#dont EVEN touch me

[whatthefuckisasweep]

the thing that gets me about reddie is that, yeah, it’s a 2 pathetic middle aged men who cant handle feelings so they bicker as a love language type beat which is honestly always a banger… but the fact that R+E is somehow fucking real- like-

bro, richie was down HORRENDOUS. he was teenage boy with a crush for 27 years down bad. he was make playlists, kick your feet, carve your initials, doodle in your sketchbook down bad. he was make him annoyed to give you attention downbad. he was joke about your crush to throw off tHE TRAIL DOWN BAD. he never said a PEEP about it too, because he was fucking terrified.

then it all just fucking disappeared. except it fucking didnt because richie still holds on to that crush even without knowing who the hell eddie is! like! what the fuck! he chose to love him so fucking hard even evil cosmic magic couldnt erase his footprint in his brain! from literal childhood! then, to make it even WORSE, when he remembers it all and eddie is DYING in his fucking arms, he STILL, STILL, doesnt have the gall to say it!!! and the thing is, when eddie dies, he has no fucking idea that R+E is there. he has no fucking idea. but he knows he’s loved. he just doesnt know in entirety what ways. its fucking tragic.

[prettyboykatsuki]

the homoeroticism of toga HOLDING OCHAKO AS SHE GIVES HER HER BLOOD . HER BLOOD. THE THING THAT TOGA REGARDS AS THE HIGHEST SYMBOL OF LOVE AND CONNECTION . SHE GIVES ALL IT TO OCHAKO. TO SAVE HER . FUCK OFF

[littlefang666]

Hehe. Yeah.

Yeah, that smile. It kills me a little. The genuine, even in the down. The warm, the sparkling and glittering.

"Sunshiny boy" i couldn't have said it better myself. My sunflower. My oak. My towering Cinci path. My winding brown river through tan, dry plains.

My keeper.

[sam-the-pancake]

We've reached a new layer of not respecting mobility aid users/not seeing us as people.

Today in my class I was using my wheelchair and going towards someone to ask a question. They jumped up and grabbed someone else's cane from "in my way" and began to move it. I said no it's ok, and they said something like don't worry I'll put it back. I said no again and they returned it to where it was. I asked my question and went back to my spot. The person who's cane it was was sitting right there. They could have moved it if they thought it was in my way or if I asked them to.

A minute later I heard the cane fall over. It hadn't fallen before that but of course the abled person who moved it didn't know how to balance it properly.

Don't touch people's aids. Both myself and the other disabled person were able to handle the situation if necessary, but it didn't need to be handled because there wasn't a problem.

[cherrirui-official]

I hope u guys don't mind me posting these au doodles while I work on things ahaha

I also gave JD slightly longer hair in these doodles as a funny haha but I don't think it's funny anymore he looks genuinely good with his hair like that ahahaha I hope you're not mad at me for changing his au design a bit

[theoldkyokodied]

Uploading all my Tomgreg art at once from the past few week before season 4 hits, who knows in what kind of mental state i'm gonna be once it does :')

[existential-queeer]

Ed wasn't able to untie himself underwater. His subconscious was ready to let go and accept death. But the moment he heard Stede's voice, it was a full body reaction and the only thing he could do was get back to him. The rope untied itself from around him. He didn't have to lift a finger. It came off so easily. There was no hesitation or fear. He heard his voice and he knew he wanted to get back to him. It was as if untying himself and going back to Stede was the easiest thing in the world. As Mary said...

"It's like breathing"

[theotherhappyplace]

Me: how could we inspire hate in a cosmic horror god if we are so small and insignificant?

Brain: how do people react to a spider in their bed. Or maggots in their fridge?

Me: oh

Me: OH NO

[s0fter-sin]

something happening on a mission, something personal that has soap spiralling; panic and rage making him reckless, thoughtless, and ghost has to draw the line

“you’re compromised johnny; you know what that means?”

“you’re not pulling me out,” soap immediately snarls. he turns on him and ghost barely recognises him; venomous fear turning his eyes to unyielding ice. "you're not sidelining me; i need to be in this-!"

but ghost has never been afraid of venom; spat or dripped straight from bared fangs.

he snakes out a hand grip the back of his neck, jerking him in a rough shake. "if you can't think, you can't be a soldier," he growls and he flinches like he's been struck.

his lips quiver as they twist in a sneer and he wrenches, trying to free himself of his hold.

ghost doesn't let him.

"it means you give your body to me because your head ain't fucking attached to it anymore."

soap stills, body trembling beneath his hand as he sucks in shaking breaths.

he tightens his grip, pulling him closer and digs his forehead hard into his. “it means you give yourself to me so i can have the weapon that you are and use you the way you're meant to be used."

the ice in soap's eyes fractures.

ghost’s voice drops to a whisper, spoken only to johnny, not this facade of vengeance and pain, and wills it to reach him through the glaciers.

“so i can keep you safe ‘til it’s done and i can bring you back.”

