#I dont even know how to tag this

[chainmail-butch]

We (The Panthers) were out doing food distribution yesterday and there was a homeless trans woman with cerebral palsy.

And just. Fuck me, man. It was all we could do to get her some estrogen. We gave her some razors but like. Can she even use them?

It felt more personal. Here was one of my sisters at the lowest she could possibly be and there was nothing I could fucking do.

I haven't been able to get her out of my mind.

She couldn't speak. She was terrified of men. She was on the corner begging for cigarettes. There was a smear going down her cheek from where she had applied her lipstick. She started crying when she saw another black transwoman. When she held me I could feel her drowning.

Fuck.

[starscream-is-my-wife]

Stupid comic I made in class today

[creekfiend]

I have been having a really weird experience this summer, which is that I fell in love for the first time. I'm 36, and if you'd asked me if I had ever been in love previously, I would have said "I don't know, maybe? I used to think so but now I'm not sure? What's it mean to be in love?? how would I know if I had or not???" I thought that because I had not experienced it myself, the people who were always saying "oh no, trust me, You Would Know" were all lying or otherwise mistaken. I DID NOT BELIEVE THEM. I was fully like "this is some sort of mass delusion, there's no way that's a thing"

Now that I know that this is something that Exists even if it doesn't always Look Like They Tell You, there's SO many things that make sense to me!!! Whenever I encountered Romance Stuff before, I had no desire to do any of it AND could not comprehend why anyone else would ever want to either. It was this really large experiential disconnect for me. Whether or not I want to do any of those things, I now understand why other people would, if they Were In Love. LIKE I GET IT NOW. IT MAKES SENSE TO ME. I still can't relate to things like people in movies falling in love instantly, but now it's like "oh right, that's a potential state of being that exists," rather than "pretty fucked up that hollywood made Being In Love up to sell more flowers or whatever."

I feel like I'm constantly 24/7 running a software update on my brain that's been overdue to be installed for years or perhaps decades. It's just like "OK YUP UPDATING ALL THESE PROGRAMS AND FOLDERS. THIS WILL TAKE SOME TIME AND DATA BYTES OR WHATEVER, BUCKLE UP!" Pretty sure there's actually one of those little rainbow spinning icons above my head the whole time I'm conscious, like I am some sort of very confused Sim.

This happened to me REALLY SLOWLY, too, so it was like a big blockage in a river, and more and more stuff was just piling up against it, and then the dam broke, and now I'm sitting in the shallows of a giant basin lake under a massive waterfall wringing my hat out and going "woah. they got never before seen types of fish in here"

Who else knew about this??? Unfortunately the answer is: a majority of human beings over a certain age DID in fact know about this, it's just that every time anyone said "this is a way people feel about each other sometimes," I said "hmm. sounds fake." In-cred-i-ble.

Turns out that being in love is just an experience that people can have!! It's just a thing that happens sometimes! Some people have had it happen to them a bunch and some people not at all. It's just A Thing That Can Happen To You. Wtf. WHAT WILL I DISCOVER NEXT????? IT COULD BE ANYTHING !!! WHAT WOULD BE THE FUNNIEST POSSIBLE NEXT THING FOR ME TO REALIZE EXISTS? ONLY TIME WILL TELL. (Can you fucking imagine having this happen to you when you are in your seventies or eighties rather than your mid thirties ????? THAT WOULD BE THE WORLD'S MOST DISORIENTING EXPERIENCE.) (I also thought that "having chemistry" was fake.) (Do not diagnose me, I PROMISE I already know)

[dezmolad]

[vinegar-rights]

Someone shoot me in the head

[ace-does-stuff]

fun thing abt having a dad whose also unwell abt naruto is that he literally just doesnt participate in any fandom areas at all and i get to hear all of his headcanons. he doesnt even know that headcanon is the word for his interpretations. father tell me again about how Kakashi has ties to the Inuzaka tribe over this long and grueling car ride while your wife silently begs you to stop. father dearest please go off about how Karin is Sarada's mother at the family gathering even though i'm the only one who gives a damn.

