#at least for fan fiction

[friendly-neighborhood-kinnie]

This is an add on to my post about Sonic liking Tails' scent.

When Sonic mentions it to Vanilla she completely understands. She also tells him how, often, parents can identify their children by their scents.

He mentions this to his friends who don't believe that it'll work with Sonic. Not in a malicious way. They just don't think it'll work because they're not biological.

Cue Sonic's friends blind folding him, grabbing Charmy, Cream, and Tails. They then proceed to hold them up to Sonic (and the kids somehow don't giggle and laugh) and he guesses right.

Tails originally thought that it wouldn't work because he's not Sonic's kid. When it does he's incredibly confused but a little excited and incredibly happy.

Sonic's friends are all shocked and react in lowkey the most dramatic way possible.

Sonic just shrugs because Vanilla told him it, and it made sense. Tails has a distinct scent to him so he knew he'd be able to find or identify Tails from that alone.

[rumble-bee-art]

Kisses of fire (the carpet is burning, burning!)

[gothamite-rambler]

Jason Todd later finding out that not only did his brother beat Joker to a pulp he did kill him... until Bruce stepped in.

Dick: Jason… How are you feeling, bud? I know it's a lot to learn.

Jason took a deep breath as he kept his head down, pinching the bridge of his nose, before reacting explosively.

Jason: Are you kidding?! That's unfair! He wasn't even the-

Jason paused closing his eyes and pulling a dagger out of his pocket, gripping it tightly. Dick's eyes widened in shock, but Jason was able to relax as he took a deep breath.

Jason: I need to calm down. Everything's fine... I'm an adult.

Cass sat next to Jason and patted him on the shoulder while sipping her smoothie.

Dick (nervous): That's a big dagger in your hand right now.

Jason (calm as he gripped the hilt of the knife): This? It's my support dagger. I’m not going to stab anyone. I'm just furious at the jackass who thinks everyone in this family should follow that rule!

Dick: Come on… I felt guilty afterward.

Jason: Oh God, you and your big heart. Let me handle him next time.

Cass: Jason, no.

Jason: You won't have to be there when I do it. I'd kill him for you or Dick, even Bruce.

Cass: I doubt taking his life would be what you truly wanted.

Jason: Okay, but what if it's an accident? I could accidentally push him down a flight of stairs where he'll fall onto a knife.

Bruce: No! No you won't!

Jason: Why the hell did you revive him?!

Bruce: Murder is wrong!

Jason: For you! For you! And Cass, but she's my favorite. At least she killed someone and felt regret.

Bruce: I… Okay, sure. What do I know? My parents just died—

Jason: We’ve all lost our parents! You're not special!

Damian: Mine haven't… Wait.

Bruce: Don't worry about it Damian. I’m… kind of sorry. I can make it up to you.

Jason (crossing his arms): No, you can’t!

Bruce rolled his eyes, then pulled out his phone and sent Jason some money. Jason checked his phone and huffed in annoyance.

Jason: Well, this kind of fixes it.

[screwpinecaprice]

Just a silly guy, with silly silly thoughts.

@glowweek Day 2

Casual | Surprise

A casual surprise?😬😬😬

[casscainmainly]

If we're going to reduce Stephanie Brown to 'waffle girl' we should at least know the history. Everyone read up on the Waffles For Stephanie campaign:

From CBR, published June 26 2012.

Even funnier is that Dan DiDio claimed there were only 'ten waffles sent', but the Bleeding Cool interviewer (Rich Johnson) was not having it:

We may never know how many waffles were actually sent, or whether the campaign helped Steph come back or not, but we do know it ticked Dan DiDio off:

So for all intents and purposes it was a win!

[hunnyy-bunnyyy]

The dissonance between era inspiration in ACoTaR is one of the more brushed over flaws in the book series. Looking at the Inner Circle's fashion alone, we jump between "literal scraps of fabric" (Under the Mountain, Court of Nightmares) to "orientalist painter's imaginings of the Ottoman Harem" (clothing described during Feyre's first few visits to the Night Court) to "modern 'corset' dress" (Feyre's Starfall dress, majority of Mor's clothing, most of the clothes drawn in fan art) to "modern -- almost sci-fi style -- skin-tight leather armor" to "sweater and leggings combo".

