#GOD i know this is what fanfiction is for

[thepatronsaintoffilth]

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... MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS, I GUESS 😅😂

when it occurs to you like a day later that you actually posted a violent dubcon fic on international women’s day:

[deliajackson]

PJO ≠ Greek Mythology

I can't believe I have to say this but I swear by the gods, the next time I see a pjo fan saying "the gods can be easily overthrow. This is canon on riondanverse and in greek mythology" or "yes. Mortals, specially demigods can win a fight against the olympians and easily defeat them. It happend on greek mythology. So it is plausible for Percy overthrow Zeus." I'm gonna riot.

You want a story where Percy takes down Olympus? Ok! There may be fics on ao3. You want a fic where Zeus is taken out of his crown and someone else takes his place? Fine. There may be fics on ao3 with this premise. I may hate this take, and I won't read it. But if you like, go ahead.

The riondanverse barely scratches the greek mythology correctly. The Gods are marely réplicas of the tales of Old. They dont match with their myths - since Riordan basically blanded one myth on the other, or created a few himself. - The PJO Gods are not a source for greek mythology, they dont properly represent their importance, much less their complexity, nuance and power.

So stop. Just stop spreading misinformation about Mythology - which u know nothing about if you are saying those things - or using it as a basis to your takes.

The Gods, the Olympian Counsil cannot be "easily" overthrow in any possible way. Using the idea "Zeus did that with Khronos so it is easy" is literally absurd. Zeus is a God. He has always been a God. He was born a God.

Only a God can fight another one and win. And a mortal - including demigods - can only harm a God with divine help - which usually is Athena's helping them. - No God can overthrow Zeus powerwise, let alone a mere mortal (Im looking at you, Epic fans). He is the King of Gods for a reason. That is a fact in greek mythology.

But if you want a good idea of "dethrone Zeus" trope acordding to Hesiod, there was a prophecy one of Zeus children would be the one to do it. When Zeus learned about it, he pushed a Khronos and devoured one his pregnant wives, Métis. Athena was still born from his head though.

Do you know what he did to Athena? Nothing. She is his favorite kid. He kept doing it? Also no. He never did that again. And all his god children were welcome in Olympus. Even Dionysus - who was born a mortal and ascended. Even Heracles, who became a minor god.

+ the "overthrown" of Zeus wouldnt happen. Zeus is - according to greek mythology - the fairest of the kings. I dont care if you don't like Zeus because for your modernized view on ancient tales "he is evil". He is a good king and that is a fact in Greek Mythology. You like it or not. He is not a tyrant. And he is not considered a Tyrant in mythology either. Another reason for one of his wives be Themis - Justice.

By the end of the day, getting out of Myth and going into their philosophy and theology.

The Gods are literally a representantion of the Cosmos and natural law. They are not "beings with too much power". Hades is the underworld. Poseidon is the nature. Zeus is the heavens. More than that, Zeus is the one who brought harmony to the universe - the oikos. Without him, everything we know about crumbles.

And Zeus children are the parts of human society. The pillars of "civilization". Apollo is art and healing. Hermes is communications and commerce. Athena is strategy and warfare. Hephaestus is technology. Ares is conflict/war and bloodthirsty. And there you go.

All the Gods represent the "good" and "bad" aspects of their domains. + They also reflect the human nature. That is why they are "flawed". That is why they are way more complex in the myths. Why they make good and bad decisions. Why they sometimes are kinder, why sometimes they are crueler.

Overthrow the Olympians mythwise? Would be the end of the life as we know of. The end of civilization. If there would be human life by the end of it.

Stop saying shit u don't know about only to support your takes on a greek-american fanfiction written by an American man.

[euthymiya]

acting like you’re some woke person just because you advocate for middle aged women to be lifeless on the internet is not the flex you think it is 💀

You seem rather passionate about this so I’m going to indulge your ask to let you know three things:

Writing is a hobby that gets better with age, life experience, and practice. The best pieces of writing objectively come from older people and I’m not talking about fanfiction. I mean books and literature. I’m serious—go look at some of the most well known pieces of literature and then search up the ages of their authors during the years they were published. You’ll find the older writers tend to bust out bangers and this principle is very much applicable to fics too by default. Also writing fanfic is not “lifeless” lol. Some of you act like writing fanfic is juvenile compared to a novel and it’s rly not that different from writing an original piece of fiction. Sure, sometimes fanfic can be a little less on the conventional side in terms of technique. But genuinely the concept of putting characters into situations to create a plot is literally the main thing on both sides here and if you think writing fanfic is silly, it makes 0 sense to hold creative writing to some pedestal. Some fanfic writers demonstrate AMAZING original world building skills especially if they write au’s that diverge from canon and I think you are out of your mind if you think this hobby is not oftentimes an impressive one rather than “lifeless”

