#MAN it gets ANGSTY-

[peppermint-whiskers]

(starving victorian child voice) snippet of the next chapter please?

🥺

👉👈

Take your scraps!

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she whispered. “Deep breaths, okay? Come on, take some deep breaths for me.”

[hinamie]

all i have left

[egophiliac]

innocently logging in to look at the Twst schedule for May like

[s0fter-sin]

i need ghoap frantically making out against a door finally taking the leap on their feelings. need ghost grinding against soap, expecting to find him just as hard as him, only to feel nothing

and in all his wisdom and experience, he concludes soap was tortured and never told him

he’s trying to think of a delicate way to say he understands, that he’s been through it and it doesn’t change anything about how he feels (and who the fuck touched him so he can hunt them down and rend them limb from limb)

meanwhile trans!soap’s just trying to find the best angle to grind his cunt on ghost’s thigh

just it never even entering ghost’s head bc he’s never known a trans person but he has met plenty of people who’ve been tortured - himself included - so of course that’s his logical leap

soap takes off his shirt and he sees his top surgery scars and ghost asks if he wants him to kill the one who did it and soap just hums like, “actually, man did pretty good, they healed real well,” and ghost’s just teary-eyes with awe at how well he’s coping, “looking on the bright side, that’s my johnny.”

imagine he thinks johnny was fully castrated but sees he’s determined to still have a sex life with him so he buys packers and straps to help him bc hell yeah healing and soap’s just like, “holy shit i’ve never had such a thoughtful partner before, such a sweet man, lt.”

[tomboxed]

my wife...

[crustycrackhead]

*Throws my swampcat brain rot at y’all*

Swampcat MorningKrem (Morning Frost x Kremy Lecroux)

I’m in literal rare pair hell man, no one understands me nor my freak. I’m gonna be the crazy one that draws them like crazy (draws them only once)

Clean Freak 4 Clean Freak, they both particular and shit okay?!?? SIGH, they would prolly even hold hands but to me… they can be silly (do taxes togther)

[belfry-ghost]

gonna post some doodle dumps bc most of my bigger projects are unfinished or for an event lol

t4t DannyTim (at pride)

Red Hood and Little Baby Man

Danny wearing Superboy merch

halfa!tim sketch

bart + a big teddy bear

dick + tim eating burgers after patrol

[arsenicflame]

It's a time-honoured tradition- every time Sam comes across Izzy (and Ed) in their travels, he asks Izzy to marry him. And every time, Izzy turns him down.

At this point, Sam is asking more for the sake of it than any belief Izzy will ever say yes, a remnant of childhood dedication touched with 30 years of heartbreak and regret- though even now, a small part of him still holds out hope. Sam's promises have only got more extravagant over the years, from a job as his first mate, to a captaincy, a fleet at his command, a whole fucking island if that's what Izzy wants- but he knows it isn't though, not really. If Izzy was ever going to agree to marry him, to leave his life and go with Sam, it wouldn't be for anything Sam could offer him. Izzy never did care for flashy shows of wealth, for a ship or to be captain. The only thing that ever mattered to him was loyalty given, and loyalty shown in return. 

It all comes to a head after Stede left and came back, after Izzy lost a toe, lost his leg. Sam hasn't seen him since before things with Ed started to really slide off the rails, before stress permanently set into the lines of Izzy’s face. So, when he sees a dishevelled man with a hoof for a leg in a no-name port, he doesn't even consider the idea that he might know him. It's only when he turns towards him, and Sam catches a glance at those oh too familiar tattoos, he realises this is Izzy, his Izzy, that stands before him.

Knowing Izzy's discomfort with pity, he doesn't treat him any differently than he would in years gone by, positioning himself in Izzy's line of sight before approaching and sweeping him up into a bone crushing hug. 

“Israel-goddamn-Hands!” he exclaims, as Izzy grumbles back a begrudging “Samuel-fucking-Bellamy”, a tradition almost as old as their friendship itself. Izzy might not hug him back, but he can’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching, just for a second.