Then, between courts, we have Helion wearing Spirit Halloween's take on the ancient Grecian tunic; Feyre's Spring Court wedding dress looking like an 1830s fashion plate; and Dawn heavily implied to have traditional East Asain clothing (e.g. kimono, hanfu, hanbok).

On top of all of that, some of the Dawn Court's small cities ". . . specialized in tinkering and clockwork and clever things. . ." which -- combined with Lucien's metal eye and Nuan's mechanical hand -- implies a sort of post-industrial revolution time period. However, a decent chunk of the fandom says that ACoTaR is medieval; which, yeah, it's medieval themed in the first book -- sans the "dress" Rhysand forces Feyre to wear UTM.

The wild inconsistencies in ACoTaR's inspiration leads, not to a rich and diverse world, but a world that seems ramshackle and haphazard -- like it's creator simply threw together a board on Pinterest and called it a day. This is a major part of why the world building is so abysmal, it relies on convenience to the plot and whatever pleases the aesthetic whims of the author. Cultures deemed "pretty" or "badass" are thrown together, irregardless of how far apart they actually are. This is not only disrespectful to the narrative, but to the readers and the cultures used as inspiration.

All of this to say: Sarah J Maas is a bad author, not just because of the way she handles serious topics like power dynamics and abuse, but also because she cannot put together a world that is even the slightest bit cohesive.

[miriadalia]

How it feels to ship an unpopular or non-canon couple in Tumblr vs other media:

Please, Tumblr users don't make me regret posting this :')

[k-lea7]

yall ever be writing your own fic and feel your stomach drop when you reread it. like i will be writing zoned out and i go back and i’m like 😃👍 oh okay cool wtf did i just write rn

[yakkety-yak-art]

for some reason I woke up a couple weeks ago and, after not really thinking much about the mcu at all for years, the flame of righteous indignation on behalf of civil war team cap and at the implications of the accords on all enhanced people in the mcu which I had starved as a fourteen year old in 2016 who was terrified of getting into arguments and of disagreeing with people to the point that I was a literal cacw centrist when asked about it suddenly rose up within me as an inferno, and I suddenly remembered how much I do Not Like tony stark.

[brain-froggs]

i shall be posting a list of fic recs soon but in the meantime if ur looking for any (mostly percabeth) , I reccomend any on ao3 by timelesslords and captainjackson - they've both written fics together and separately and they are some of, if not the best, fics I have ever read, with spot on characterisation, beautiful writing styles and inspired plots. they have some one shots as well as longer works (I mean at least one is longer than war and peace) and honesty I'm obsessed. I would sell my soul to read their fan fics for the first time again

(editing the original post bc I forgot to tag the incredible @timelesslords and @captain-jackson )

[2cats1trenchcoat]

I had this idea at 3am and just rediscovering it in my notes.

It’s a HTTYD AU where after the red death fight, the Berk dragon squad (Stormfly, Hookfang, Meatlug, Barf and Belch) get just a little rowdier when they can’t see Hiccup(cause to them, he’s the one that ‘tamed the humans’) but when Stoick does his apology and Toothless shows Hiccup, the dragons calm down, and Berk hails Hiccup the dragon master, cause to their knowledge, only he can calm and tame dragons. Hiccup tries to get Berk to see the truth, but it doesn’t work cause they just can’t move past dragons not actually being cold killers.

On top of that, Berk also can’t move past seeing Hiccup as a runt/useless, the only difference between now and then is that they see him struggle to do something(in the forge for example) and they offer too much help, babying him to make up for lost time, which Hiccup absolutely hates because he already has either a system to do it himself, or Toothless and many other dragons eager to help.

Hiccup is essentially the bridge between humans and dragons like the avatar. No Hiccup, no peace. The dragons are smart enough to see that Berkians are only chill around them when Hiccup is near, and Berkians only trust dragons around Hiccup cause he tamed the “unholy offspring of lightning and death itself”.