Being 30+ doesn’t automatically mean you must/do have a family and kids but I’ll still indulge that point and say you can easily balance a work and personal life while also having a hobby. I know middle aged men who dedicate more time to hobbies like hunting and fishing than middle aged women do with writing. One actually requires you to leave your house and family behind and the other you can do from the comfort of your home and tend to your family should you need to. I think the nature of your opinion only stems from a misogynistic view on aging women but that’s another can of worms

People don’t stop consuming and enjoying things as soon as they hit their third decade of living. If that’s your viewpoint on life, you’re going to set yourself up for a very miserable time once you hit 30. If you’re already 30+ then you’re a hypocrite by default by even being here in the first place lol. Also, life is literally so fucking silly okay? You wake up, work, pay taxes, and try to get by with what is usually an underpaid paycheck. Just fucking enjoy your life and let others enjoy theirs okay? If a 30 year old likes anime, then that is literally so god damn harmless I cannot stress enough how unimportant that is. There are 30 year olds out there doing heinous things in their free time and you choose to be bothered by someone who happens to produce an assortment of words from time to time. Please reevaluate your priorities

All things aside I cannot convince you that being 30+ and enjoying fandom and fanfic is not weird unless you really just realize that it’s not weird. Idk how old you are but I assume you’re younger than 30 because no 30 year old would be on fandom tumblr and then bash others for it. But regardless, just because you think something is weird doesn’t mean it’s bad. It is literally the most harmless thing I do not understand why you would care so much, just move on???? When you think someone dresses weird in real life do you go point it out to them??? No you think it to yourself and move tf on—and if you would voice it to them then you are literally a rude individual. Plain and simple. Rude and disrespectful and I would suggest you again, reevaluate. And it’s the same principle here. You just move on. If you seriously cannot be convinced that this is normal and just absolutely are dead set on believing that 30+ year olds who enjoy fandom are weird, fine. But just keep it to yourself it is the bare minimum you can do to be a decent person I cannot stress this enough to you

And one more thing. The people who are writing the mangas and animes you enjoy so much are middle aged. Older than 30/40. Grown people who might even have families and kids. Creativity has no age limit it is just a small joy that people indulge in at any age and it’s a very nice thing when they share it for others to enjoy, as well. Please just enjoy someone’s art and live a little. I promise you will be much happier and peaceful if you just read a good fic without worrying about the age of whoever produced it. I guarantee you a lot of the BEST fics you’ll read will come from the older writers they are literally doing you a favor if you happen to enjoy reading fanfic. Why bite the hand that feeds you?

[nekropsii]

what internet space do you think has the worst characterization of mituna? like 4chan, tumblr, wattpad .. i was reading the most painful mituna fic ive ever seen on quotev earlier, so im curious about your experiences as The mituna guy

I don't actively seek out Homestuck fan content these days, and I wholly do not read fanfiction (anymore), so it's hard to speak on this. I know for a fact that 4Chan doesn't really have a whole lot of Homestuck posting these days, but... Back in the day, at least, some of the most Normal About Mituna people were also 4Channers - which is kind of a shock. So that's definitely off the list for me.

I've read some absolutely fucked takes on here, especially from the types that swear up and down to be good little leftists who hate ableism, and some god awful posts on Amino... If you pointed a gun at my head and made me choose, I'd say probably those. Maybe. I don't doubt that Twitter's pretty bad, though. Twitter's always a cesspit. And fanfiction authors in general... There's good ones and exceptions to this, certainly, but the main reason I do not read fanfiction is that it tends to be wildly out of character popcorn media that doesn't have anything new or interesting to say. Whole lot of agonizingly vapid yaoi, bad characterizations, and equally agonizingly vapid abuse porn. So, I guess put AO3 on that block, too.

I don't know. Again, not only is this hard to quantify because I do not seek out Homestuck content... But also because... Nowhere really has good takes, you know? There is not a single website on this Earth that has consistently good takes on Mituna. Or Homestuck in general, for that matter.

[maxpilote]

In the wake of finishing Dragon Age Veilguard, I've been thinking about what adventurers do when the world is saved. What does life look like when you return home carrying all the baggage you collected on your journey? How do you just live a life after that?

