hides this Robin just as much as the last one. He curls shadows around his vigilantes, sometimes at the same time, and softens what little sounds they made while stalking through his city for crime.

He makes small jokes with Jason. Danny forgets, a little, the crushing loneliness of being Timothy Drake.

“I didn’t kill Garzona!”

“You-”

Batman stops as a chill he’s never had experienced directed at him weaves around his neck. An angry Gotham.

“He didn’t kill him.” Danny slides a cold hand on Jason’s shoulders.

But the damage had been done and the next day, Batman is begging Danny to tell him any clues of where Jason had gone.

“Ethiopia.”

He clears the way for Batman to get to Robin. He clears the way for Bruce to get to Jason.

He’d fallen into the trap of believing that Batman would handle everything when in the end, he’s just a man in a mantle that demands more than he ever thought he’d have to pay.

Robin is dead and Danny grieves. The skies crack open and pours a torrent of smogged rain water upon the streets of Gotham. Despite that, Crime Alley is untouched by flood. They say the second Robin was protecting his home.

In a way, it’s not wrong.

Gotham fishes Batman from the bay, carelessly tossing the broken Joker against a shipping container.

“You can’t keep doing this. You’ll die.”

Bruce, Batman, lays on his back, eyes glazed and empty. “Maybe I want to.” He admits. And Danny can’t lose someone else. It’s already bad enough he feels the death of everyone in his city, he can’t lose him too. But Dick won’t come back. He already denied Gotham when Phantom had asked him to come back. Granted, Dick was nervous about denying him the entire time, but Danny realized that he’d lost a brother in the colors his parents chose for Dick. Danny- Phantom had cradled Dick in a swaddle of shadows and comfort.

“Alright.”

“Is it? Alright? I- I don’t want to fail you, Gotham.”

“It is. You’ve always made me proud. You will always make me proud. Whether it be by different name, it matters to me not. Stay. Heal.”

Like Dick was given permission, like he received a hint of peace, Dick Grayson crumpled to the floor and sobbed into Gotham’s shoulder.

(Later, long after Dick Grayson realized his little brother was also his city personified, he cries again into Tim’s shoulders after the later dropped a flower pot perfectly on top of Catalina Flores’ head.)

Gotham, Phantom, Danny makes a choice.

“Tomorrow, a child will show up at your door. You will let him in.”

“No- I can’t. I won’t.” He knows what Danny will ask of him.

“You will.” Danny doesn’t ever do it with his people, with his city, but dire times call for dire actions. It is an order. And Batman is Gotham’s knight. “You will. You will train him. You need a Robin to leash your brutality. I need a Robin, for Robin is my hope. The city’s hope. Our people’s hope. Do not forget the goal you have set out to accomplish in my city.”

Batman rages at him, until he falls unconscious from the wounds he’s gathered. Danny brings him home. He tells Alfred what to expect tomorrow. Bruce wakes up, eyes fixated on the crack that appeared on Danny’s neon green face. “Did. Did I do that?”

Danny nods slowly.

Batman crumples into Bruce Wayne. “Okay.” He says. “Alright. Tomorrow.”

Gotham watches him, unreadable. “Tomorrow.” He says, before fading away.

Tim Drake shows up at the door. Nightwing shows up not long after. Tim Drake adapts to Bruce Wayne’s cold looks and brutal training. Slowly, but surely, he leashes in Batman’s grief fueled brutality and less criminals go to prison with half of their lives beaten out of them.

Batman doesn’t see Gotham as much anymore. He feared that he’s angered his city, that he is no longer welcome.

When Tim figures it out… he allows the roads and the shadows to help Batman once more.

Batman stared intently at the extra coverage. “Thank you,” Tim hears him whisper. “I’m sorry.”

And when Jason Todd comes back to life and attacks Tim in the tower, Tim lets Hood beat him. Gotham had failed him, as Jason’s city. He deserves it. (He doesn’t but Danny had gone past the point of being healthy about his own physical wellbeing. Perhaps being a city spirit this long had affected him, even with the King’s title mitigating the worst of the damages.

“HE REPLACED ME!”

“Because I ordered him to.” Tim whispers, past the pain of a broken leg.

“You? Order Batman around? If you’re going to lie, make it a better one, Replacement.”

Tim catches Jason’s wrist, the one holding the knife to Tim’s throat.

“Robin,” he says simply, allowing Gotham to come out and peer at the child that is his.

Jason stares, disbelieving. Gotham had… Gotham had come by and approved of his plans to clean up Crime Alley. Gotham had extracted a promise not to damage the buildings.

“No.”

His city stares back and him and Jason stumbles away. Tim shifts into Danny, into Gotham.