(If Sam holds Izzy a little tighter and a little longer than usual, well. That's his business)

By the time Sam lets go, most of the crew has appeared in the town square, drawn in by the commotion. They may have given Izzy his leg and welcomed him as one of them, but still there’s an underlying tension, with nobody quite ready to set aside everything that happened before the Kraken. Seeing him cosying up to an unknown man sets everyone on edge, unsure whether to come to their first mate’s aid, or to assume that they've been betrayed once again.

When Ed sees that the yelling was Sam, his hand goes tense where it's held in Stede's. He knows the routine, has seen it more times than he can count, but as he watches them part he realises that this is the first time in a long time he's unsure of what Izzy's response will be.

Knowing that something’s different, knowing that Izzy's feeling vulnerable already, Sam doesn't go for the same flashy proposal he’s been giving for years. He doesn't promise Izzy the world, he doesn't cause a scene (or, any more of a scene than he already has, anyway). He looks at the fractured man in front of him, takes his face in his hands, and says the exact same thing to him he said when they were little more than boys. “Israel, I have to ask you. I know what you'll say, but I have to try. Come with me. Marry me and sail away with me. I'll keep you safe”

And Izzy… hesitates. He glances over at Ed, at Stede, and says to Sam “...We’re staying in port for a week. Ask me again then”

That's the moment Sam knows there is something deeply, horribly, wrong. He's not just looking at an Izzy who got seriously injured in a fight and is struggling to cope, this is something so much bigger than that- and that Ed has something to do with it. Izzy wouldn't even be considering leaving if he didn't. Whether it was negligence or something more sinister, Sam doesn't yet know, but he intends to find out.

[suzukiblu]

Please, cuddling, and TimKon?

. . . I am sorry but also I am NOT sorry for what I have done with this reply, but hey, why don't we all enjoy this one being the only prompt fill from this meme that got a read-more cut??

“Please,” Kon tries, trying not to look–he doesn’t know, weird and needy and like an embarrassment, or whatever. It feels like such a stupid thing to ask for. He knows Tim’s not really a hugger or a touchy-feely guy or whatever and that he likes having his own space and basically always hops out of bed right after sex to go write down all the shit his post-nut clarity made him think of, and the idea of, like, just staying still and actually cuddling or whatever is probably basically literal torture to him, assuming it’s ever even occurred to him at all, just . . . 

Just he’d kind of like to sometimes, maybe? Like–not regularly or whatever, he’s not trying to drive Tim nuts or cut into either his worktime or downtime here, just . . .

Just he’d like to do it sometimes, that’s all. 

Tim’s not the tactile type. Tim isn’t even the eye contact type, unless he’s lying to somebody or at work or just faking it for Robin-mode or whatever. Kon gets that. He’s been, like–careful about that. Not trying to take up too much space or ask for too much attention or mind when Tim doesn’t even look up at him when he– 

He’s been careful about it. 

But he is . . . well. The tactile type. Like . . . kind of, anyway. 

Like–it’s kinda unavoidable, honestly. 

“Oh,” Tim says, blinking at him in just enough bemusement to make him feel even more self-conscious about bringing this shit up to begin with, and Kon tries to keep his expression casual and noncommittal and–and just normal about this. Because he is totally normal about this. He is so normal about this. He is.

He’s also normal about the fact that when he asked Tim if he could talk to him about something, Tim didn’t even put down his tablet. Didn’t even put it to sleep, or actually even look up from it until . . . 

Kon’s normal about that. About all of this. 

(and he definitely never feels kind of weird or a little bit abandoned because Tim can’t EVER just bring his stupid laptop back to bed or at least work on whatever he’s thinking about IN the bedroom at the untouched desk he's got set up in there or even just, like . . . stick around and hang out on the couch with him, or anything like that. he definitely totally ENTIRELY doesn’t ever just feel like a casual fuckbuddy or an easy hookup or a gala-night accessory or just the most immediately convenient option and not actually–not actually any kind of a–not actually something that– 

he doesn’t. 

definitely.)