I think about this a lot in the context of one of my tabletop characters, specifically my Pathfinder 1e paladin. Callais spent a wild six months chasing a death cult intent on resurrecting Tar Baphon (think PF1e's version of Vecna, to be overly simple with it). Over the course of this adventure, she made a personal enemy out of a demon lord, was anointed the mortal avatar of her deity, purged an entire village of old god worshipping murderers, and learned her father was the vampire king of the country's capital -- which is a bit awkward when your goddess is staunchly opposed to undead. Those are just the high points and all before the party even faced off against the death cult's leader.

After all of that -- and then some -- she's just supposed to go home and be a wife and mother? Does she just lead sermons in the church or play the dutiful housewife? Where does her armor go? Where does her sword rest?

Basically, how does one retire after you save the world?

And I've been kicking around these thoughts quite often in the last few days when it comes to my Rook -- and not just because of the startling parallels between her and my Pathfinder character. My friend knows exactly what I'm talking about.

Some games give extensive enough epilogues that you don't really need to have these questions. Veilguard is not one of those games. (For the record, I love Veilguard despite and sometimes because of its flaws. And I will not be engaging in a debate otherwise.) And I love that I lived to a time when fanfiction is more common and acceptable. So, I can fill in these blanks. We are all filling in these blanks. I might some day when the horrors of holiday retail aren't doing their best to break me.

But you know, I just wanted to ask the question. What do you do when you wake up the next morning and you don't have to kill a god? When you don't have to fight an archdemon or prevent some world ending catastrophe? What do you do the day after that?

How do you find purpose in the wake of victory?

[kingofbodyrolls]

THIS!!! THIS RIGHT HERE!!! Dia, you absolute genius—👏👏👏—you nailed it!

We just want to be seen, you know? That feeling of someone out there catching the light in your words… it fuels us.

And oh, how true this hits. Writing my original story has made me realize just how much I crave that connection. Fanfiction is like a message in a bottle—I write it for myself, yes, but the intention is always to cast it out into the sea and hope someone picks it up. But my original story? That’s a secret garden, locked away, and I don’t even know if I’ll ever let anyone in. Maybe one day. If I finish it. If. But therein lies the cruel twist—it’s hard to feel motivated when there’s no feedback, no readers to react, no sparks to bounce off. So, yeah… it’s going reeeeeeal slow (thank god for my husband, who’s volunteered as tribute to read it—bless his patient soul).

And those people demanding updates? I honestly don’t know how writers survive that! The stress alone would bury me alive. This is supposed to be our escape, our joy, not another 9-to-5 hustle. I’ve only written so much because I was on sick leave, and honestly? It was therapy. Writing saved me when I felt like I was falling apart.

Dia, let me just say it: I FUCKING LOVE YOUR STORIES. Like, seriously, every single word is a masterpiece. You are stupidly talented—it’s unreal—and that brilliant brain of yours? Sexy as hell 💕

These last few weeks, though… Ugh, I feel this. Even comments don’t hit the same anymore. Don’t get me wrong—I’m still grateful, always. But it’s not about the praise anymore. (Okay, maybe early on I did have a little praise kink 😂) Now, I just want to know that people felt something. Tell me what resonated. What weirded you out. What made you laugh or cry or scream into your pillow. What detail of worldbuilding caught your eye. Tell me anything, as long as it’s real 🫶

But honestly, Dia… I feel like I’m standing at the edge of something. It feels too late for me. The comments are lovely, but they’re not enough to pull me back from this weird, liminal space I’m in. I don’t know if I’ll ever finish the rest of my WIP list. Maybe I’ve crossed that point of no return line, the one where you can’t go back. And that thought makes me ache in ways I can’t quite put into words 😢Still, thank you for being here—for reading (just adding stuff to your tbr counts too!), for listening, for existing. You’re a star, Dia. And stars don’t go unnoticed, even if the sky feels lonely sometimes 🫂✨

So… yesterday, I received an email from AO3, and I’ve been crying ever since. Perhaps it’s silly—this flood of emotion over a comment, a review—but it felt like a light cutting through the fog. You see, I’ve been slowly coming to terms with the idea that maybe I shouldn’t write fanfiction anymore, and yet… this single moment of kindness warmed my heart in ways I can’t quite describe 🥹🫂

It doesn’t take much to move me; just a few words can brighten my day, lift me up from the quiet doubts that linger. That’s why I, as a writer, keep yearning for comments and reviews—not out of vanity, but out of a simple question: Do you even like my stories? Should I keep going? Without an echo to my words, with only silence or the faintest of replies, the answer feels like a quiet, heavy no.