This culminates In Hiccup sadly learning the same lesson his mom learned (Berk can’t change) and either he runs away, or Berk finally sees the truth. Maybe both?

[gothamite-rambler]

Batman: I struggle with falling in love with women.

Green Arrow (curious): Are you gay or something?

Batman (serious): No. I tested that.

A heavy silence fell over the JLA meeting room as everyone processed his words, wondering if he was joking.

J'onn (stirring his hot chocolate): He’s not even remotely kidding.

Hawkman groaned realizing he lost the bet.

Hawkgirl (taking a hundred bucks from Hawkman): I knew it! Who was it?

Vixen: Was it Superman? Aquaman? Green Arrow? The Flash? Wait… Was it—

Flash (defensive): Stop guessing! He hasn’t been with any of us!

Batman: I wouldn't lower my standards like that and Aquaman is a friend.

Aquaman perked hearing this while eating his sandwich. Superman rolled his eyes jealous.

J'onn: Some of you have thought about it, though.

Green Arrow blushed, looking down at his hands.

Green Arrow: It’s not my fault he’s attractive without the cowl on.

Hawkgirl: Batman— What? Never mind. Back to you! Who was it? Dish. You can trust us.

Batman: Nah.

Hawkgirl: What do you mean, "nah"?

Batman: It means I’m leaving you all guessing how I tested this. And trust me, that makes it funnier for me. Plus, J'onn won't disclose it either!

J'onn: He's right, we have a deal.

Hawkgirl: Dude!

J'onn: He promised to show me those Star Wars films this weekend, and I’m not missing the Christmas special!

[michamiw]

Happy birthday Remy! But you have to work overtime even on your birthday n.n (here a little extra for the b-day boy)

KEEP WORKING!

[bethanydelleman]

What would you say is imperative to a “good” pride and prejudice fan retelling (different setting/culture)

The same thing that makes any retelling or adaptation good: a solid understanding of the characters and theme of the novel. Also, the hard to measure, intangible love of the original content.

Despite some flaws, Sense & Sensibility 1995, Emma 2020, and Bride & Prejudice all are able to pull this off, even with changes, shortening, and modernization. Persuasion 2022 was the ultimate example of the opposite, no love, no understanding of characters or themes. I should be able to point at the main character and know who they are even if the name and setting changes.

Pride & Prejudice retellings fall down most commonly by making Elizabeth too angry, activist, or bratty or when they make Darcy too shy, socially awkward, or perfect. Or when they over-villainize the antagonists, especially Caroline Bingley.

[falbrightsplace]

A Riddler Drabble that'll become something more in the future

Gotham in autumn was a grim reminder of the proliferation of costumed crime. Halloween was less a celebration of whimsy in some faded lithograph addressed to the ways of yore and more a ghoulish pyre drawing its worst in to flail in some sordid, horrid dance. It was a time one Edward Nygma often looked longingly at rail passes to Metropolis, where he could safely lie under the auspices of its guardian angel until Julian or Joker or Crane might calm themselves following a war of attrition over what may as well be a bucket of sweets and a broken clavicle. Or an unhinged jaw. Compound fracture? Often. Nasty little things that were meant as deterrents to the miscreants of this city…

The thoughts were escaping him once more. Bleeding into the dense atmosphere, like a soup, even several stories off the ground. What the investigator, yes, investigator thought was that particular line; the very one above? Applied when he hadn’t yet powdered his nose at the vanity of “decent” society. Decent society, a demanding little beast, oft frowned at the thought of a reputable business owner ducking out for a full season when he had already taken on a full docket of case files (private and public matters alike). After all, a craven member of Arkham’s menagerie for the criminally insane would be fully expected to run with his tail between his legs like the rodent that the average Gothamite took him for. And while that suited Eddie fair in days of yore (after all, a rat could run a maze, the average work-a-day Joe? The odds started dwindling rather quickly), he now had to stay on this particularly twisted iteration of the Titanic. Ever sinking into the crumbling New Jersey shoreline.