[the-broken-pen]

Hi! I love love LOVE your writing so much!!!❤️❤️(it’s the only thing sometimes that can help me reorient myself when life sucks)-

Idk if you’ve already written a work like this- but could you write about a villain who fakes being in a relationship with hero to get information. Hero absolutely loves them and thinks that they can finally be happy….but then Villain breaks their heart- while saying they never loved them and that it was all a lie.

and then later on Villain regrets it and realizes they are actually obsessed with hero and go full psycho?

The hero had spent their childhood watching as their parents fought viciously with one another. Slamming doors and breaking plates, and then sullen, withdrawn and nearly silent conversations illuminated only by the dying lamp in the corner of the living room. Whatever the hero’s parents had, it wasn’t love, and never would be. The hero had no way of knowing if it ever had been. 

And then the hero had watched as time after time, their sister loved someone with her whole heart and was left shattered on the hero’s doorstep at the end of it. Fairytales that ended with no happy ending, ripped up love notes and a hundred playlists made for people their sister could no longer bear to name out loud.

The hero had watched their entire family reach for love and fall flat every time, and had resigned themself to a fate of the kind of heartbreak you cannot escape. The kind that hangs over heads like a cloud and fogs mirrors.

And then–

The villain. The hero had met the villain, and the villain had smiled, and they thought maybe, just maybe, they had beaten the curse. That they were meant for the soft kind of love they had only imagined when they were young, before the pain of it got too great.

The hero had let the villain intertwine themself into the hero’s life, and they had thought they were okay. They had thought they had made it. 

Which was why, now, they couldn’t seem to make themself think anything sensical at all.

The villain settled the file in front of the hero gently, on the table they had picked out together with as much care as one was capable of. They almost, almost, looked like they regretted it, face soft and breakable.

The villain cleared their throat in the silence. “If you just read it–”

“What, can’t say it yourself?”

The villain stopped, swallowing. This was the first time in a very long time the hero had seen them look unsure.

The hero scoffed at them. “I know about Project Pegasus.”

The villain went very, very still. They looked down towards the folder.

“So then–”

“This?” the hero picked up the folder, waving it once. They tossed it onto the floor without looking. “I’ve already read it. Two weeks ago.” They stared at the villain, and did their best not to blink. “I just hoped it was fake.”

The hero wondered if maybe, this was what had happened to their parents. If they had spent all of that time fighting and hating one another and crying in darkened rooms just so they could spend the rest of it constantly reaching back towards one another. Pretending that the file wasn’t real. That the fights were nothing more than a blip in existence and not the roots of a rot so deep it would never be fully cut out of them. 

They had wondered about a lot of things, curled on the bathroom floor around that wretched file, but mostly they had wondered if they had always been meant to end up here. If this was what being doomed felt like. 

The villain blinked.

“You hoped it was fake.”

The hero felt a little like they couldn’t breathe. They sucked a shallow breath in through their nose anyways. 

“If you–” their voice broke. “If you were me, would you want to believe it?”

The villain’s shoulders, almost imperceptibly, slumped.

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh, are you?”

“Yes,” the villain said, but in the space where they should have explained themself, where they should have said it was fake, and that they loved the hero more than anything, and that this little apartment meant everything to them–they said nothing.

“So, what,” the hero snapped, voice wet with barely held back tears. “You’re going to tell me you didn’t mean for me to fall in love with you? That this was an accident? That you’re sorry again? That you never meant to hurt me–”

“No,” the villain corrected gently. “You were always meant to fall in love with me.”

A tiny sob wormed its way out of the hero’s throat before they could stop themself, and they pressed their shaking fist to their mouth before anything else could follow, turning away.

“It was just about the information,” the villain said, and the hero shoved themself back from the table, just to get further away from the love of their life.