And it stings. It really does. That’s why I haven’t been here much. Because if I’m being honest? It hurts. But still, it’s okay. I look back at everything I’ve written, and my heart swells with pride. These stories have been my solace, my healing, my way of pouring out hurt, sadness, pain, and trauma—and transforming them into characters who struggle, grow, and, in the end, find comfort. Writing has always been my way of giving myself a hug—a quiet reminder that everything will be okay. And it will. I know that.

Maybe I’ll keep writing, not fanfiction, but something just for me. Something I’ll tuck away, like a secret world where my heart can wander freely.

I know this all sounds a bit dramatic, and maybe it is—after all, it’s Christmas Day here, and nothing has gone quite the way I hoped. And so, here I am, sitting on Tumblr with tears in my eyes. But I needed to say this:

Thank you.

Thank you for being here. Thank you for reading my stories. Thank you for existing. Each and every one of you means more to me than you’ll ever know.

I wish you the warmest, most peaceful Holiday season, and may it be filled with love, light, and little moments that heal🎄💜

[greencatalystcomet]

there is something in my stupid primal nostalgia brain that so desperately wants doctor who characters from different eras to meet eachother. i want amy to meet the third doctor. i want bill to meet susan. i want captain jack to meet adric or the second doctor. i want martha to meet the fifteenth doctor. and GOD the way i would go feral if ruby met rose. i may simply combust

[charbroiledchicken]

"you're the writer, you control how the story goes" no not really. i wrote the first sentence and then my characters said "WE WILL TAKE IT FROM HERE" and promptly swerved into an electrical fence.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos

(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)

People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.

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+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.

The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ

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Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-

The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.

The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.

He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.

Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.

Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.

The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.

Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.

It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.

He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.

Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.

His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.

She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.

A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.

Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.

He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.

A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.

However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.

With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.

“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.

He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.

Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.

So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.

“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.

The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.

The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.

When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.

Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.

[puckinghischier]

quinn eating you out after you come home from a long day, letting you use him as stress relief

you had been tense from the stress of your workplace all day, your muscles aching all over your body. you were tired, overworked, and ready for a glass of wine and trashy tv.

when quinn saw your state, though? he knew exactly what you needed. he ran you a hot bath—which he joined, of course—rubbing soothing circles into your tight muscles in the warm water. the bath quickly turns into a shower so you can actually feel clean, but quinn won’t allow you to lift a finger. he lathers soap onto your body and massages the products into your hair, nearly lulling you to sleep standing up.

he wraps your body in a fluffy towel as you step out of the warm stream of water, drying your body gently before working on his own. walking into the bedroom to get a fresh set of pajamas, quinn comes up behind you and stops you before you can get the drawer open.

“uh-uh. no clothes yet,” he tsks, pushing your hand away. you look up at him confused.

“quinn, i’m wet and cold, why can’t i get dressed yet? you’re dressed,” you point out his plaid pajama pants, appreciating the lack of a shirt, though.

he smirks at you, grabbing your hands, walking backwards while leading you towards the bed.

“because, your stress free evening isn’t over,” he lets himself fall onto the end of the bed in a sitting position, looking up at you while wiggling the towel off of your body.

once the fabric is on the floor, quinn admires your body standing bare in front of him. he sees the layer of goose-bumps on your skin from the chilly air of the apartment, your taut nipples staring right at him. he reaches around you to take a handfuls of your ass, pushing you towards him.

you instinctively separate your legs to stand on either side of his thighs, feeling his chin graze the skin right above your belly-button. soft, warm puffs of air from his nose hit your cold skin, causing the muscles there to twitch. you look down at him, seeing his soft, grey eyes looking back up at you. a small smile breaks out on his face, the weight of his chin no longer felt on your body as he pulls back barely an inch.

before you can miss the contact, you watch as he touches his lips to the skin, eyes still looking brightly up at you. you toss your head back as you sigh, the feeling of his warm tongue coming out to tease along with the movement of his lips sending shivers through your spine.

you bring your hands up to rest in his unruly curls, their damp softness providing just enough to ground you, worried you’ll float away as he goes from open-mouth kisses to fully just licking your skin.

still looking up at you, even though he can’t see your face, he licks a stripe up and down, from above your navel to dangerously low territory. when you feel his tongue dip to the very bottom of your stomach, your head flies up with a gasp.

you’re met with the sight of quinn smirking up at you, clearly pleased with the reaction. “s’it working?” he asks you, still kneading the flesh of your ass.

“mmmm don’t know, still feel a little stressed,” you respond with a teasing smile, taking your hand and pushing the hair off of his forehead, bringing your hand to rest on the back of his head.

quinn’s shoulders shake lightly, his forehead leaning forward to rest against your stomach now, his hair tickling the sensitive area as he shakes his head back and forth. he pulls back to look up at you once again, eyes bright with amusement.

