#idk if i like this tbh but. the idea is there

[demonic0angel]

Health Insurance (click for clarity)

I have a headcanon that Maddie and Jack did not have health insurance or insurance at all tbh, so Jazz really enjoyed the benefits of marriage.

So basically, in this idea, Dick and Jazz marry (bc Dick needed custody of Damian but he’s a single 20-something year old man, while Jazz was getting hounded by the Ghost Zone/her parents idk) but never fall in love. The two of them make a deal to get married and then parent Damian together, but then Dick finds out that they’re falling in love with each other’s siblings so he’s like “let’s divorce”.

It goes well and they both split things evenly or equally and it’s a very peaceful, amicable divorce.

Until they get to the custody of Damian. And then all hell breaks loose.

One of the dirtiest, most underhanded, and vicious custody wars ensue. In the end, they get split custody of Damian between Gotham and Blüdhaven. (He’s weirdly happy with it bc they fought so hard for him and they didn’t involve him at all except for courtesy questions).

Image description below:

Panel 1 has Dick’s solemn face as he’s looking away.

Dick: Jazz… we need to talk. I know that you’re in love with Jason…

Panel 2 has Dick’s side profile while we see Jazz stare at him in shock, holding a spilling teacup as she’s dripping tea.

Dick: *still looking sad* And I’m also in love with your brother Dan, so I think we should divorce.

Panel 3 is the both of them across from each other, in a very simplistic style. Jazz still looks vaguely shocked and Dick still looks sad.

Dick: I know that we both care for each other, but we’re in love with different people.

Panel 4 has Jazz finally snapping back to reality, as Dick continues talking.

Dick: It’ll be an amicable divorce, so I think that—

Panel 5 has Jazz standing up with a BAM! and knocking her teacup when she slams her hands on the table. Dick looks startled.

Dick: !

Panel 6 has a close up of Jazz’s panicked expression as she’s shouting.

Jazz: BUT WHAT ABOUT THE HEALTH INSURANCE?!

Edit: I changed the pictures to add the right font and a ring on Jazz’s finger.

[sematarygirls]

stop i’m literally so in love with your acc, it’s gorgeous!!!! missed you sm. need to start writing or creating something again tbh but idk what.

anywaysss had this super cool drummer!rafe idea where they’re all like mid-20s and were suspected of murder (maybe a roadie died or an ex bandmate??)

buttt there you are interning with the local police department (aka nancy drew nerd) and go poking around (woah somehow you end up in rafe’s arms what a coincidence). maybe he did it or maybeee he didn’t, who knows. ur just a silly little inter.. right?? unless ofc this wasn’t the first time you met and you both did it together?

anyways do what you wish with this, feel free to let it rot. ur a genius mastermind either way. ily mwahhh

(here’s some drew pics mini moodboard bc why not)

Partners In Crime — Rafe Cameron.

pairing: drummer!rafe x policeintern!reader

summary: your internship at the kildare county sheriff's department proves extremely useful after ex-bandmate of local rock sensation, morphine animals, is found murdered.

warnings: smut! semi-public sex, unprotected p in v, murder, inaccuracies regarding police work

word count: 3.6k words !

a/n: this request is AMAZING omg!! your mind is literally so incredibly brilliant. i am so incredibly jealous. i just want to scoop it out and study it because your plots are always so genius it's insane. also, i got a little freaky with this request. i don't know where it came from, but i hope yall enjoy. side note, i know nothing about police stations or internships beyond what I've seen on tv, so this is most likely very far from anything that would happen in real life.

✶ . ࣪ ׅ   You cursed quietly, swatting a mosquito away from you as your fingers danced along the collection of files, skimming through the box of evidence labeled "Ryder, Elliot". It was July, and the summer was in full swing. the air was thick and heavy, causing a layer of sticky sweat to cling to every inch of your body. The cramped storage room seemed to be at least 10 degrees hotter than the rest of the police station, and it had the added bonus of recycled air that smelled of dust and mildew.

Your gaze flickered between the door and the police report in your hands, readying yourself to be caught any moment now. Technically, you weren't supposed to be looking at anything in this room. You were simply an intern, and as such, your jobs mostly consisted of clerical work like running the front desk, answering phones, and filling out the occasional police report—typically for some misdemeanor offense that they had granted you competent enough to navigate your way around.

On a normal day, you did not have clearance to be in this little room with all the important documents pertaining to cases ranging anywhere from vandalism to first-degree murder. However, on this particular day, you had been instructed to organize and clean the records room, ensuring that everything was dusted off and placed in alphabetical order.

You knew you weren't really supposed to take a peek into any of these boxes, but when you saw the name Elliot Ryder on one of the boxes, you simply couldn't help yourself. It was the biggest case your town had seen in the last decade.

"Local rock legend Morphine Animal's ex-band-mate found murdered" had been splashed across headlines for weeks, each news site ranging from local to national discussing the case and their theories, but surprisingly much of the case had remained a mystery.

