devious scamp

I made a height chart because it’s one of my favourite pastimes. It was originally just the OG slashers and then it just extended to the DbD licensed killers… +Jason lol. Maybe if I draw him with the bunch, I’ll invoke him. The heights are a mix of canonical/personal takes. It’s funny to think that FNaF will be part of this lineup next year.

🗓️ Update: March 1, 2026 — ALL CROSSINGS CLOSED

As of this morning,Al Jazeera and Middle East Eye confirmed that all lifelines (Rafah & Kerem Shalom) are indefinitely shut down. Our world has just become smaller, and our survival more fragile. ⚠️🚫

Markets are emptying fast. Prices are rising by the hour. Panic has hit the streets, and I am in a race against time to protect those who depend on me.

🏠 The Weight of 7 Families (19 Souls): I am the sole provider, through your generosity, for 7 interconnected families who are now looking at me, asking:

'What comes next, Mohammed?' 💔

🧓 My elderly father and mother (In need of urgent care)

👦 My late brother’s orphaned children (Our sacred trust)

🎗️ My sister Shaimaa & her husband (He is bravely fighting cancer)

👩‍👧‍👦 My sisters Fatima and Asmaa & their young families

👦 My brother Omar & his family

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 Me, my wife, and our children

📊 CURRENT PROGRESS & TRANSPARENCY: As you can see in the screenshot below, we have reached $9,699 (49%) of our long-term goal. I am beyond grateful to every person who has supported us so far. 🙏❤️

🎯 THE IMMEDIATE GOAL: $2,100 (Emergency Food Mission)

While our long-term goal is for evacuation and total safety, today's mission is about survival. We need to hit $11,800 (Current $9,699 + $2,100) within the next 48 hours to secure flour, rice, and oil before the markets go empty.

7 Families × $300 each = $2,100

The Power of $5: If 420 people give just $5, we secure our food for the coming weeks.

⚠️ THE HARSH REALITY: We are facing a forced, systematic starvation. Your support is our only shield.

✅ Transparency: All donations will be documented and updated publicly once collected and transferred.

Please, don’t scroll away. We are running out of time. ⏳ 📢 REBLOG: Break the blockade with your voice. 💸 DONATE: Every dollar gives an orphan or a cancer patient a chance to eat.

✓ Vetted by @gazavetters (#533) · ✓ Verified by @bilal-sala7 (#36)

🔗 SUPPORT OUR SURVIVAL HERE: 

Deadline 11 March

Subject : Collecting money for my mother operation

Current process :

USD 0 / $800

Vatted by @sar-soor

Vatted by @opencommunion

Vatted by @el-shab-hussien

Please, I’m begging you to take a moment to read this. 💔

My mother was admitted to the hospital yesterday in very serious condition. She is suffering from extreme abdominal pain, and the doctors told us she needs an urgent emergency surgery to save her life.

The cost of the surgery is $800, and for many people this might not seem like a large amount, but for our family right now it is something we simply cannot afford.

I am asking for your compassion and humanity. I am begging anyone who sees this to please help my mother. Any donation, no matter how small, could help save her life.

We only have 6 days to collect the money for the surgery. Time is running out, and I am terrified of losing the most important person in my life.

If you can help, please donate.

If you cannot donate, please share this message so it might reach someone who can.

Your kindness, your compassion, and your generosity could give my mother another chance to live.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart to everyone who reads, shares, or helps. 🙏

Celebrating Užgavienės - lithuanian ritualistic holiday to scare winter away !

Fanfic below!

The chapel smelled of old wood, damp wool, and rosemary oil rubbed too many times into too few prayers. The pews were empty now. They always emptied quickly these days, like hope had learned how to walk away on its own.

Dean stayed behind.

The last hymn still rang in his ears, thin and trembling, sung by voices that did not quite believe the words anymore. He had watched them sing. Farmers with dirt under their nails. Mothers with hollow eyes. Men who smelled of whiskey and regret. All of them looking at him like he had answers tucked into his collar.

He did not.

The crucifix above the altar looked heavier lately. Christ’s ribs too sharp. His face too knowing.

Dean sank down, not gracefully, but hard, knees knocking against the old wood of the prayer rail. Pain flared bright and immediate, a mercy compared to the slow rot inside his chest. His fingers dug into the rosemary clutched in his fist, the beads biting into his palm. He bowed his head until his forehead touched the floorboards worn smooth by a hundred years of kneeling sinners.

“Please,” he whispered, voice breaking like bad glass. “I am not asking for much.”

The words came out wrong. They always did lately.

Sam’s face rose unbidden in his mind. Fever-flushed, eyes too bright, body wasting away despite every prayer, every vigil, every saint invoked until Dean’s tongue felt blasphemous just for moving. The sickness clung to his brother like a curse that had learned how to wait.

Dean pressed his fist to his mouth to keep from making a sound. Priests were not supposed to sob like this. Not on the floor. Not when the candles were still lit.

“I just need something,” he said into the wood. “Anything. A sign. A whisper. A trick of the light!”

Silence answered him, thick and pressing. The kind that crawled into your ears and made a home there.

Then the air changed.

It did not rush or thunder. It went still in a way that made Dean’s skin prickle. The candle flames bent inward as if listening. The scent of rosemary turned sharp, almost metallic.

Dean lifted his head. For a moment he could not breathe.

Boots stood before him, scuffed and out of place against the altar’s clean white cloth. A shadow stretched long and wrong across the floor, branching in shapes that did not match any human body.

Dean’s breath hitched.

He followed the shadow upward and found a man standing there who looked like he had been assembled incorrectly. Wild dark hair stuck out at odd angles, as if gravity had given up on it. A trench coat hung off his shoulders like it had never been meant to fit anyone properly. And behind him, folding and unfolding with a soft, wet sound like feathers brushing bone, were wings.

They were black.

Not the sleek black of ravens or crows, but uneven, molting, feathers missing in places. They looked used. Wounded. Real in a way that made Dean’s stomach twist.

Dean surged backward, scrambling to his feet, rosary raised like a weapon. 

This was not fear the way he understood it. His awe was so sharp it bordered on pain. His hands trembled violently, the beads clicking together in frantic prayer as he stared at the figure before him.

An angel.

The word landed in his mind with crushing weight.

Not the gentle figures from stained glass or the clean, golden messengers of scripture lessons. This being stood crookedly in the chapel, wings dragging shadows across the pews, feathers falling like black snow to the floor. The air around him felt wrong, too full, humming faintly as if the world itself were holding its breath.

Dean’s knees weakened. He swallowed hard and bowed his head without thinking, instinct older than doubt forcing him down.

“I am sorry!” he whispered. “I did not mean to call You improperly! I did not mean to test You!”

~ To Be Continued 🔥

meanwhile AO3: so everything is free in our house. read whatever you want offline. also no ads. no capitalism. no censorship. be as wild as you want with your fics. also we have tagging systems so you can search or avoid any specific tags, pairings, relationships or characters. whatever you want.