“Uh,” Kon says, and backpedals awkwardly, because clearly this conversation is not going the way he’d wanted it to and Tim just looks so surprised by it all, like–like it never even occurred to him or something, that maybe . . . that maybe Kon would want anything like that, or like he literally just hasn’t noticed how hard Kon’s been trying to be normal about it, or . . . 

It doesn’t feel very good, the idea he’s been trying so hard to respect Tim’s space and preferences and comfort levels and Tim hasn’t even noticed that he was doing anything at all. 

Especially because Tim usually notices just about everything. 

Maybe Tim’s just never thinking about it. Maybe he gets out of bed so quick because he’s spent the whole time in it thinking about other shit and just putting up with–just– 

“Kon,” Tim says, his voice going a little tight, and Kon just tries not to wince. He didn’t mention any of the complicated stuff he’s been trying not to feel, he just asked if Tim could–if Tim would– 

He didn’t even mention any of the complicated stuff, so it’s, like–not a great sign that Tim’s looking at him like that right now, like he’s said something really serious or upsetting or . . . 

He really shouldn’t have said anything, yeah. 

“Sorry,” he tries stiffly, glancing away and wrapping his hand around his own wrist and digging his fingers into the inside of it. It’s–tactile. Just . . . something tactile. “I know you don’t–sorry. Uh. Just forget it.” 

“Fuck,” Tim mutters for some reason, and Kon feels like such an idiot for saying anything at all, and a worse one for apparently doing it in a way that’s got Tim making that face at him. That face is Robin’s “my utility belt is empty, comms are fried, and the mission just went to shit” face. 

He really fucked this up. It was fine. Everything was fine, and now he’s wrecked it and Tim’s about to say it’s not even that serious, it’s not like it’s even–not like they’re even–and that Kon’s clearly gotten the wrong idea and they should just–just– 

“How long have you felt this way?” Tim asks very, very carefully, like the question’s something fragile, and Kon thinks from literally the first fucking time you left me alone in bed all night so you could go recalibrate some stupid useless specialty sensor that wasn’t even part of your primary gear, like, a WEEK into us sleeping together and says, “I dunno. It’s not–I told you. Forget it. It’s not a big deal.” 

He’s being weird about this. He’s being an asshole about this, actually, because being prepared for literally every single possible contingency ever is the Bats’ whole thing and he got into this knowing Tim wasn’t the touchy-feely type or all that expressive and emotive about–about his feelings, or whatever, and–and it’s not like he even–not like he– 

(he just wants a fucking HUG he didn't have to FUCK him for every now and then, or for Tim to at least exist in the same space as him for longer than the time it takes for the next email from Oracle to come in or next alert from Batman to go off or next self-assigned project to finish processing or–

but that’s not something Tim does, and Kon knew that going in, so–so it’s his own stupid fault if he feels SMALL sometimes, when . . . when there’s always something else, always another problem to solve or place to be or thing to think about, always . . . always something more important than just . . . staying, just for a little bit, and just BEING with–with him. just him. not the team, or either of their families, or . . .)

He knew all this going in, Kon reminds himself. He knew it. If he were this bad at being with literally anyone else, he’d just–he’d just– 

But something about it being Tim means he just . . . can’t. 

Tim’s jaw tightens, and he finally sets down his stupid tablet. 

Only now, though, Kon thinks bitterly, and digs his fingers a little deeper into the inside of his wrist. 

“Kon,” Tim says again, says too carefully again. Like something’s fragile, again. “I–” 

“I said forget it, for fuck’s sake!” Kon snaps too hotly, and maybe hates himself for both doing it and for the stricken look that doing it puts on Tim’s face, and also maybe cheats a bit by super-speeding straight out the balcony door into the night air and not taking his cell or his communicator with him. Or–definitely does, in fact. Definitely that’s cheating. He knows it is. 

He just really can’t stand to hear Tim tell him how he’s fucked up this time right now, though. He just–he tried so fucking hard not to fuck up this time. 

He really, really tried. 

He should’ve known it wouldn’t work, but . . . but he really did try.

[mxfrodo]

y'all for fucking real. don't fucking write slave fics or x reader fics of aventurine's slavery??? are you guys out of your goddamn minds???