“You…”

“I am Gotham. I- I did not want to wear these colors. They were yours and Dick’s. But Bruce was hurting the city, he was hurting me. So I made sure he stopped.”

Jason stares at the new cracks, the fresh ones he just caused and the old ones he does not remember being on Danny’s ghostly skin.

Jason swallows. “I’m sorry.”

“As am I. I am sorry I was not there to save you. I am sorry that you died.”

Jason stares at him. The Replacement is Gotham. Jason almost destroyed his city.

“I am glad that you’ve returned. That you’re alive, now.”

“…Really?”

“Always.”

Alternative Version of the above Tower Scene:

Jason slides the knife against the Replacement’s neck.

Danny sighs. “I can’t believe I’m dying again.”

Jason pauses. “What the fuck did you just say, Replacement?”

Danny rolls his eyes at him and Jason rethinks his decision of not offing the little fucker right away.

“You think you’re the first one to die in this household? Get a grip. I did it first, way before you did, jackass.”

Tim is 14. He’s a child. What the fuck is Jason doing?

“When…?”

“How do you think I became Gotham, little bird?”

Jason freezes. And then he’s scrambling backwards, the knife flung away in his horror.

Tim shifts into Gotham and Jason bites back a cut of regret and bitterness.

He… no, what? What even is happening?

“Why is the Joker not dead? You… you told me that you loved me. That Gotham… that-”

“I’m cruel, little bird. The Joker would not suffer as much if he were dead.”

“He’s killing people! He’s killing your own!”

“So everyone thinks.”

“What?”

“I am Gotham, little bird. Mass hallucinogenic gasses are so within my reach to the point it is concerning. Perhaps you should help Ivy with the city clean up?”

“Huh?!”

#genius tim drake #gotham bay is a corpse dumping ground #danny phantom #dc x dp #batman #bruce wayne #tim drake #jason todd #red hood #dick grayson #bamf danny phantom #nightwing #bludhaven #gotham #gotham is Danny’s haunt #protective Danny #Danny Fenton #Danny doesn’t have the familiarity of knowing the universe he’s been reborn into #so he doesn’t have the emotional crutch of distracting himself #Danny is both protecc and attack #Danny grieves gotham and Jason #Danny: fuck I’ll fix you myself #Batman is Gotham’s plumber lol

[heterorealism]

#gender #feminism #heterorealism #dump him #weaponized incompetence #emotional labor #gender inequality

[comfortpotato]

I feel so emotionally trapped

#my thoughts #emotion dump

[solarisfortuneia]

— 𝐟𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐬.

and the smell of camphor dancing in the wind.

✦ info: he didn't know he'd lose you so soon. (come back, please. even if it is just for five more minutes.)

✦ featuring: alhaitham.

✦ warnings: angst, character death (reader), heartache, 1.2k words, somewhat proof-read.

✦ notes: i cried so goddamn hard writing this. why is my first work after hiatus pain. why did i pick up the angst wip. but!! i'm writing again, so that's good. (more notes at the end.)

he didn’t know that it was your last day together. 

he didn’t know that the smile you gave him that afternoon, your eyes sparkling like sunlight upon the serene waves of the ocean, would be the last he’d ever see. that the playful light in your gaze would fade so very soon, slipping through his fingers like sand.

he didn’t know that last night would be the last time he held you close while you drifted off to sleep. he didn’t know that today would be the last time he’d wake up with you.

he didn’t think he’d lose you like this. 

he didn’t think he wouldn’t be able to save you from that blow. 

“please, please,”  he begs, both to you and to whatever force that is just barely holding you together. “just stay with me for five more minutes, please. until i can get you somewhere.” 

the rain soaks him to the bone, clothes and hair sticking to his skin. your lips stay motionless, eyes shut.

“wake up, please,”  he bargains. “you can have all the five minutes of extra sleep you want later, i promise. just—”  his vision blurs, and something shines on the ground before it is gone, swallowed by damp earth, lost amidst drops of falling rain. 

desperately, he tears off parts of his traveling cloak to staunch the bleeding. deep inside, he knows it is futile. he knows your wound is too great. he knows what lies ahead. but he cannot help but press the cloths to your wound and pray. 

please, please tell me it’ll be okay. 

please stay with me, beloved. i’ll read you all the books in the world. i’ll sleep in with you everyday, even if we end up whiling away our time. 

please. stay. stay with me. i can’t lose you yet.  

“— just wake up, beloved.” 

by some miracle, your eye flutters. just a bit. just enough to set hope ablaze, just enough for the grip on his heart to loosen a tiny bit. he buries his face in your shoulder, resting his head against your neck, uncaring of the blood that stains his clothes. your blood. on his clothes. his hands. everywhere. 

no. no. this can’t be happening.

he feels you strain beneath him, your unwounded arm gently, weakly brushing his back. he jolts upright, eyes trained on your face. you send a frail smile his way. he clasps your face softly as you nuzzle into his palm.