“well, guess we’ll have to get straight to it then,” he lightly taps your ass, removing his hands as he lays back, now flat on the bed in front of you.

you stand there and stare at him, not sure what he’s doing. his feet are still planted to the floor, his arms now extended at the elbow, hands clasped together to cradle his head as it lays on them. it’s your turn to admire his body. you’ve always loved the toned nature of his abdomen, but loved the fact there’s still somehow a softness to it at the same time even more. you watch the rise and fall of his even, steady breaths, lost in a near trance-like state.

he lifts his head up only enough to look at you, the rest of his body planted firmly against the mattress.

“well…are you gonna come get your stress relief or not?” he asks you, gesturing to his face, then letting his arms drop by his sides.

your stomach jumps at the realization of what he’s insinuating. he watches the fire in your eyes ignite, his lips once again curling into a smirk.

you waste no time crawling onto the bed, resting your knees on either side of his head, lining yourself up to his mouth perfectly.

you hear him take a deep inhale, your scent always driving him crazy.

looking down at him for permission to alleviate the small burn starting in your thighs, you find he’s not even look at your face. his stare is held on your slick core, licking his lips like he’s at an all you can eat. which, in his eyes, he is.

“ready?” you ask him, missing his warm mouth already.

his eyes snap to your face. “stress reliever, at your service,” he responds, not waiting for you to lower yourself to him. with his hands on your ass again, he pushes you down as he raises his head up, wasting no time in burying himself in your folds.

you cry out, his tongue ferociously lapping and sucking at your clit, his large hands massaging your ass once again.

the quick pace of his tongue stuns you to stillness, not realizing you hadn’t moved until quinn starts rocking your body back and forth for you. he slides his tongue up and down your cunt as he did your stomach earlier, his nose bumping and rubbing against your clit deliciously.

your soft pants and his slurping are the only two sounds to be heard in the room, until quinn lets out a low growl as you start grinding down on his face harder.

the vibrations cause a jolt to run through your core, your body leaning forward just enough for his tongue to tease your entrance.

“scoot. up more,” he mumbles against you, guiding you by your ass right where he wanted you.

the feeling of his tongue sliding inside of you draws out a high pitched yelp. he stabs the muscle in and out harshly, loving the feeling of your walls sucking him in as he laps up every drop of your sweetness.

you bring your hands up to toy with your hard nipples, needing to occupy yourself with something before you lose your mind.

you ride his tongue as he continues to grunt and growl into you, feeling every twitch and flick of the thick muscle.

the added stimulation to the sensitive buds on your chest has your release growing faster than you can keep up with. it’s like someone’s blowing up a balloon inside of you, the pressure building and building until it finally-

“quinn!” you cry out, the graze of his teeth against your sensitive flesh being the needle that popped the balloon.

your whole body is bathed in warmth, limbs shaking as he doesn’t let his pace falter, still bringing your body down farther onto his now slick face, making sure not a drop of your honey goes anywhere except his awaiting tongue.

you start to come down from your high, attempting to slow the steady rock of your body, but quinn pushes against your efforts. he keeps your momentum going, tongue still exploring every inch of your now swollen pussy.

“q, i-“ you hiss at the sensitivity, not being able to finish your sentence because of the quick work his tongue is swirling onto your clit.

“one more…you’ve got one more in you, i can feel it,” he commands up into you, going back to work the second the words are out of his mouth.

your whine, already feeling the swirl of another orgasm approaching.

quinn’s assault is only getting more aggressive, now fully nipping at your folds, each little pinch another tick closer to your release.

“close, quinny, so close,” you tell him, breathlessly.

his tongue enters you once again, this time staying buried there, grazing every surface it can find. he brings a hand around to toy with your clit while his tongue is otherwise occupied, opting for small pats instead of fast circles.

the dull, repetitive nature of the pats is what has your second orgasm of the night bursting out of you. you scream quinn’s name like a mantra, nothing else on your mind other than him.

he smirks through your orgasm this round, feeling your walls flutter around him, milking your sticky sweetness from your body like he’s the thirstiest man alive and you were a fresh spring.

after you recover from your second high, you take a few deep breaths, trying to remember how to control your limbs. when you manage to lift a knee off of the bed, quinn’s hand is flying up to force it back down, his tongue still swirling and flicking inside of you.

