#GO READ MY NEW FIC

[hedwig221b]

just read your new fic and... 😭😭😭

can we just put it on record that HEDWIG221B IS A GOD

LIKE A LITERAL FUCKING GOD!!!!!!!

HOLY SHIT LIKE HOLY FUCKING SHIT I LIVE YOU AND ADMIRE YOUR WRITING SO MUCH LIKE QWEEN I CRIED YOUR FICS MAKE ME CRY AND FEEL SO FUCKING WARM OHMYGODDDD

god i just keep waiting for your fics and tbvh your fics bring this warmth back in my stupid stupid life rn!!!!!!!!!!

SENDING YOU ALLLLLLLLLL MY LOVE AND HUGS AND KISSES AND I HOPE YOU GET EVERYTHING YOU WANT ALWAYS !!!!!!

THE WAY THAT I JUST CACKLED AND GIGGLED AND SOBBED

Thank youuuuuuuu so muuuch💜💗😭💗 gosh, if you could only see my smile now I'm bursting with love! I love doing this for you, and I am nothing without your support, I love you so much and I'm gonna stare at this for hours I swear like 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 This is so sweet and kind and I'm still giggling btw

[andiwriteordie]

WHAT

HAHAHAHA ELLA I SWEAR TO GOD I DIDN'T SEE THE SECOND POSE BUT NOW I'M LAUGHING EVEN HARDER BECAUSE THIS IS GOLD

[carebeardean]

Charles has always left Edwin little notes slipped between the pages of his favorite books, in his science equipment, places he knows Edwin loves. Just silly things—post its that say “hi Edwin :)”. doodles of Edwin with his nose stuck in a book. reminders to stock up on wolfsbane. but.

Then, post canon, Edwin tentatively starts dating people. And it’s ridiculous, because Edwin’s right there, all the time, but Charles..misses him a bit. And his heads a mess, and he can’t sort out what the hell he’s feeling most of the time, and whenever he tries to say any of it out loud it comes out rubbish.

So. He writes down some of the shit he can’t say right, and because he’s a coward, hides them so he doesn’t have to see Edwin’s face when he reads them.

then Edwin starts writing back.

Neat lilac blue little envelopes appear in Charles coat pockets. In his bag. Once, in his shoe? Some nights, Edwin will clear his throat and mention something from a letter, offhand, like they’re just picking up conversation, and Charles can pretend they are. That they always have talked about the basement, the belt, the nameless fear that chokes him every time Edwin walks out the door with someone else on his arm.

Sometimes he can’t. The words get stuck in his throat. Edwin’s not mad, he’s maddeningly, stubbornly kind about it, which is worse.

Some nights they trade. A secret for a secret. Charles learns about the novels Edwin used to hide under his mattress, about all the lonely years before Charles got there. About Simon.

Meanwhile, Edwin is losing his mind, because Charles has accidentally stumbled onto what was a fucking courting ritual in his time. Love letters were something engaged couples treasured for years, kept and reread over and over. (Edwin does. keep them in a special box, will take one out and trace the words, tuck it in his breast pocket for courage).

Edwin would rather have to reattach a limb again than lose Charles trust, all the dark and beautiful things he shares with Edwin only. He knows—knows Charles doesn’t mean to make him fall more in love with him.

[fictionadventurer]

I love libraries.

I'm browsing the WWI shelves (as you do) and notice a very old book about the war. I glance at the first pages that talk about how one day the war will be over and we'll look at this place and not see any signs of the battlefield.

Then it hits me. And I check the publishing date.

This book was printed before the war's end. Not written. Printed. The physical object was created in 1918, while the war in question was raging and the end was as yet uncertain.

Now I'm standing on the other side of the apocalypse, with this physical link to that era in my hands. I'm living proof that the war did end and life did go on and we can all look at the end of the world as a long-ago memory.

Reading old books is cool enough, connecting our minds and hearts through the ideas of people who lived long ago, but there's something extra profound about holding a copy of the book that comes from the time that it was written. It's a physical link between the past and the present connecting me to those long-ago people. A piece of the past come into the future that gives me the chance to almost take the hand of some long-ago reader, to hold something they could have held, connecting not just mentally but physically to their era, a moment of connection across more than a century.

Excuse me while I go weep.

[besavvy]

You know how in most fanfiction Peter Parker has like a ridiculously strong sense of smell? He usually is portrayed as having a nose pretty comparable to the average dog.

Medical alert service dogs are trained to look for certain scents to make their handlers aware that they are about to have a medical episode-usually well before it actually happens.

Peter could be a human service dog.

Just imagine spiderman being midfight with this gang or whatever and all of the sudden he's like trying to get this one dude to sit down or something because he's about to have a seizure.

Or he's helping some lost kid and gets him a snack because his blood sugar is tanking.

Or maybe while they're working in the lab one day he suddenly stops and tells Tony to take his migraine meds and Tony of course is like… why?? I feel fine??? And Peter is like no seriously. You about to be Miserable. Take your meds.

And he's right! And Tony is just like wtf?????

I thought of this while I when I was reading a fanfic and my service dog wouldn't leave me the heck alone because she knew twenty minutes before it happened that I was about to have a severe blood sugar crash.

[ash-and-starlight]

and i’ll do anything you say (if you say it with your hands) chapter 10

“You came looking for me,” Sokka says. Zuko’s already soft eyes melt further.

“Of course I came looking for you,” he says. Like it’s obvious. Like it doesn’t knock the earth off its axis.