[chilly-lily]

hmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

[petewentzssilkpress]

Like I'm sick. I could fucking throw up my guts. She went back for the sole singular purpose of telling Faulkner she loves him. That place meant nothing to her anymore she did not give a fuck about the church of tide and flesh she only gave a fuck about faulkner and she went back to tell him i love you because she cared about him as much as she cared about the actual brother that she lost and she found him with two dead bodies in front of him and she was going to help him hide the bodies because whatever happened they were supposed to endure it together!!! And his response was to lie like a fucking liar.

[satyricplotter]

(suggestive, slightly explicit content at the end)

Even though you’ve been expecting the visit for most of the night, the Red Hood knocking at your balcony door at 1 in the morning still catches you off guard. You scramble off the couch in a sleepy daze, book falling off your lap and cracking open on the floor. For one long second, the only thing you can think of is that whoever your last assignment was has managed to find you, that you’ve finally been too sloppy and left a trail with which to track you.

That’s your first thought. Your second thought is, of course, Barbara. But before you can reach your phone to shoot your boss a SOS, or, at the very least, an alert, a second rasp at the window panes freezes you on the spot.

“Will you open the damn door?” Red Hood’s unmistakably robotic voice grits out. “It’s raining cats and dogs out here.”

You trip in your rush to open the doors, limbs loose and clumsy with relief. Hood shoulders past you with a grunt, fingers prodding at the back of his head to get at the latch of his helmet. He takes it off in a smooth motion, his hot breath forming a white cloud against the cold air of your running AC. You lock the balcony back up after him as he goes around your apartment, setting his helmet on your dinner table and shrugging out of his jacket. He means to stay apparently. You could’ve lent him an umbrella if he wanted to go back out there. Probably would’ve been best.

See, you don’t like the Red Hood much.

He invites himself over to your kitchen, opening cabinets here and there until he chances upon the dinnerware and pulls out a glass. The Gotham public infrastructure is in such state you have never once attempted to drink out of the tap, but you don’t stop him when he does. It is, technically, allowed. And he had the pitcher full of filtered water right under his nose, so. You wait impatiently as he downs two whole glasses of tap water and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand (there is a perfectly usable kitchen towel draped over the oven handle).

He glances over, notices you staring. The corner of his lips quirks up. “How obedient,” he mocks. He pats at his sides, pulls a folded envelope from somewhere in his body (the Bats have endless pockets, you’ve come to learn) and tosses it on the table. “There’s your file. You better be fucking thankful. Traipsed through half the city in this shit storm just to get you these.”

“Thank you, Red Hood,” you say politely, picking up the rumpled envelope and eagerly flipping through the files. “Much appreciated.”

Red Hood rolls his eyes at you, eternally put off by your insistence on following the proper channels of conduct. “Whatever. You got anything to eat?”

“Help yourself,” you tell him.

You walk back to the couch with the file in hand and leave him to make himself whatever he will, already too distracted by the information within to care that you’re gonna have to make a second grocery run when he’s done with your fridge. Red Hood rummages through your cabinets, pulling out far more stuff than he should for a midnight snack. At one point, he asks if you’ve had dinner, and you respond him with an absentminded (and truthful) negative. The files he’s brought are the latest Robin’s swiped from the team’s ongoing investigation on a dicey arms exchange deal that may or may not involve three out of four of Gotham’s biggest conglomerates (sans, of course, Wayne Enterprises). It’s your job to process the info—a task too menial and too tedious for Oracle and Red Robin, respectively, to handle. Besides, Tim’s far more useful on the ground.

It must be about twenty minutes of you pouring over the pages scattered over your coffee table when the man speaks up again. “Dinner’s ready,” he says.

You look up to see him setting two plates of steaming stir fry on the table. He’s taken off his gloves, his utility belt, the domino mask and rolled up his sleeves—the whole nine yards. Only missing the apron. The food looks lovely, but of course it does. Cooking is listed as a specialty in Red Hood’s file, right along with marksmanship and hostile takeovers.

Your lips quirk up at the unexpected kindness, but you shake your head. “None for me, thanks.”

“I said,” Red Hood says, placing his gun on the table menacingly. “Dinner’s ready. Come eat.”

Well. So much for kindness. You’re about as dumb as Red Hood’s subtle, which is to say only at your benefit and very much at will, so you only sigh and push the papers aside. He watches you rise and sit, and pick up the fork, before he does the same. You eat in silence.

After a few bites, you stop being disgruntled at his coercion and grateful that he’s got something other than a protein bar in you because you were, in fact, quite hungry. That’s not something you can say—or at least not in any way which he would accept, so you just shut up and eat your meal happily. That seems to be enough for him, as he watches you finish the whole plate with a satisfied expression.

“Good?” He asks.

“Yeah, actually,” you beam.

Even when he stands and brings the dishes over to the sink to wash, you are reluctant to leave your spot at the table. You watch him rinse and sponge the plates and pan, the knife and spoon and cutting board, and your afternoon tea mug. He washes his hands thoroughly and rinses his mouth with the dubious tap water again. A thorough, judicious man. He’s played remarkably nice this evening. You wonder if Oracle’s been pulling his ear to leave you alone.