Why, it even had its very own iceberg. – A fact that served to curl his lip authentically. Authentically as opposed to the perfunctory, nigh on permanent smirk he wore to ward off anyone from thinking he much cared for what was being said beyond passing fancy or amusement. And yet wasn’t that what all this dressing was? The roving road to this very moment with nary a mote of intent established.

Passing fancy. Something to wile away the time.

Which is what The Riddler needed. Posting his cane at the base of the searchlight, the well dressed (former) saboteur and public nuisance flipped through a pocketbook in one hand and idly let his finger pass over the arrangement of a game of Solitaire. Occasionally he would mutter under his breath. It would be any number of things: a riddle, case notes, some errant detail about the exact positioning of coffee upon one Jim Gordon’s desk suggesting that files were being moved throughout the department at a breakneck speed. Consequential and inconsequential all at once. It was a maelstrom of information that quietly roiled beneath a bowler and shock of ginger hair, only disturbed by the occasional chuckle or sigh.

It was only when he heard that familiar, near silent, arrival that his gaze broke and the world seemed to move forward. This was a distinct noise you only became accustomed to in one of two privileged positions: ally or prey. Eddie Nygma’s lips parted, a slight gap in his teeth greeting a grim old friend with some mustered fanfare. Snatching his marshal’s baton, glistening in the light of The Signal, that lanky form sprung to polished heels.

“Rough night?” He leered, weight shifting as he posted himself upon that brass question mark, giving it a harsh rap upon the ground. “Or do you always keep your allies waiting when this,” with a click of his tongue, he ran a gloved finger over the frame of that overblown nightlight, “Lovely behemoth roars to life, calling to you from whatever murky depths you descend into during the day, hm? I hear the banking district is quite the slice of paradi-”

“I don’t make a habit of playing your games, Edward.” The words carried heft, as if ready to drop upon the recipient’s skull like a hammer.

“The record speaks to an entirely different story, Detective.” With a flourish, Eddie began to circle the Batman. Almost as if entering into the first steps of a waltz they both knew all too well. “But why dwell on the old when we can focus on the new? So here’s a real brain teaser for you: Why, oh why, would Edward Nygma, P.I. be given the rites to pass unto these hallowed grounds and flip that switch?”

The air stagnated, acrid as those piercing white eyes of the cowl narrowed.

“Surely even a sour soul such as yourself would want to get to the bottom of this particularly thorny thicket.” With a flash of something thinly resembling a smile, the career flim flam man inspected his fingers. Always something to do. Always something to distract or misdirect. A keenly honed ploy so deeply ingrained at this point that not even Nygma was aware to the fact that he often benefited from employing that smokescreen upon his own beleaguered mind.

“The sudden outbreak of copycat crimes. Starting in the old boroughs and working into the newly renovated portions of the banking district. Chief among them empty facsimiles of Ivy’s. The victims have been strung in a manner by which she would hold her prey until they had fully heard the breadth of their crimes.” There was a pause, with only the slightest shift in the vigilante’s jaw. “Toxicology reports don’t match any known patterns. And the targets, while obvious, wouldn’t serve as anything more than distractions. We both know she’s efficient.”

“Just like it’s a known fact that you’ve been trying to subdue that habit of yours. Going so far as to go on the record that it’s ‘all in the past’. You can’t give it up.” The Batman may have refused to kill but with a word he had shoved another dagger between Nygma’s ribs and rattled it about. That was part of the dance, too.

“What can I say, Bats?” A sickly guffaw managed to dribble past his lips alongside some of the wind knocked from him. “You inspire me. Bring out my best.” Shifting that lithe bit of weight, the more bombastic detective attempted nonchalance as the remedy to regain his footing. “Just...like I’ve always done for you.” Brow creasing, a delighted chuckle disappeared into the misty air as he jabbed a finger in the Dark Knight’s direction. “But really, if you want to play games the key to any answer in a riddle is something succinct. Right now?” Hands wheeling, Edward crept closer. “Right now, it comes off like you’re talking to a colleague in the department.” -Satisfying-. Gratifying.

[iamthecomet]

comet oh my god going off of that last free use phantom thing... if inspiration strikes I would love LOVE to see some of phantom laying back and being totally taken care of by the whole pack, them all surrounding him, hands and tails everywhere until he cant tell who is doing what anymore and is just totally relaxed

UH HUH.