“You knew what you were doing,” the hero said bitterly. “You know me. You knew. You knew I would never be able to get over this, and you did it anyways–”

“It’s my job,” the villain protested, and it took the hero everything in them to remain standing. “It wasn’t personal.”

“You made yourself my world, you made yourself into my everything, you made me fall in love with you–”

“I never made you do anything.”

“Don’t say that. You don’t get to say that. This was your goal, wasn’t it? Own up to your accomplishments. Go on. Tell me how proud you are. Do it.”

“Hero.”

“I loved you,” the hero was screaming, maybe.

And there it was. Past tense.

Loved.

The villain stepped back like the hero had slapped them.

“Hero,” their voice was barely a whisper.

The hero picked up the file. Rifled through it once more.

“Hero–”

The hero held out the file. The villain didn’t take it, hands remaining limp at their side.

“Take it.” They gestured with the file. “Take it, and get out.”

The villain sucked in a breath.

“Hero,” the villain said again, uselessly. 

“Tell me you love me, then. Tell me you meant it.” They gestured to the file once more. “Tell me that this is the lie.”

“I can’t.”

“Tell me.”

The villain opened their mouth, and for a second, the hero hoped–

“I don’t love you.” 

The hero wished the villain had just killed them. 

“I never loved you. It was all a lie. A really, really pretty lie.”

The hero wanted to say something elegant to that. Something biting and vicious and jagged in the same way the inside of them felt right now. They wanted to say everything they had felt earlier, every thought that had cut them so that it could cut the villain too.

Instead, all they managed was a choked, “Get out.”

They threw the file at the villain.

The villain didn’t bother to catch it, letting it slam into their chest. It thudded against the floor, papers spilling out in a halo around the villain’s feet.

A part of them wanted the villain to argue further.

A part of them just wanted the villain dead.

“I’m sorry,” the villain said once more, and then they were gone.

The villain had known as soon as the hero had thrown that file that they wanted the villain dead. 

That they were more likely to claw their own bones apart than willingly reach for the villain’s hand again, and the logical part of their brain was viciously pleased about it.

It made this whole thing easier. No lingering attachments to further butcher. Just a field, burned so badly nothing would ever grow in it again, and god, wasn’t that convenient for their mission. 

A tiny, smothered part of their brain, however, wouldn’t stop screaming.

They drowned it.

But then the villain would catch themself glancing to their side in search of a smile. They would wait a beat too long after they said something, would wait for laughter, and then there would be none, and they would curse themself for it, and that little part of them would come gasping back to life and start screaming again.

Possibly it was that little part of them that had made them send a message to the hero, offering the apartment. It was the least they could do, right? Fuck up their life and then get the fuck out of it. 

But the texts had said delivered, but never read, and three days later when the villain used their key to open the lock, they found themself stepping into a mausoleum and not a home. 

They weren’t sure what they were expecting, but it wasn’t this. Dust hanging in the air. Blank squares left on the walls where pictures had once hung. Empty cabinets, empty floors, empty rooms; no, whatever they had been expecting, it wasn’t this.

For a reason they couldn’t name, they went from room to room, searching for something without quite understanding what. It wasn’t until they had come full circle back into the living room, fingers coated in dust and an aching chest, that the villain had realized. Ghosts. They were looking for ghosts. 

Because there was nothing better to describe the way they felt right now other than haunted. And if there was something, anything, of the hero left in here to burn, to destroy, to exorcise, they could use it as an excuse–

There was nothing left of the hero. There were no ghosts. This place was just dead.

The villain made a shuddering little sound, and slammed the front door closed behind them when they managed to stumble into the hallway. 

This was an easy mission, it was–

–two years and dates over ramen and houseplants–

–something even a new recruit could do–

–i love you’s in the dark and the scent of the hero on all of their clothes and–

–something the villain was trained for, countless hours spent–

–laughing and crying and rainy days and sunny ones–

–learning how to fake love, and somehow–

–the villain had forgotten it was fake.