When he finishes, he walks slowly the remainder of the narrow hallway of your kitchen back to the dinner table and leans against the threshold. The long line of his body catches you off guard, always so unexpectedly graceful despite his musculature, his brutality. You hold his gaze serenely, trying not to cave under his scrutiny.

This is why you don’t like the Red Hood. Every time he looks at you, he sees you wholly. As you are. Not, crucially, as you want. It has been this way since the first time he laid eyes on you—a single glance and he had taken the measure of you. No further explanation, no time to make amends. And what’s worse: he expects you to be honest. He expects you to say what he can read in your face. He doesn’t let it go when you deflect, when you coat your truths in niceties. He wants it raw and open.

You can’t play dumb with Jason Todd.

He breaks the silence first. “Were you expecting Grayson this evening?”

The non-sequitur catches you so off guard you break eye contact accidentally. What’s Nightwing got to do with anything?

“No?” You say, evidently baffled. “Nightwing’s been off-world all week. Why would he be coming around?”

He cocks his head to the side, sucks in the bit of flesh below his lower lip. "So you knew it was me who'd be coming around?"

"Obviously?" What is he going on about? He clearly doesn't believe you, either. It's childish when you stomp your foot and whine, but he always brings out the worst in you. "I'm serious, Hood. I've been waiting for you all evening. Just you."

Jason pushes off the wall and approaches, staring you down with slightly raised eyebrows. “Then, if you knew Dick wasn't coming with, what are you looking so fuckable for?”

Despite how much it bruises your pride, you cannot help but sputter. The staring is one thing, the passing brushes are another—even the stupid pulling at your pigtails like you’re both in kindergarten is… permissible. But this? Coming at you so straightforwardly when all you know how to do is circumvent and hide? Desperately, you respond to the one thing in that sentence you can make sense of: the accusation.

“I don’t like Nightwing,” you whine. Jason fixes you with a look of dry incredulity. You huff. How you despise him. He can’t even let you lie. “And I don’t dress for him either.”

“Hm.” He reaches over to pull at the neckline of your admittedly skimpy top, his knuckle brushing against your chest. “Sure.”

You bat his hand away, and stand up, but that leaves you much closer to him than you expected. Or wanted. “This is not fuckable,” you grit out. “This is… pajamas.”

Jason cranes his neck to take a close look at you, every bit as assessing as the first one had been. One of his large hands comes to play with the hem of your shorts, pushes it up just a smidge, and the pads of his fingers are rough and calloused against your outer thigh. Your eyelids flutter, and he has the nerve to smile.

“That’s a blatant lie, you know,” he says, dipping his head low so the words brush against your lips. “Try a little, huh?”

“This seems like a you problem, my guy,” you snap, so close you might as well be speaking into his mouth. You need to get away. You don’t.

Jason’s smug when you gasp after his hands close around your ass and bring you forward, flush against his body. The hardness in his pants trapped between you, a pressing weight just below where it should be. Should be? What are you—but Jason adjusts before you can scold yourself, lining up your crotch with his and grinding. It feels bigger this way, which is insane because it's already pretty fucking huge, and a hot flash of desire runs through you lightning-quick and just as obliterating. You slump against him, head on his shoulder.

“That’s my problem,” he murmurs against your ear. His thumbs press just under your asscheeks, playful. “You gon’ do anything about it?”

[bdsmrist]

i just get rly emotional at the thought of kim feeling safe and cared for with harry. the fact that whenever harry defends him against bigotry, kim’s surprised reaction implies that harry is one of the few ppl who does. the fact that later, harry is able to pull him out if his shell. the fact that kim’s politeness starts waning, and he jabs and pokes fun at harry (and apologizes when he takes it too far). the fact that he goes from “im the finest of nothing” to “never fuck with kim kitsuragi”. the fact that kim is so quick to stand up for harry, even tho he tries to remain unengaged and neutral during most interactions. the fact that kim abandons all reason and falls to his knees, turning his back to all danger, and desperately presses his hands to try and save harry— and ONLY turns around if harry tells him to. because thats how much he trusts him. thats how much he cares. kim, who doesnt seem to be vulnerable or that close with pretty much anyone else, and gave up hope on relying on ppl a long time ago. and whats even more emotionally churning is that all of that trust, that affection, that *bond*, it all happens within a span of 4-5 DAYS OF KNOWING EACH OTHER.

its as if that same side of harry that can interact with cuno, acele, and annette (kids with complex fears and distrust towards others) that make em feel safe— the *juvie* side —can tap into kim’s inner child as well, and makes him feel safe, too

[sketchz]

guess who speedran the game in 2 days and completely wrecked their sleep schedule

[mispelled]

I still think about them daily btw. Just so you guys know

[ciderjacks]

Someone made a really well written post on chilchuck and misogyny, but its not able to be rbed so im just sharing my analysis of it here. Bc i love this topic. I love it so much.