Morphine Animals had been practically untouchable ever since they skyrocketed to fame. It was truly fascinating how quickly they went from small-town rockstar wannabes to household names. They became a national sensation practically overnight, and it all started when Elliot Ryder was fired as the band's drummer and replaced by Rafe Cameron.

You remembered it vividly. Elliot went around telling everybody who would listen how he was cheated out of fame. The other three band members had been his childhood best friends. The band was their passion project and they had vowed to do it all together, but then, one night, they just dropped him out of the blue, and Rafe Cameron took his spot.

People couldn't help but wonder if the band's colorful history had anything to do with the murder. The whole situation would've made more sense if Rafe was the one murdered. It would be open and shut. Elliot killed Rafe to get back at him for taking his spot and stealing the fame that was "rightfully" his, but revenge just doesn't quite sit right with the case being turned around.

Rockstar drummer that has it all kills small-town drunk nobody? It just doesn't fit.

You turn your attention back to the police report in hand. You didn't have much time left before someone inevitably needed a file or came to check on you, so you needed to focus, read it, and put everything back where you found it before that happened.

Case Number 0608

Responding Officer: Sheriff Susan Peterkin

On 06/28/2023 at approximately 2100 hours, I responded to a noise complaint at 2971 Shorecrest Drive.

I knocked on the front door, but there was no answer. I announced myself as the police and knocked once more, but again, received no answer. I looked into the window for signs of life, and saw Elliot Ryder laying prone on the living room floor with a pool of blood around him. I immediately radioed for assistance and kicked down the door. I checked his pulse and discovered that Ryder was deceased. While I waited for assistance, I secured the scene. At approximately 2110 hours, Deputy Victor Shoupe, Officer Danielle Lyonne, and Officer Franklin Hewitt arrived on scene. Officers Hewitt and Lyonne canvased the surrounding homes and took their statements to find out if anyone had seen or heard anything. Their individual statements are enclosed. Deputy Shoupe called for the coroner and cordoned off the area while I began assessing the crime scene in a spiral method. Pictures included document the blood patterns and shattered glass discovered at the scene. No murder weapon was discovered.

I instructed Deputy Shoupe to stay at the scene and await the coroner's arrival while I headed back to the station. At approximately 2330 hours, I left the scene.

Your eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you read over the report. You used the back of your hand to wipe the beads of sweat that had formed on your forehead—created from a mix of the unbearable heat and your growing nervousness as the moments ticked by—stopping them from dripping down your skin.

Your gaze darted to the door once again before returning to the files, pulling out a series of pictures that documented the crime scene.

He was found on his stomach, the hair on the back of his head matted with blood. The cause of death was blunt force trauma, and it was very evident from the crime scene photos.

You turned your attention from the photos documenting his body to the ones showing the state his living room had been left in. There was broken glass from a shattered mirror near the front door coating the carpet, and the living room looked like it had been hit by a tornado. Furniture had been turned over, his belongings strewn about in a disorganized fashion. It seemed like whoever had been there was looking for something.

Something in one of the photos caught your eye. It was small, almost imperceptible, but the flash from the camera reflected off something imbeded into the cream colored carpet just beneath the table that Elliot's body was found beside.

Your brows furrowed as you brought the photo closer to your face, squinting to get a better look.

The sound of footsteps approaching made you jump. You quickly folded the picture and shoved it into your pocket before placing the photos and police report back into the box and hauling it onto the shelf.

"Hey, kid," Deputy Shoupe peeked his head inside, the sound of him chewing his gum seemingly reverberating off the walls. You turned, your face flushed, and your heart practically beating out of your chest. You had managed to get everything in order moments before he opened the door.

"Uh, yes, sir?" You cleared your throat, brushing away a strand of hair that had gotten stuck to your sticky forehead.

"Boss lady needs the Ryder files," he informed you, still smacking his gum. The sound filled your ears, somehow louder than the beating of your own heart.

You nodded, swallowing hard as you turned and grabbed the box, the piece of paper in your pocket feeling like it weighed a ton as you carried the heavy box over to him. "Can I ask why?" You worked up the courage to ask, handing him the files, your palms sweaty as you pulled back.

"Just got done interviewing Rafe Cameron," he told you, propping the box under his arm. Your eyes widened a fraction. Why was Sheriff Peterkin reinterviewing him? Was there new evidence to connect him to the murder? "So, she wants to take another look at the evidence."

"Oh," you simply said, the room seeming to grow hotter. "Whew, god, it's hot," you huffed, fanning yourself. "Are you hot?" You asked, clearly not doing well at playing it cool.

"You alright kid?" He asked, quirking an eyebrow curiously at your odd behavior.

"Yeah, I think I'm just gonna step outside and get some air," you nodded, suddenly feeling very suffocated in the stuffy atmosphere.

"Sure, whatever," he shrugged, clearly not all that interested in you or your actions as he turned on his heels to deliver the box to Peterkin.