For a second, Sokka forgets about the pain, past and present. All he feels is a treacherous bubble of hope – inside his chest, under his skin, stuck in his throat.

or read it from the beginning if you haven’t

[geneticdriftwood]

persephone's in hell; a rooftop conversation

for @mysterycitrus

persephone's in hell, @mysterycitrus // white winter hymnal, fleet foxes // assorted dc comics

[la5pampy]

Tw: blood (just a bit)

HAPPY ONE YEAR ANNIVERSARY! :D to the wondeful fic by @bubbiethesaur

I cannot recommend this fic enought, it’s so well written and has got me in a choke hold (Lra sun my beloved<33)

(Ok now I’m sprinting to the new chap)

[rainesjupiter]

Theatre kid, Rosa Isabelle's delight.

(+bonus with no crown because I liked it )

[dinlvkes]

so...

... ao3 is down again

[bon-sides-sw]

Commission done for @darth-grips

Luke with the outfit he wears on his Fic "Helplessly Hoping" (M)

Thank you so much for commissioning!

My Ko-Fi

[sad-leon]

crawling out of the shadows with this as an offering

[little-pondhead]

The Curse Of Hope

_

Danny is in another universe. He had a reason, but he doesn’t remember anymore. He can only stare, horrified and disgusted, at the sickest city spirit he’s ever seen. Shivering and swaying with every step, core exposed, and ectoplasm leaking from wounds that are decades old. A ratty blanket was thrown over their shoulders, barely hiding the spirit’s pale grey skin and protruding black bones.

The spirit didn’t even sense him until he reached out to touch its wispy shoulders. The spirit flinched, clutching at the dozens of trinkets hanging from their neck and tucking in on themselves like they were expecting a blow.

“Oh, shit,” He swore, floating back a few feet, hands in the air, to show he meant no harm. “I’m sorry. I promise, I’m not here to steal from you.” The spirit shivered again and rolled a pearl necklace in between their fingers. A nervous habit. “Uh, I like that pocket watch? It’s very nice.”

That got their attention. They peeked at Danny, and he saw that more tattered cloth was covering their eyes, blending in with the stringy hair that reached the ground. Their blanket fluttered weakly, revealing hundreds of thousands of tiny marks etched into their skin. Scars, really. Scars that wrote out curse after curse onto the spirit’s very being. They burned with evil intent, and even reached inside the spirit’s body and wrapped around their core.

Occasionally, blinding specks of color raced across their body, temporarily erasing the writing, but it always returned quickly. He watched, a little detached, as one particular line rewrote itself across their rough forearm, drawing fresh ectoplasm like someone was writing it with a thin knife.

“Are you…alright?” Danny stuttered. A stupid question.

The spirit cocked its head. He couldn’t see their eyes, but he felt their burning gaze as they pondered the question.

“The pain of others becomes mine own.” They rasped. “The lights of the city dim as rotten wealth clogs mine veins. Magicks long forgotten have eaten mine skins, pulled mine cloak, and darkened mine skies. Helios has refused to grace mine doorstep, and the seasons of the Earth have revoked their kindness.”

Danny held his breath. It felt like he was the one with the exposed core, not the spirit.

The spirit shivered once more. “Tell mine soul, little lamb. How could this Forsaken City know peace, when it was long since ripped from mine hands?”

Shit, he needed Frostbite. And maybe Clockwork. Now.

-Or-

Danny meets the spirit of Gotham City. The villains and rogues that have plagued the city for decades are literal curses that are taking quite the toll on Gotham, and honestly, Danny isn’t sure how much longer they can hold out. The heroes seem to be doing some help, and are probably the reason Gotham made it this far, but the poor city needs help from the Realms if they want to get better.

Luckily, Danny can provide that help.

But only if he could get Gotham to leave their city behind. Because recovery is going to take a very long time.

[youchangedmedestiel]

Friend: What are you doing right now?

Me: I have a lot of projects.

Friend: Oh so cool, what are those? New job, new business, new home, new relationship?

Me: Ok, I have a lot of SPN/Destiel projects.

[silverskye13]

“I told you, a very long time ago, that I would destroy this place, everything you hold dear, and I’m going to follow through on that promise,” Hels breathed in, “Because a knight never says something he doesn’t believe to be true."

Hey. You. Yeah you. Come here. Closer. Closer. Go read Like A House On Fire by @hiding-under-the-willow

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Edwin doesn’t think about the Blitz, and the way you could hear the bombs falling, even deep underground in the depths of the Athenaeum. He always harboured a particular dislike for the doodlebugs, and the ponderous tick-tick-tick of them as they made their way to their final destination. The way the ticking would stop, and the moment of silence as the bomb fell, before the explosion.

This feels like that.

He can feel the pull of it, the alien power flooding his body and rooting him to the floor, seeking its target. He looks over at Charles, just like he’s done countless times over the last sixteen years. The moment Charles’ eyes meet his, everything stops.

Charles’ mouth drops open on a gasp, the call of the magic possessing Edwin finding its answer. Edwin can feel it rising up through his feet, through his whole body, like a tidal wave. Somewhere very far away, a trumpet wails. Summertime.

Just before it closes over his head, he says, “Charles—”

Tick-tick-tick-tick. Boom.

When L&H told me they were planning on posting this prequel today I couldn't resist doing a quick drawing for it! Not sure it's my finest work (my waterbrush is going through a rebellious phase) but glad I got it out!