[shalom-iamcominghome]

I've seen the last '"g-d made you perfect" that I can handle, and it's led me to a realization about how I think of g-d.

I don't think we were made perfect. We were made human. And, if I'm honest, the only perfection in my mind is g-d, and that sense of perfection is what differentiates humans from g-d. If humans were as perfectly-made as g-d, I for one wouldn't see the point in following, believing, trusting, caring for, or loving g-d.

I guess for me, I see the ways in which humans alter the Way We Were Created that I really don't think it's right to speculate as to if there's a limit to altering our abilities or bodies. For instance, as a trans person, I've definitely been inundated with this idea that because g-d made my body "perfect" that I shouldn't alter it ever, but isn't that a dangerous precedent? Is it really so, that our bodies are magically made perfect, as g-d that to even tamper with the idea of change would be the same as cursing g-d? I really don't think that's compelling.

I love thinking about just how much g-d is placed into people, but I don't think it warrants restricting the ability to learn, create, grow, or change. Thank g-d that He created the ability to change!

[dan-the-womans-blog]

Title:In the Quiet Moments

Warnings: talks of death, death, crying?, mentions of car accident (i think thats it)

You barely remember the accident. Only flashes of light, the shattering crunch of metal on metal, and the weightless, tumbling blur that stole away your world. When you regain consciousness, pain sears through your chest, sharp and consuming, like a wildfire spreading through your body. You’re dimly aware of sounds—urgent voices, beeping monitors—but nothing else seems real until you hear his voice, urgent, familiar, calling your name.

“Spence?” you whisper, barely able to make out his face through your blurred vision. His hand finds yours instantly, fingers trembling as he cups your hand as if it’s the most precious thing in the world.

“I’m here, sweetheart. I’m right here,” he murmurs, voice thick and cracking, his face streaked with tears. The relief, the fear, and the sorrow in his eyes all swirl together, and you know something is terribly, terribly wrong.

He chokes on his words, trying to smile for you, but his expression crumbles as a doctor steps in, clipboard in hand, looking between you and Spencer with an apologetic solemnity that makes your blood run cold.

“Dr. Reid,” the doctor begins, his tone as soft as he can manage in the face of such devastation. He glances at the rest of the team who have gathered outside the room, each face shadowed with dread and sorrow. “I… I’m sorry. The impact caused severe trauma to her heart. We’ve done everything we can, but the damage is… it’s irreparable.”

Spencer’s hand tightens around yours, his breathing becoming rapid, shallow. He shakes his head in denial, his body wracked with quiet, desperate sobs. “No,” he whispers, his voice almost inaudible. “No… you have to—there has to be something. Please, just—”

The doctor swallows, his face heavy with grief as he meets Spencer’s frantic gaze. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Reid. We’re keeping her comfortable, but the most we can do is… make sure she’s not in pain. She may only have a few hours left.”

It’s like the words don’t register at first. Spencer stares at the doctor in stunned silence, his mouth opening and closing, as if trying to shape words that will deny the reality he’s facing. His body begins to tremble as the weight of the words sinks in, and he collapses, clutching your hand as he breaks down beside your bed.

“No… please… please don’t take her,” he whispers, his voice choked, ragged, and filled with more heartbreak than you’ve ever heard in him before. His head falls against your hand, and his shoulders shake as he sobs, his tears soaking through the thin fabric of your hospital gown.

The team stands by, their eyes reflecting the same disbelief and sorrow. JJ, her hand pressed to her mouth, struggles to contain her own tears. Hotch’s expression is stoic but deeply pained, and Penelope weeps silently, turning into Morgan’s embrace as he holds her close. Even Rossi, who has seen more loss than he cares to remember, looks away, struggling to hide the moisture in his eyes.

---

The doctor steps back to give you all a moment, nodding respectfully as he leaves the room. There’s a quiet reverence among everyone as they approach your bed, knowing these are the final moments you have together. JJ is the first to kneel beside you, her face streaked with tears as she takes your other hand in hers, squeezing it tightly.