Service sub Aeon deserves to be taken care of.

Aeon's drifting. Mis-matched eyes open. Unfocused. The exposed ceiling beams swimming in front of him. Hazy figures dipping in and out of his periphery. A flash of golden hair, deep purple eyes, opalescent horns.

He's narrowed down to sensation. To touch. All other senses on the back burner. He isn't even sure who is touching him where. Whose tail is curled around his thigh holding him open and exposed. Whose tongue is pressed against his fluttering hole. Licking up over the seam of his balls. Over the base of his cock. And back down to press into his stretched rim.

He's soft now. Over sensitive. He's belly sticky with his own cum. His cock twitches though, valiantly. He'll be hard again in no time. Part of him wants to push away--he's had so much. He's so fucked out. The other part is desperate for it. Wants more. Wants to be swallowed whole.

He thinks he's in Cumulus' lap. Head resting on the swell of her breasts. He thinks her hands are the ones dragging over his nipples. But maybe that's Aurora. Maybe it's both of them. There is a tail curled around each of his biceps. Gentle. Not restraining. Just solid enough to keep him from trying to do too much. He thinks one of them might be Mountain's, but really it's just a guess.

Satanas, he doesn't know anything anymore.

Someone kisses him. Rain, judging by the taste. Tongue slipping into his mouth, cool and easy. Aeon opens for him, drinks him down like he's dying of thirst and Rain trills above him. Pressing one cool hand against his cheek as Aeon surges toward him, reaches up, begs for more.

"Easy, baby," Cirrus coos in his ear--over to his left. "Just lay back."

Aeon eases back, drops his head back into the hollow of Cumulus' throat. Someone drags a hand down his stomach, circles his cock into a calloused palm and he jolts.

Whining. Body begging him to lean into it--to pull away. Each stroke is electric. Too much. Pleasure zapping through his veins and he can't take it. He can't think about anything else. Hips bucking up into the hand as he fills out, hardens up.

Someone, Swiss, he thinks, whistles like he's impressed. "Still going, huh?"

Aeon nods, eager. He slams his eyes shut as another pair of hands widens his thighs. The tongue that's been fucking into him slips out, moves away. Aeon whines at the loss--but it's shortlived. Replaced by the fat head of a cock that he's pretty sure is Aether. Too fat to be anyone else's.

"You ready, baby?" Aether for sure. Reaching up to brush hair out of Aeon's eyes. "You've done so good for us today. Let me take care of you?"

Aeon cracks his eyes open. Finally forces them to focus on Aether looming between his legs. Cheeks flushed, eyes focused on Aeon.

Aeon swallows, tries to find words. "Y-yeah. Yes please."

After a day of doing everything that was asked of him--asking for something feels wrong. Like he's stepped out of line. But the collar he wore all day is long gone, and Aether just pushes in inch by slow inch. Watching Aeon's face for the first sign that he's had too much.

He has had too much, he thinks. He's had all of them at least once. He's been pinned between nine other bodies for what feels like hours. When Aether pushes in, there's no stretch, no burn. Thoroughly used. Aether groans low, a rumble that Aeon swears he feels in his bones.

"Still so fucking tight."

"Right?" Dew says from somewhere on Aeon's right. "Don't know how he does it."

"Magic," Sunshine offers from his other side. Whatever Dew says next is cut off by another groan from Aether as he fucks into Aeon. Giving in to hard deep thrusts that Aeon feels in his throat.

"Can't help it," Aether says, almost apologetic. "Too fucking good."

"Give it to me," Aeon begs, voice canting up with each word. "I can take it. Please, Aeth."

Aether smiles down at him. He pushes down, deepens the fold of Aeon's body until he's almost in half. Dislodging whoever's hand (Mountains?) was on his cock. It doesn't matter anyway--he'll cum like this. They all know it.

The next thrust makes Aeon wail.

Aether kisses him on the forehead, soft and sweet in contrast to the way he's railing him.

"Don't worry, baby. I know you can."