The villain couldn’t breathe.

The villain had forgotten they weren’t supposed to fall in love, too.

The villain had forgotten they weren’t supposed to fall in love too, and they had just set their entire world ablaze around themself.

Fuck.

It really only made sense, then, that they found themself standing on the roof of their old apartment building as it burned. And when that didn’t work, they moved onto the next, until a third building went up in flames beneath their feet. They knew the kind of message it would send, and they knew exactly who that message would get sent to–

The hero landed on the other end of the rooftop, as far away from the villain as they could possibly get. 

“Stop,” the hero hissed, teeth clenched. “Stop lighting things on fire to get my attention, just stop–”

“I’m in love with you,” the villain said, voice wrecked, and the hero reacted like the villain had shot them. They stepped away, feet bumping against the edge like the fall was a better option than the villain.

“No,” the hero said. They shook as they said it. “Stop it. You don’t get to do this to me.”

“I love you,” the villain said again, and the hero pressed a hand over their own heart.

“Stay away from me,” the hero managed after a moment. Another deep breath, and their hand dropped back down to their side. “Go do whatever it is you need to do, go ruin anyone else’s life, and stay out of the wreckage of mine.”

“We have a life together,” the villain tried. If the hero could just see, could see that they could fix it– “I’m sorry. I was stupid, I was so, so stupid. But you can’t just leave, please, just let me fix it–”

“I told you to get out,” the hero said, and there was nothing soft in their eyes as they looked at the villain. “What about the way I said it made you think it was temporary?”

“Hero, please, let me fix–”

“Villain,” the hero said calmly, voice sharp. “Some things aren’t meant to be rebuilt.”

All of the air left the villain’s lungs in a pathetic sort of wheeze.

“You’re my everything,” the villain choked out. “My whole world, and I’m so sorry. I was–I made a mistake, but you can’t just throw us away–”

“No,” the hero spat, and the villain flinched. “You burned that world to the ground. You’re standing in the ashes of it. You don’t get to come to me begging for it back.”

The villain felt unmoored. Like the world had shifted one step to the left and they had no idea what to do with their limbs anymore, no idea how to keep existing.

“But I love you.”

“The only person who feels anything when you say that is you.”

This time, it was the villain who stepped back.

“Please,” the villain whispered, and the hero closed their eyes.

“What were you expecting to happen. That I would forgive you? Would fall back into your arms? You could tell me that you’re sorry in every language for the rest of your life and that wouldn’t make what you did hurt me any less. So why would you think you could light a building on fire, tell me you love me, and then make everything go back to the way it was?”

“I–I don’t–”

“There is no back,” the hero said firmly. “There is no undo.”

“I don’t know what to do,” the villain said. A tear dripped off the edge of their chin.

The hero appraised them.

“Learn to live with it.”

The villain sucked in a shuddering breath.

“I can’t live without you, okay, I can’t–”

“Then die.”

The villain froze. They waited for the hero to take it back, but the hero just stared at them, face stony and cold. An avenging angel on the edge of the rooftop, firelight flickering at their back and smoke rising into the air, not an ounce of sympathy left in their bones for the villain.

And before the villain could say anything, say that the hero couldn’t possibly mean that, the hero spoke again.

“I mean it. You are not my problem.”

The villain was choking. They were drowning on air and the hole they had left inside of themself when they ripped the hero out of their life and the hero was just watching them–

“Please,” they said pathetically, and even as they said it they knew it was futile.

The hero didn’t bother to give them another response.

They watched the hero leave without saying anything, smoke beginning to sting their eyes and nose as their hands shook. 

It felt terminal. It felt world-ending. It felt deserved.

They wished the hero had just killed them.