“Oh, honey…” she begins, her voice barely above a whisper. She blinks, trying to clear her vision, to find some way to offer you comfort. “You’ve been… you’ve been so strong. For all of us. And for Spencer. And for…” Her voice catches, and she glances over her shoulder where your little boy is standing, held safely in Morgan’s arms. He looks around, confused, sensing the sadness but not fully understanding. JJ turns back to you, and her lips tremble into a sad, bittersweet smile. “We’re going to miss you more than words can say.”

You smile, reaching out to touch her cheek, feeling the damp warmth of her tears under your fingers. “Thank you, JJ. For being my friend. For always taking care of him,” you murmur, your gaze flicking to your son before returning to her. “Please… tell him stories about me. Make sure he knows how much I loved him.”

She nods, unable to speak, and wraps her arms around you gently, her embrace filled with all the love and friendship you’ve shared. When she pulls back, she wipes her tears, nodding to Morgan to bring your son over to you.

As he approaches, you reach out, your arms weak but filled with desperation as he climbs onto the bed, his little hands clutching onto you. You hold him, burying your face in his soft hair, breathing in his innocent scent as your heart aches with the knowledge of all the moments you’ll miss, all the things you’ll never get to see him do.

“Hey, baby,” you whisper, brushing a hand over his hair, feeling the soft strands slip through your fingers. “Mommy loves you so, so much. And… and you’re going to grow up to be strong, and brave, and kind, just like your daddy.”

“Mama, don’t be sad,” he murmurs, looking up at you with those wide, innocent eyes. His small hand reaches up to touch your cheek, his expression confused and concerned, sensing your sadness even if he doesn’t fully understand why.

You force a smile for him, blinking back tears. “I’m not sad, sweetie. I just… I just love you so much.” You hug him close, trying to burn this moment into your memory, the feel of his tiny arms around you, the warmth of his cheek against yours. You don’t let go until you feel Spencer’s gentle hand on your shoulder.

It takes everything in you to let him go, watching as JJ takes him, cradling him in her arms as he rests his head on her shoulder, his eyelids drooping with the exhaustion of a long, emotional day.

JJ kisses his head, giving you one last nod before she slips out of the room with him. You watch them go, your heart breaking even more as the door closes behind them.

---

One by one, the team says their goodbyes, each of them leaving you with words of love, of gratitude, of sorrow. Penelope clings to you, her tears soaking into your hospital gown as she promises to always keep an eye on Spencer, to make sure he’s never alone. Morgan grips your hand tightly, his voice steady but filled with heartbreak as he tells you he’ll miss your laughter, your friendship, your unwavering kindness.

Rossi stands by your bedside, his gaze filled with a profound sadness that words can’t convey. “You’re… one of the best, kid,” he says, his voice rough as he brushes a hand over your hair. “You’ve made this world better just by being in it.”

Finally, only Spencer remains, sitting by your bedside, his hand wrapped around yours. He’s silent for a long time, simply watching you, his thumb stroking over your knuckles as he struggles to find the words he wants to say. His face is etched with grief, his eyes red and swollen from crying, but he forces a small, soft smile for you, a reflection of all the love he holds in his heart.

“I… I don’t know how I’m supposed to do this,” he whispers, his voice trembling. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to let you go.”

You reach up, brushing your fingertips over his cheek, feeling the stubble under your touch. “You’ll find a way, Spence. For him. And… and I’ll always be with you. In your heart.”

He nods, tears streaming down his face as he leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your forehead. You close your eyes, savoring the warmth of his lips against your skin, the feeling of his love enveloping you.

“I’ll never stop loving you,” he murmurs, his voice breaking as he pulls back just enough to look into your eyes. “No matter how much time passes, you’ll always be… my everything.”

You smile, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes. “And you’ll always be mine. Always.”

The beeping of the monitor slows, each sound growing fainter, softer, as your breaths grow shallow. Spencer holds you close, his arms around you, his face buried in your hair as he whispers words of love, of goodbye, until the final beat fades into silence.