“alhaitham—” 

his full name. archons, how long has it been since you called him that?  

“— take good care of yourself, okay?” you tell him, chest heaving, your fingertips touching a tear on his cheeks. “i love you. so much.” 

those are the last words he hears fall from your lips. he presses a kiss to your forehead, to your eyelids, and to your cheeks and to your lips, over and over and over until he feels your breath slow, hoping they’ll say what he knows he cannot manage to choke out.

i love you. 

he stays there next to you for who knows how long, holding you until the rain slows and a faint rainbow smiles in the sky.

until he can’t smell camphor anymore.

—

every person has their curiosities. 

they’re just the little traits that set them apart from others, the things that make them tick just a little bit differently, the things that make them, them.

for instance, someone may be obsessed with collecting tiny furniture, while another eats the crusts off their sandwich before actually consuming it. someone may have an affinity for the most niche aspects of linguistics, while another can accurately predict the next raindrop that slides down a window pane.

after all, no two people are exactly alike, are they?

alhaitham knows he’s got his fair share of these curiosities himself. his aversion to soup and all things that resemble it, to name one. and with you, he’d noticed two things. 

number one: the scent of camphor that seems to linger on every inch of your person. 

he’d caught whiff of it almost immediately the first time you met. you were but one of his juniors in the akademiya, filled with bright-eyed curiosity and anxiety to match. you had tripped over a stair and bumped into his table in the library, bringing the mountain of books in your arms crashing down.

and with subsequent coincidental meetings, he learnt that the subtle scent of camphor dancing in the air meant you weren’t far away. 

you were, unfortunately, one of the poor souls who seemed to be cursed with constantly recurring minor illnesses, and almost always walked about with a stuffy nose. and so, you always carried a small disc of camphor in a handkerchief, as well as in your pocket.

you swore up and down, left, right and center that sniffing the vapors helped make breathing easier.

‘it’s my grandmother’s remedy, alhaitham! camphor always works wonders. well, that and eucalyptus oil.”

alhaitham may not know the validity of your claim or the legitimacy of the cure, but he knew to never, ever question a grandmother’s remedy. that, and he’d much rather refrain from starting a back-and-forth about something so small.

and number two: your neverending pleas of different variations of ‘just five more minutes!’ 

“five more minutes, ‘haitham. please.” you’d whine grumpily when he woke you up to start your day. “let me sleep in for five more minutes.” 

“five more minutes, habibi,” you’d ask when he put down the story you’d requested he read out to you before bedtime. “read me the part where she finds the music box?”

“five more minutes, baby,” is what you’d tell him when he asks how much longer you’d take getting ready. “you can’t rush perfection!”

those five more minutes were never five minutes long. 

but he’d always, always indulged you and those pleading eyes of yours. as stoic as he appeared to be, you lived in his heart. of course he could never deny you anything under the sun.

—

alhaitham remembers that silly little song you sang over and over, the one you’d learnt from a kid in the bazaar. he’d taken you to see one of nilou’s performances, and, friendly soul that you were, you’d struck up a conversation with some of the eager audience members before the play. 

“oh, how i wish i was a bird flying free,

i’d see the world, every mountain and every sea!

oh, how i wish i was a cloud in the sky,

wouldn’t you like to wave to me as i pass by?”

you’d hum that rhyme on every idle afternoon.

loss is inevitable. he knows that, with how logical and rational and straightforward he is. he’d lost his parents, but he was far too young to remember. he’d lost his grandmother, but she passed in her sleep of old age, serene and wise.

but you? he didn’t think you’d leave him this soon. a singular wish sits in his soul, making its home in his bones. 

a wish that you’d come back, somehow. 

he wishes you gave him five more minutes, just as he always did.  but he knows that you could’ve given him five more hours, five more days, five more years and five more decades and it would still not be enough time spent with you. 

a blue feathered bird comes to perch on his shoulder, interrupting his musings just as he raises his face to the sky. he sees the heart shaped cloud that floats idly above sumeru city.

 he thinks of the rhyme again, and something in him tells him to wave. and so he does. a scent so familiar lingers, faintly brushing his nose in the wind that picks up.

“alhaitham, it's time to go.”  kaveh calls his name softly.

 alhaitham doesn't move. “five more minutes,”  he says, echoing your favorite phrase. “i smell camphor in the breeze.” 

