#for maximum angst

[wafflesrisa]

The Philza cosplay wings I commissioned are finally ready to be shipped I’m frothing at the mouth like Brian glugluglugluglugluglugluglug

[kaidenchii]

I've done the math

There's no solution

We'll never last.

[vavoom-sorted-art]

Angst War: Part 5

You thought I was going to let them go... but the war rages on over on the @goodomensafterdark subreddit.

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[ilovereading5252]

Dpxdc promt

Every single corpse, skeleton, or other human remains that was not properly buried under their own name, murdered and/or had unfinished business in the whole of Gotham (including the bay) gets up and claws themselves out of their dumping ground. The living watch in horror as green glowing zombies swarm the streets and start to gather at Gothams cemeteries…

There they each get a green “hello my name is…” name tag and a (actually rather professional looking) complaint form from one of the floating tables, fill it out, search for a free spot, lie down and stop glowing.

Danny (who would tell you that he is not a necromancer) is just glad that now all these shades can finally stopp bothering him about solving their problems.

[maridoodles]

silly scribbles

[mr-shimurka]

No hope. No strength. Just fear and anxiety.

My cheek wet with tears on your cold shoulder.

We can’t escape.

[queen-of-hawkins-why-ler]

In the scene where the boys are biking with Holly, I hope Mike and Holly start talking about El so that Holly can be like, “Will, why don’t you have a girlfriend?” and Will can be totally taken by surprise and give some slightly odd, contrived answer that Doesn’t Sound Quite Right so that the alarms can finally sound off in Mike Wheeler’s brain.

[kitamars]

so kiss me and smile for me

[maomango-doodle]

Jazz puns, am I right?

Some random doodles

[icecreambeach]

anyone else get occasionally assaulted by thoughts of holmes and/or watson dying in sussex? like, maybe one day, when they are both very old, holmes wakes up to watson in his arms and he knows right away. he genuinely believed he would be the first to go. he steps downstairs and lights up a pipe. he stands there for a long time. he writes a few letters and sends them out. he walks around the house, observing everything. then he goes outside to sit near the bees. he listens to their soft humming and passes away in the sunshine.

or, one day, when they are both very old, watson comes back from the village to see holmes asleep in his chair. he knows right away. he genuinely believed he would be the first to go. he sobs and sobs and sobs. he writes letters by candlelight. then he writes more. he writes until he has nothing left to say. then he goes out and sits by the bees, who are all silent. he passes away under the moon.

[bloodiedstar]

The love was there. It didn't change anything. It didn't save anyone. But it still matters that the love was there.

Lyrics from I'm your man-Mitski

[h4venpha]

me when baby knives who had just as shiny, sparkly, big ol downturned eyes as vash. so full of wonder and joy and curiosity!!!

poor baby :((( pls look at his gentle eyes and little sheepish smile

[vashs-turtleneck]

Preen.

Rating: T

Pairing: Vash the Stampede x Reader Summary: Caring for Vash when his wings sprout. CW: angst, fluff, blood, mentions of self-harm, Trimax Vash coded. Word Count: 1.4k A/N: man oh man do I love bird men.

Vash normally stays huddled up in his room on days like this. There's times where he's had to spend nights on end locked inside until his feathers would painstakingly slowly go away. He'd sit on his bed (if he even had a bed at the time) and wait until he was back to normal. He wouldn't leave, he wouldn't eat, most of the time he wouldn't even sleep. He'd just sit there, alone, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company. When it was all over, he'd be in a nest of dusty sheets, surrounded by smears of blood and ripped feathers, with crimson dripping from his back from where he had agonizingly plucked at himself.

A monster, huddled away from sight.

Inhuman.

He would never dare go outside like this.

But of course, when you came around, following closely at his heel at all times, you never allowed him to hide away from you like that. You once came looking for him after his prolonged silence, and you had found him in a pitiful state – eyes rimmed red, bloody nails clutching at his own flesh like it wasn't meant to be on his bones, and most notably, white feathers sprouting from his face and wings spread out from his shoulder blades. 