I originally wrote this even sadder but I didn't know if I should post it because it genuinely made me depressed so I toned it down, lmk if I should actually post it though

[winn-wynn]

I still wonder how Percy reacted to finding out Scabbers was Peter Pettigrew

[willowser]

it's so funny to me to think about having to tell dabi that he's your boyfriend now LOL

like he's really not into it. thinks the label and everything is stupid, he's not gonna say it because it's childish. and he doesn't even—you've made out a few times when you were both wasted, but it's not like he likes you or anything.

but you're just happy as a clam, standing too close beside him outside in the cold, laughing at the frown on his face. "okay, so you're hooking up with other people then?"

the look he casts you is so deadpan, because he can't even believe you're asking him that. doesn't hardly have time to himself, and he only manages to see you twice a month; what would make you think he's even got half a chance to— "no." he says, flat. "i'm not."

dabi's expecting you to say, yeah, me either, to prove whatever little point your trying to make, something about being exclusive—but you just hum, eyes flitting elsewhere.

and then he gets mad. because this whole thing is fucking dumb and he's not interested in your little games, or whatever. you're not saying anything, which means you're hooking up with other people—and he doesn't care, not at all, but—with who? who are you finding the time to hook up with? you meeting them on stray rooftops after midnight, too, laughing at their jokes like they're just oh-so-fucking funny, same way you do to his? you trying to hold their pinky to yours all sly and shit, when you think they're not paying attention? and he only did that because—

"are you?" the minute the question comes out of his mouth, he knows he's fucked. because it sounds like an accusation. because you're grinning.

"nope," you nudge your elbow against his and ash from his cigarette falls, snow taken by the breeze. and then you sigh, all dramatic, and dare to lean your head on his shoulder. "i've only got room for one man in my life, baby."

it makes him huff, curling into himself when your laugh chimes again. "'m not your man," he grumbles—

but dabi knows he's fucked. because it makes his chest a little lighter. because it makes him grin, too.

[hanzajesthanza]

andrzej sapkowski in the witcher presents his reader with many curious and refreshing takes on the fantasy genre, such as "what if dragons were good" and "what if elves were incels"

[asherraccoon]

More Vox HCs bc I love him <3

*Slaps Vox on the head* You can fit SO MUCH ANGST into this bad boy!

1. Vox used to be a lot more happy and cheerful and upbeat back when he and Alastor where friends. Alastor made him feel genuinely happy. So after their falling out, Vox kinda just... stopped feeling real happiness for a while. He still struggles with feeling genuine emotion to this day so he kinda just masks himself.

2.(I can't remember if I said this in my last Vox HC post so I'm saying it again) Vox has a tail! He's just embarrassed about it so he keeps it hidden.

3.Vox can't handle being alone. He needs to have someone with him at all times. Whether it's in the same room, or even just in the same building. He needs to know he isn't alone. (He once had a panic attack because Val and Vel went out without telling him once because he was still asleep)

4.Vox talks to himself a lot. He usually does it when he's overthinking (along with hand flapping and pacing) so that's usually how the other Vees know that Vox is overwhelmed and needs a break.

5. Vox has a playlist dedicated to his past with Alastor and he listens to it for comfort.

6. Vox is a cuddler and hugs things in his sleep. Usually his Alastor body pillow (Where the fuck did bro even get that from anyway?) especially when having nightmares.

7. Speaking of nightmares, Vox has them frequently. They're usually about Alastor. When he wakes up from these nightmares he immediately goes to turn on his Alastor playlist.

8. More on that playlist! He actually has a couple recordings of Alastor himself singing on there! Vox used to love listening to Alastor sing back when they were friends, and I guess he still does love listening to him now.

9. Vox talks to Velvette the most. He talks to her more than he does Val. He trusts her the most, she's like a sister to him whereas Val is just a sexual partner basically.

10. More on Vox and Vel's relationship! Vox talks to Velvette about almost everything. His latest hyperfixation(s), his sharks, updates on Voxtek, what dumb shit Val said last week, and even how much he misses Alastor.

11. Adding onto the Alastor thing above, when Vox talks about his past with Alastor he usually ends up in tears. Velvette comforts him with hugs, shopping dates, and letting him ramble about his other interests and ideas for the future.