[shigiooo]

can't believe i just spent 1 hour making this FRAME BY FRAME

[soleil-read]

I just cannot take the anti-Penelope fans serious. Like you hate this complex female character who has been bullied by her own family and Cressida and invisible to everyone else. She sobs after writing about Marina, she cries and apologises to Eloise (more than once). But she's still the devil cuz she writes a gossip sheet which is described as only writing what the ton is saying. She's not even making shit up, she's just printing what the gossip is. But yup, how dare she!

And yet, yay Cressida! There's a reason she's a bully, she has a terrible home life and never knew how how to make friends. I love her redemption, I'm a Cressida fan now!! Like be so fr.

Um, pot calling kettle?

[the-real-loser-otaku-girl]

The feminine urge to yield a sword

[ajitomiel]

ok now draw nikolai and jon making out

by allah, you people are dogs, i will go on as usual

[an-zastro]

So I just discovered there was a canceled Transformers comic

AND I AM FREAKING OUT OVER IT

I just came across the cover for it and lemme tell you I have never gasped out loud before but LOOK

I CANT EVEN CONTAIN MYSELF TO WRITE THIS

LOOK AT EVERYONE

LOOK AT WHAT WE COULD OF HAD

[dekustyx]

[onyxonline]

Hello Onyx!

I just wanted to bring this to your attention that someone is making smut of you and another Smiling Critters artist known as Nova. I already reported and blocked this person. I did hear that there was someone harassing Nova a few months before so I’m not sure if this is the same guy or a new person. Either way, I’m not sure if what this person is doing is going against you and Nova’s boundaries but I still wanted to bring this to your attention.

Down below is a screenshot of the account.

Thank you for your time!

thank you for letting me know, i'll block them right away

[primalmagic]

you drove along and left me alone in the parking lot (sbg)

everyone shut up i just wrote something for the most insane crackship to ever exist i hope you enjoy. maverick really needs to work out his shit guys

Even the darkest nights give way to the dawn.

It was a rather ironic saying, really. Because for someone like him, it seemed like the dawn never quite came. No matter how many nights he endured, how many times he lay awake, only for her to reappear in his dreams, the light at the end of the tunnel was always just out of reach- as if the darkness was meant to be permanent. And as stubborn as he was, it tore him down, chipped away at his resolve as he felt the human inside of him fade.

The dawn, to him, felt like a promise. A promise that would always remain just beyond the horizon- close enough to touch, yet too far to claw at with hands stained with ruby red and nails caked in flesh and dirt.  

Even the darkest nights give way to the dawn, She’d told him, kicking back on his old living room couch, ginger hair splayed across its armrest. And as foolish and naive had he been, Maverick still hates himself for believing her. Hates himself for still holding onto it, hand-in-hand with memories of a fiery smirk and soft hands clasped around his. 

He runs a hand through his hair, absently noting that it’s not combed. It’s not a good day today. Not that any day is a good day, but the first day of school is always, put simply- hell. 

He finds himself creating various analogies for hell, toying with the cap of his pen as he sits down on a rather uncomfortable school-issued chair.

It’s being dropped into a sea of faces, all of them floating, but none of them truly knowing how to swim.

The bell tolls and the children file in, as he adjusts his glasses and puts on a smile. Mask, he reminds himself, Don’t fuck this up for yourself.

It’s the tolling of a funeral you didn’t attend—your own, empty and desolate.

“Hello everyone,” He smiles, positioning himself in the center of the whiteboard, waiting until the disinterested high schoolers glance up in barely concealed annoyance.

It's walking into a room full of clocks, each one ticking louder than the last, reminding you of the time slipping away, never to return.

“You may call me Mr. Thomas.”

It’s like building a house from someone else’s blueprint- only to realize you’ve forgotten what your own foundation looks like. 

-

He scans the roster, eyes landing on one oddly familiar name. Ashlyn Banner, he sees. He doesn’t think anything of it. He watches her in class, eyes downcast and focused, unable to pinprick what about her is throwing him off. 