“quinn, i-i can’t. not-“ you whimper as he presses a finger against your clit and holds it there, applying a constant pressure. “not another one. can’t do it.”

quinn doesn’t let you surrender, however, the one hand still on your ass lifting and coming down in a harsh smack, the sound nearly lost in the symphony of squelches and moans.

he removes his tongue, and mouth, from you long enough to bark out a gruff “three’s the magic number. you’re not done until i say so,” before his tongue is buried in you for a third time tonight.

you almost fall forward, the sensitivity nearly crippling. your body surprises you, though. somehow, without your knowledge, your nerves are already winding up again, ready to explode any second.

between the now smacks on your clit—his soft pats long gone—and his tongue reaching as far into your entrance as possible, you don’t even know how or when, but suddenly your vision goes white and you feel nothing but what can be described as total and complete pleasure coursing through your veins.

quinn is shocked at how easy it was to pull your third release from you, feeling spurts of your sweet juices expel his tongue from your clenching core. he lets the drops glide down his throat, groaning at how amazing you always taste, but especially tonight.

you didn’t even know you screamed until you felt the scratch of your throat, the stars subsiding from your vision as you feel quinn’s tongue gently licking around you, cleaning up every last ounce of liquid from your spent cunt.

he decides you’ve had enough, finally releasing your shaking thighs, letting you lift one over his head and fall back onto the bed to lay beside of him. he turns over onto his side to look at you, always enjoying how pretty you look after an orgasm, much less three.

the rapid rise and fall of your chest starts to slow as you fully come down from the whole experience, turning your head to look at him.

your eyes widen at the sight in front of you.

his face is quite literally dripping with your release. his nose, his mouth, his chin are all covered with your slick juices. he’s leaning on one arm, while the other is being used to ‘clean’ his face.

and by ‘cleaning’ you mean he’s taking a finger across the wet areas, collecting the moisture on his finger before licking it clean and repeating the process.

when he notices you looking over at him, his actions cease and he smiles down at your fucked out state.

“so….you still stressed?”

[katscythe]

[fluideli123]

Sonadow Fic Rec

Okay, before you jump down to the masterpieces listed below, I just wanted to state this:

These authors have given this phenomenal content for free, baked with time and effort. I have never once ignored this, hence why I try and comment on each and every one of these fics. However, my energy and ability to be verbose differs day to day. Some of these fics I have not given proper comments for, despite this, I will be on it the moment I can be. In the time being, (once I am able to find my comments on each of these fics) I will be sharing my adoration for them further in other posts (and most likely link back to this one).

With that being said, please, PLEASE take your time to check each of these fics out. If they're not your cup of tea? Valid! But hands down I have never dedicated myself to making a fic rec like this until now. But I MUST share and spread these works, they are much too dear to me not to, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart.

(All fics are listed by order saved in my bookmarks, not in the order read)

tangled threads and bite-marked shoulders by @rubyiiiusions

Words: 32,287 | Series | Complete

Shadow hissed in pain. The laser had just grazed him, but it still stung, and he instinctively gripped the wound it left on his arm. “You dare-” He stopped. The laser hadn’t hit him. In fact, it had struck Sonic, right on his lower left arm. So why did his forearm feel like it just got shot? He whipped around, fear climbing up his throat, and he suddenly became hyper-aware of something new. It was like a sixth sense, feeling the confusion that emitted from Sonic’s fur in waves as if it was his own. “What did you do?!” Shadow snarled. or, eggman accidentally soulbinds shadow and sonic, and no one has any idea how to undo it.

Sleepwalking by Tirainy

Words: 22,117 | Complete

'There is a strong arm curled around his torso, the appendage keeping him close to its owner, whose warm breath is ghosting over the back of his neck. Sonic is sure he went to bed alone the previous night, but he isn't worried about the intruder. After all, this isn't the first time this has happened��'

Secret Admirer by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 24,313 | Complete

Sonic understood well what it meant to be loved. He was a world-famous hero, after all; his presence never went unnoticed. For the most part, he lavished in that attention, he soaked it in and encouraged it. But not romantic attention. So, when the blue blur found himself falling in love? Well, the prospect was rather daunting, no matter how easy Amy had made it out to be. So maybe, just maybe, he should just take the easy way out...

Rose Drops Series by @magicstormfrostfire

Words: 122,489 | Series | Complete

Love, Intuition, and a little bit of magic ensues as Amy sends Sonic and Shadow on an unforgettable adventure.

Wolfboy by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 73,856 | Complete

World-famous monster hunter Shadow the Hedgehog has a job to do. It doesn't take long for the one-shot wonder to realize that this job won't be as simple as he'd expected: a small town, rumors of a lone werewolf, and a handsome, green-eyed, chronically-injured casanova who manages to worm his way into Shadow's heart... What starts off as a simple job turns out to be something much more life-changing.