✦ extra notes: my alhaitham characterization for this fic stems from how i believe that when alhaitham is attached, he's attached. so i focused more on that, and less of all that rationality and whatnot. this one loves deeply, yk?

that camphor thing is a real grandma remedy in our household (my mom would tie some in a hanky and put some under my pillow and still to this day reminds me to do it when i'm sick) which is what originally sparked the idea for this

when i'd initially started this wip, i didn't expect it go this way. usually i write with my brain, but i think i wrote this one with my fingers working faster than i can think hsjhsj so sorry if it's kinda out of place lmao but yk what? i'm happy with it still even though i feel like it doesn't have my usual quality.

thanks for reading.

#—🖋 #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗ #astronetwrk #genshin x reader #alhaitham x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #alhaitham x you #genshin x you #emotional blabbering ahead in the tags beware #this is hitting me in a place i didn't know existed hjsjs #like. i haven't lost anyone but i have lost my life as i know it? #this past year was full of so many endings and i've been struggling in some way everyday #like i didn't know that the last time i saw my friends would truly be the last time we ever saw each other #i didn't know that i'd be bidding goodbye to my parents as i left home through an airport #ANYWAY ENOUGH DUMPING. ig i'm just telling you to hug the people you love tighter and cherish every moment you spend with them #time goes by really quickly and you don't know where it'll go #ily guys #ew barf feelings </3 /j

[supriz]

all endings are new beginnings

its okay to not always be happy or excited to be delighted all the time or the to be nice its okay to be sad to be angry to be annoyed to be irritated it is just human emotions there is nothing such as good or bad emotions its just emotions you need to control because without all these collective emotions we aren't human and currently I am not really satisfied I am a person who hates change and who loves to stick to the past while still looking forward to new beginnings I would cry myself to sleep wondering why everything is going so fast why everything is ending why nothing makes sense why my life has not been like other teenagers and how my childhood is ending I always compare myself to others the only way it keeps me going it is so unhealthy and I want to improve I do not want to crave a life I want to live a life but it seems far away from my reach I do not want to loose my childfulness my innocence regarding the world the understanding I have of things as a teenager my hopless romantic self I want it to always exist although not possible I don't want those things to be broken down I want to romanticize my life and I want to live in the hope of finding the kind of love that my younger self dreamed of I want to look at my lover someday and look back at my past I want to then whisper to myself you did it you found the kind of love you wanted I want a quiet life a cozy life I want to live a live full of memories not just empty moments I want my life to really be worth it don't you ? doesn't everyone ?

#rants #rambles #thoughts #poetry #writings #emotions #emotion dump

[ryuucae]

Study

#legend of zelda #link #art #illustration #random TOTK art (I just beat the game after a year of playing on and off and i'm so emotional) #An out of the blue drawing but I have decided to use tumblr as a dump to post things into the void #He's here for whoever wants to look at him #this one was a focus on value and color proportions...i always forget to establish color proportions ugh

[bruhstation]

can't it even be more obvious thomas. why are you surprised that a sudrian historical site filled to the brim with armor and weaponry that dates back to the middle ages has old people afflicted with the gold dust working around the castle

#thomas the tank engine #thomas and friends #ttte glynn #ttte millie #ttte stephen #casa tidmouth #senjart #MORE OF LADY'S EXPERIMENTS GONE WRONG #WHO UP ULFSTEADING THEIR CASTLE #stuff for the kotr arc of casa tidmouth. now this is where gold dust has historical significance #going crazy right now. my friends are influencing me #I had 12 tabs opened just to draw young glynn's armor. they dont have plated armory in the 10th century!!!! only mails!!!!!! #(looking at you KOTR intro) #I remember reading some inputs on my 1k milestone poll and saw someone put ''the misery of growing old'' and honestly. Checks out #glynn's eyes are goldish brown because well. that's the perks of being the first bearer of the gold dust horrors #lady during 989 AD do not know anything about human thoughts and ethics and emotions. she was literally freestyling that!!!!! #Oh a wounded soldier on the verge of death. what if I *dumps 200 kg of gold dust on him* yeah that'll do the trick. #then she saw how glynn aged so so slowly and went Oh well I messed up. Good thing there are lots of other sudrians here #funny coincidence that young cstm glynn's helmet resembles canon glynn's funnel #I wanted to make millie's design resemble a tour guide more with her scarf and more stylish than usual tie #shes so pretty. I'm so proud of her design #(AND I REALIZED TOO LATE THAT HER TIE HAS THE COLORS OF THE FRENCH FLAG) #<--- said the guy who has beef with the french #stephen's crown is translated to a hat decor! was about to draw a top hat but whatever just imagine he has a collection of various hats #that he can put his crown on #also I want to give him that cool hip-with-the-kids I-am-still-young-at-heart energy #sir robert norramby is balling in the background. #hope you enjoy..... won't be able to draw as much from now on but I'm excited #also whos ready for old man yaoi........... 2!!!!!!