It comes to him when he teaches his lesson, swerving off the road and straight into his heart, that she looks like her.

Jesus Christ, he needed to get a grip on himself. 

It’d been years. It didn’t matter that he was still hung up on her, something as similar as a slight resemblance should not stab him so hard it feels like he’s bleeding. 

But it’s not just a slight resemblance, is it?

He forces himself to stop thinking.

-

He succumbs to his demons that evening, running through Ashlyn’s file until he finds what he’s looking for. 

Mother: Emma Banner

There’s no question in his mind that it’s the same Emma who left him all those years ago, destroyed him from the inside out and left him to rot. (And so what if he made a mistake? She shouldn’t have left. She shouldn’t have left him). 

He reads farther, eyes freezing on:

Father: Mike Banner

She took that bastard’s last name, He thinks bitterly. 

(Emma raises her eyebrows, chucking an unopened water bottle at him, “I wouldn’t change my name for anyone. I think it’s a load of crap, and I love my name.” “Yeah?” He smirks, unopening it and handing it back, “Marry me then, I’d never ask you to change it.” “Is that a proposal, Mave?” “It could be,” He grins, “Would you say yes?”)

Maverick groans, insecurity and hatred filtering their way into the tiny crevices of his mind. What did he do to deserve this sort of fate, forever longing for his first love? He was surely better than Mike, whoever he was. 

And… then there was the kid. Ashlyn.

Fuck, they had a kid together.

She’d really moved on, hadn’t she? It was just him, standing alone decades apart from those around him. 

-

He didn’t know how to act around Ashlyn. She was so similar to her mother in every way, from the way she braided her hair to the rhythm in which she tapped her feet. He could barely stand it.

But she was also his student, and being unnecessarily ignorant or rude to a student who had done nothing wrong would be a fault in his behavior. And he needed this job, needed to stay in this area to directly relay information to the other cranes. 

So he sucked it up.

That is, until he didn’t have too.

When he receives the message a few days later, he finds himself grinning, truly grinning, for the first time in months. Karma has a weird way of returning, waiting until the perfect moment to deliver its final blow.

Ashlyn had been taken into custody (a term he uses rather… vaguely) by his team, because it was Ashlyn who was linked with the phantoms. The same Ashlyn who was Emma’s daughter. 

Holy shit.

Oh, it was going to be hysterical, this ordeal.

Maybe he and Emma would cross paths again. 

She’d probably punch him, and he finds himself smiling at the thought- of the girl that had once loved him in rage over losing her daughter. Maybe he’d play around with her too, see if he could remove “Mike Banner” out of the picture. A far-fetched dream, but a dream nonetheless. He’d rarely seen her lose her temper, no, Emma was more cunning then that. She was analytical, watchful, deceptive when she needed to be- god, did he love that side of her.

They brought out the worst in each other. She made him feel alive.

He hands his resignation later in the next day, throws the hideous blonde wig away and disappears off the face of the earth.

He doesn’t need Mr. Thomas anymore, not for a while. He has what Emma once loved, Maverick, and that’s all he needs to fix this. To regain control of his life and fix everything. 

Love is like a cage with gilded bars, trapping you in a beautiful prison. But revenge is the key you didn’t know you had, the key that when finally used, the weight lifts, leaving you free- with nothing but agony to hold on to.

this is caused by pure adrenaline and absolute boredom. i took too many creative liberties with this prompt. i feel like this is cursed? also i probably made a few mistakes regarding the setting or characters or something but IGNORE THEM please im too tired to edit this. (this entire thing was inspired by this post) should i put this on ao3...? yeah i am why not. here!!

[kero17]

«You came back» «Never left»

OFMD x helluva boss 🏴‍☠️❤️

Listen, I know this crossover is very niche but I love these pathetic men SO much. if nobody got me i know tumblr got me, am i right or am i right?

🌻 post on ig: kero17.exe