Blizzard Bedfellows by @magicstormfrostfire

Words: 21,294 | Complete

When a rare blizzard takes over the island, Sonic is on the run to make sure a certain angry loner is safe and sound. Y-you know, because...uh that's what heroes do.

We never met but can we have a cup of coffee or something? by @whitejungle

Words: 3,630 | Complete

It's been almost two months since Sonic lost someone he didn't even know, but he can't stop thinking about it.

Clean Slate by nottheweirdest

Words: 155,880 | Complete | Note: Squeal pending and I am cheering you on author!! Whatever you decide I am excited to support you!!

Shadow has lost himself before. He knows what it's like to straddle the line between reality and false memories, but this time, it’s Sonic whose memory has vanished. A premeditated set of circumstances and an accidental injury leave Sonic with no memory of who he is, his life, or more importantly, his painful history with Shadow. It’s up to Shadow to remind the hero who he is in the midst of a global outbreak. It’s a chance for redemption. It’s a chance to right the wrongs of the past. It’s a clean slate.

say i reckon (i love you, for a millisecond) by @redamancering

Words: 30,205 | Complete

There’s a hand on his shoulder, barely making contact. A red gauntlet glows around the wrist. Sonic blinks, the pain having evaporated so fast he feels almost weightless. “Shadow?” Shadow’s breathing heavily. “Problem.” The retrieval of the ancient tech Shadow (and Sonic, in tow) has been sent to uncover takes a turn for the worst. In this case, the “worst” means… becoming physically and inextricably linked to each other. For the foreseeable future. OR: Metaphysical handcuffs, and general gay buffoonery.

Judge my sins, not my feelings by yellothebeeloved

Words: 228,479 | Complete | Note: Possible one-shots pending from the author for the series, I am here to support you author!! What ever you decide I'm here for it!

Maybe he's not meant to touch. It's the newest excuse he thought of in hopes that he could prolong the game a little more; a careful ruse to enjoy the bittersweet torture of seeing the days pass them by, while he pretends he doesn't seek azure blue whenever he's restless. At first, all he wanted to do was watch: but now the desire to touch, to have, to affect is at a point where he's not sure whether reaching for Sonic would truly be fruitless. He wonders that especially when Sonic's eyes light up upon seeing him. When he corners Shadow, when he invades his space and he touches and takes and then excuses it by calling it a fight. Shadow truly wonders then: if only he was brave enough to reach out, what would his grip find? Loose stars or a battle-worn body? Standing up, he glances at Sonic again, whose eyes have now met his own. There's something heavy in the eye contact, something Shadow doesn't dare name. Neither of them say anything, and yet Sonic's eyes move away from him again, like they did. Shadow warps away, hiding from the stars once more.

Child of Prophecy by @trenchcoat-gecko

Words: 139,321 | Completed

On the night the Mobius Castle was ransacked, the Queen received a prophecy. “One of three will not cry; send him down the river, for you can only save your kingdom if he does not grow up royal.”

Coming Home by nottheweirdest

Words: 55,740 | Completed

Shadow's life has been full of mistakes, some worse than others, but admitting his unrequited feelings to Sonic tops the list. He's spent the better part of a decade ruminating on his regret and hiding from feelings he couldn't bear to face. He never thought he'd see Sonic again, and he told himself that was for the best. Until now. At the bequest of his former rival, and in an attempt to finally get closure, Shadow has returned to Central City. The reason? Sonic the Hedgehog is marrying Amy Rose. And Shadow is invited.

[lorax-devito]

Okay but imagine Mike trying to flirt with Will but he has no idea how to bc he basically just kissed El and then she liked him

I mean the girl was okay with them having a sibling relationship ffs

anyway Mike knows he can’t just kiss Will and it’s all said and done so he try’s to flirt with him,it’s horrifying

Will is so confused bc why is his best friend suddenly so interested in going everywhere with him and not El,who keeps pulling him aside with a few of the others as they giggle and Mike goes bright red,it’s weird to him that they aren’t making out constantly like the last time he saw them as a couple especially since they said I love you to each other,I mean that one of the most romantic things to happen to a couple right,they should be all over each other