He was mortified, embarrassed, scared.

This is it. You're going to see what he really is, and you're going to leave.

He went through all the stages of grief when he saw your eyes widen and your steps come to a halt. He was ready to hear your screams of terror and then never see you again. As much as he wanted to hide, he didn't look away. If you were going to run, he wanted to get one last good look at your beautiful face.

But you didn't leave him that night. You stayed awake with him, talking to him, and you had no flicker of fear or disgust when you looked at him. You didn't get too close, you didn't try to touch him, you didn't stare at him too intently (though he's sure you wanted to), and in the morning when his feathers were gone, you took him out to breakfast like it was any other day. Like nothing changed.

It took a long time to build up into letting you see him like this. Apart from that first night when you refused to leave his side after you saw the scratches on his back and the blood under his nails, he only allowed your gaze for brief moments, like when you insisted on bringing him food, and when you'd come back to scold him for not eating it. 

Eventually, you started sitting with him. You wouldn't speak. You'd simply sit in the same space as him, often in a chair in the corner, sometimes on the floor by the bed as you read a book, doodled in a sketchbook, or took a nap. No touches, no words, but still offering him a presence he's never had before when he's felt the furthest from human.

He was the first one to break the silence when he saw you using one of his shedded feathers as a bookmark of all things. You simply responded, “I like it. It's pretty,” like it was the simplest thing in the world. 

It's safe to say that nowadays, if he isn't there to greet you when you come down for breakfast in the mornings, you'll be knocking on his door within the hour.

Tonight, you're sitting on his bed, his back facing you as he sits with his knees to his chest, hiding the cracks in his face from your gaze. Your fingers gently run through his sprouted wings, picking out bits of lint and grains of sand caught in his feathers with a tenderness you always grant him, even when he's like this, when he doesn't even have the heart to look you in the eyes.

“I'm sorry, mayfly.”

“Hush. Don't be silly.”

His wings shift, slowly unfurling from around himself the longer you touch them for, as if trying to nudge into your hands for more. A part of him feels bad for liking the attention, but he doesn't want you to stop, even though the feeling of anyone touching the plumage along his back still feels so foreign to him.

“So soft,” you hum, and he feels the heat rise to his face, his cheeks dusting pink under the cracks and feathers. Something about you saying that makes his chest feel warm, despite how much he hates the part of himself you're referring to.

“You know,” you start to say, pulling his attention back to you as your gentle fingers pluck the dirt from him. “I'd like it if you stopped hiding from me whenever this happens.”

Vash winces at your words. “I don't… like it when you see me like this.” 

Don't look at me.

Don't leave me.

These wings, these feathers, these marks along his face and body – they all feel like some curse. It's not something you should be seeing, but he can't help wanting you here. It almost feels like he has to keep his wings from reaching towards you, like they have a mind of their own.

“I know, and I'm sorry, but I'm not leaving you alone,” you say back, your hands carefully running along the lengths of his wings, your palms smoothing over the feathers, and the feeling sends an involuntary shiver up his spine. “Is it bad if I like seeing you like this?”

“Heh. I don't see why you would. It's… strange. I would never blame you if you wanted to run away.” And he wouldn't. He knows this, and he knows you know this. He's told you far too many times that you should leave, that you shouldn't be around a monster like him, and sometimes he was much meaner than he ever intended to be with you. It's something he'll regret regardless of how many times he's apologized and how many times you've forgiven him. 

He just… doesn't feel like himself when he's in this state. He wants you far away, but he wants you close. He wants to scream and cry and curl in on himself until he disappears, but he wants to wrap himself around you and keep you with him in a nest of feathers until he forgets the outside world exists. His skin crawls and prickles where his feathers sprout from, and sometimes his flesh feels like it's burning, but he aches for the feeling of your hands running through his plumage. It's gotten so, so much worse since you've been around, and he doesn't know why, but he'll keep that bit to himself. No point in making you feel bad for his alien biology when he himself doesn't understand it all.