(I like to head canon that El would force Mike to flirt with Will along with several of the others,Dustin Lucas,Steve and Robin possibly and Nancy and Mike hates it bc it’s so embarrassing but I also like the idea that Mike has this internal conflict and is suffering trying to figure out how the actual fuck he is supposed to seduce William Bylers,his best friend and the most amazing person he has ever known)

basically Mike try’s to flirt with Will using really embarrassing tactics and Wills just like ‘ummm ok you do you ig but the worlds ending and your acting super weird so do you wanna talk about it or….’ and Mike just realised that Will loves him

him

He fell in love with him,the nerdy dnd obsessed geek bc Will is also a dnd obsessed geek and he is just himself just without the internalised homophobia (so s1 and 2 Mike) and then fast forward to love confession and Byler kiss

I can’t physically wait for s5 bc how the flying fuck are the duffers going to make Byler canon bc there are so many ways I can’t decide😭😭😭

[scruncheduppaper]

can’t remember if i saved it or not but that one mouthwashing post i saw that said that “curly rehab aus are ableist” is insane and you guys should really think before you post

[tardiskater]

I have never watched a single game of ice hockey in my life, but I will read and reread sweater weather like I'm the biggest fan in the world, I'm so invested in these stupid little imaginary games of ice hockey

[tigirl-and-co]

How Finite is Love?

This is a short little piece set in @shirecorn‘s super cool mlp AU! This is just a first pass at it, I’ll definitely refine it if I post it to a fic site. I just HAD to get this out though, the au hits all my sweet spots!

Shining Armor considers the ponies he loves, and how a mortal pony can love goddesses.

Shining Armor held no resentment towards his two favourite mares. It wasn't their fault. They had no choice. Shining wasn't certain he believed in destiny, but whatever happened to his wife and baby sister sure was close.

First it was his wife, and that he could handle. She was an adult. They had fallen in love in highschool, they had grown together, Shining knew how strong Cadance was. If anypony deserved ascension, it was her.

If anypony could weather this, it was them.

He loved his wife with every bone in his body, every fiber of his being, every ounce of magic he could channel. And he knew she felt the same. If she didn't... this never would have happened.

Can love be a curse? Can loving somepony too much damn your soul? Can it save it?

About a month after Cadance gained her horn, Shining Armor decided dwelling on these questions wasn't helpful, and the answers didn't matter. He loved Cadance, and Cadance loved him. He couldn't change the past, wasn't sure if he even would -- but he was dead set on building a happy future.

At least as happy as he could give her. He couldn't guarantee that the love his mortal body held would last into her infinity, but he was determined to try.

He hoped it wouldn't destroy her to leave him behind, when the time came.

He loved her too much for that.

===

He had celebrated when The Sun took notice of Twilight.

The young stallion was oblivious to the looks of quiet worry on his parents' faces, the body language that said they were resigned to a cautious optimism. How could the attention of the source of Equestrian life bring anything but fortune?

He wasn't yet old enough to have heard the whispers. The old fables weren't circulated in school for fear of divine retribution, and Shining Armor was not as studious as his sibling.

Now?

Had he the power, he would have torn The Sun from the sky.

His baby sister, the sweetest and most sensitive mare he had ever known, damned to an eternity of watching her friends die.

She was a child (she was older than Cadance had been) she needed protection (she had brought down false gods) she wasn't ready (The Sun had learned from its mistakes, this new goddess was more than prepared).

She needed him.

Didn't she?

(She did, once.)

He was proud of her, of course. And if he had been watching for the signs, he wouldn't have been surprised.

Twilight Sparkle had always had an innate love for those around her. Before she had locked herself away in that tower amongst the tomes, she had been a kind filly. And even then, she had never quite managed to harden her heart.

She was still openly affectionate with him, with Cadance, with Twilight Velvet and Night Light. She shared her knowledge with them because it was how she said 'I love you.'

Leave it to a goddess to exploit that trait.

When Shining managed to find time to talk with his Twily after she had earned her wings, she had said her job as goddess was 'to spread the knowledge of friendship' and to teach others what friendship truly meant. She sounded excited, happy. She had found a purpose for her research.

Shining Armor wasn't sure if his baby sister hadn't yet considered the consequences of eternal life, or if it simply didn't bother her. He didn't ask.

He realized that while she was still his Twily, and would be until the day he died, she was more. She was Ponyville's friend. She was Celestia's Twilight Sparkle.

She was Equestria's new goddess.

He renewed his vow to remain her BBBFF forever, to keep her safe from turmoil and danger.

He swallowed down his anger and despair that night, in favour of his inevitable role as protector. He had his cutie mark, and he knew what it meant.

===

Shining Armor loved the mares in his life, and he would go to the ends of Equestria to keep them safe and happy, whether they needed him or not.

He was glad, at least, that they would have each other.