“I would never run away from you. Hell, half the time I'm struggling to keep up with you,” and his breath hitches when he suddenly feels your arms wrap around his midsection, your head resting against the bed of feathers on his back.

“I think you're beautiful, Vash. With and without wings.”

‘Beautiful.’

What a strange way of describing him.

“You like them…” he mutters quietly, more to himself than to you, like he's trying to wrap his head around what that could possibly mean. He doesn't even notice the way his feathers fluff up and bury your face in his down.

“I do, but I'm more fond of who they're attached to.”

You care, inhuman and all.

He was ready to never see you again after that first night, but you're still here, and you're preening him of all things. You've stitched his wounds, comforted him during his nightmares, held him when he's cried, but this? This is a level of intimacy he's not familiar with. It's vulnerable and selfless and loving and… so much more than he deserves, but you’re doing it for him. He has no way of repaying all the ways you've healed him. His wounds are still there, and they're far too deep to ever hope for the scars to completely fade, but your presence alone is a soothing balm he doesn't think he could ever live without again.

One day, maybe he'll look you in the eyes when you take care of him like this. Maybe he'll turn around and let you card your fingers through the feathers on his cheeks. Maybe after that, maybe when you're taking a nap, he'll hold you close in his arms like he wants to and envelop you in feathers, and he'll show you, despite how much he wishes they weren't there, how warm his wings can be.

divider source.

[nimpnawakproduction]

Love and peace: Vashwood comic (part 1)

Vash is an Earth history nerd and we love him for it. Woowoo's face changes on EVERY panel but his shitty smirk and little dimple are everything to me ;w; This comic is very dear to my heart and I can't wait to draw part 2 because set up/pay off.

I shared the 2 first pages and I had so much positive feedbacks on it I'm so happy you liked them ToT Anyway, I now have the time to draw the next pages but I couldn't wait to upload the first part so here it is!

[catmi1606]

[torchflies]

Hi TG Fandom!

So this AU came to me in a dream and I woke up with actual tears so — here we go. 

In the deepest chunks of my cold, dead heart, I believe that even if Ice married Sarah, he still always loved Mav. There were just so many reasons why they couldn't work out long-term: Ice wanted to advance, Mav didn't want to hold him back, the danger of being a gay couple in the ‘80s and ‘90s — let alone in the Navy. 

It just couldn't work out for them. They were trying to protect each other and that meant sacrifices on both ends.

But it doesn't mean they ever stopped loving each other, Ice’s love was shown in saving Mav’s ass time after time, and Mav’s was in being there — always, no matter what Ice needed. 

Mav was there when all three of Ice’s kids were born, his two daughters and his youngest: Tom Kazansky Jr. 

Junior, who only looks more like his namesake with every year that passes. 

Eventually Mav gets shipped to China Lake so he doesn't have to get a front-row seat to Ice dying right in front of them (Ice’s decision of course).

The Mission rolls around, and lo and behold: a Tom Kazansky will always appear to Mav in his time of need. 

But instead of a text — it’s in the form of Junior, a vision of 27-year-old Tom Kazansky, complete with moles and his big ass teeth. 

“Apparently, we’ve got a mission, Maverick.”

Imagine the complete agony of a world where Mav never gets to have the life he deserves with the man he loves, and not only that, but he's surrounded by the living specters of the two men he loved most and lost. 

A world in which he gets to keep a piece of Goose and Ice, but only as a reminder that the Bradshaw and Kazansky on his wings will never be the ones he wants.

Or the flip side, where Mav is the only piece of their fathers that both boys have left and there gets to be a Kazansky-Bradshaw-Mitchell trio in the sky again.

Just me? Okay 😭

(Ice sent Junior out as a Dagger with a promise to: Be His Wingman. Both of them knowing he wasn't going to be there when Junior got back.)