You hurried down the long, grey corridor, pushing the backdoor open harshly when you arrived at it. Outside wasn't much cooler, but the small, shaded alleyway provided reprieve from the sun's unrelenting rays. You took a few deep breaths, feeling better now that you were breathing fresh, clean air.

"You look like shit," a voice piped up. Your head whipped to the side, eyes finding the source. Rafe Cameron was leaned up against the wall, a lit cigarette dangling from his lips. He was wearing a white tank top that clung to him like a second skin. the heat was just as unforgiving on him, his muscles glistening and his hair sticking out in all directions, a few strands clinging to his slick forehead.

"Excuse me," you scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. Truthfully, you knew you probably did look like shit. You were sweating like a pig, your clothes clinging to you uncomfortably, and after hours of running your hands through it and being subject to intense humidity, your hair was undoubtedly frizzy and wild.

Rafe pushed off the wall, taking one last drag before flicking the cigarette onto the ground and crushing it under his boot. His blue eyes locked onto yours, amusement dancing in them as he approached you. "I'm just sayin'," he drawled, his voice a low rumble.

"Yeah, well, you don't look too hot yourself," you rolled your eyes. It was a lie, of course. Somehow, he even made sweating to death in the sweltering July heat look sexy. It was utterly infuriating.

He grinned, amused at your attempt to insult him, but he could see right through you. "You mad at me or somethin'?" His hand reached out and wrapped around your wrist, his grip sending shivers down your spine.

"You just said I looked like shit," you glared at him. The heat was making you irritable, and it didn't help that his stupid fucking earring—that you'd told him twenty goddamn times to take out—had showed up in a crime scene photo.

Rafe's thumb began to trace circles on the inside of your wrist, his touch sending electric jolts through your body. "C'mon, you know I was just teasing you, baby," he murmured, his voice soft and seductive. He knew how to play your body better than he knew how to play his drums.

You stubbornly pulled away from him, ignoring the way your body reacted to his touch. "You're lucky I got saddled with file room duty, asshole" you gritted out, pulling the picture from your back pocket and shoving it into his muscular chest.

Rafe wore a silver stud in his ear, a staple of his rockstar persona, and that little glimmer of reflected flash in that crime scene photo was that stud, which had fallen out during the murder.

Thankfully, it hadn't been logged into evidence and had been completely overlooked by the bumbling small town crime scene techs, so you only had to take the photo to keep that little piece of incriminating evidence from ever being discovered.

Rafe glanced down at the photo, his expression unchanging as he took it in. He looked back up at you, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You worried about me, babe?" He asked, his voice laced with mockery, but there was a harder edge to it that betrayed his unperturbed demeanor.

"No," you shot back, your brows furrowing in frustration. God, the heat was making you bitchy. "I'm worried about myself. I mean, I covered up your little fuck up perfectly. The last thing I need is for you and your lame ass jewlery to fuck me over."

Rafe's hand snaked out and wrapped around your throat, his grip tight but not painful. He backed you up against the brick wall, his eyes boring into yours. "You think I can't take care of my own shit?" He asked, his voice a low growl. His patience was clearly wearing thinner and thinner by the second. He was already agitated at being ripped away from band practice to do this little song and dance with the police. The last thing he needed was you bitching at him and challenging his capabilites.

"If you could take care of your own shit, you wouldn't have called me in the middle of the night panicking because you fucking killed someone," you retorted, not backing down. You weren't afraid of him in the slightest. You knew what he was capable of, but it didn't scare you. In fact, there was a twisted part of you that liked knowing about his violent side.

Rafe Cameron had been the one to kill Elliot Ryder in cold blood, and he'd called you up moments after because he knew your experience as a police intern would come in handy. You had rushed over and helped him stage the whole thing as a burglary gone wrong. Unfortunately, Rafe hadn't realized his little wardrobe malfunction until it was too late to go back and retrieve it.

His face darkened, his hand tightening around your throat. "I had it handled," he hissed. "Until you showed up and decided to play detective." His other hand reached down, gripping your hip possessively. "You're supposed to be on my side, not throwing my mistakes in my face."

"Then stop making dumb fucking mistakes," you spat, your jaw clenching in annoyance. You could feel your panties growing wetter by the second, which only fueled your frustration toward him. You hated how he could still make you want him even when he was being a complete asshole.

Rafe's face twisted with anger, but beneath it, you saw a flicker of something else—desire. He leaned in close, his breath hot against your lips. "You know, I should just shut you up for good," he muttered, his grip on your throat unyielding.

"Yeah?" You asked, your voice almost taunting. "You gonna kill me, Rafe?" You looked him in the eye, not backing down. "Who's gonna clean up your messes then, huh?"

His expression turned grim, and for a monent, you thought he might actually do it. But, then, without warning, he crushed his mouth to yours in a rough, bruising kiss. His hands tightened further on your hip, pressing against your body and pinning you in place.

He bit down hard on your lip, drawing blood. His tongue darted out, lapping up the blood and soothing the wound as his thumb rubbed over your pulse point, feeling the way your heartbeat quickened with desire. His mouth tasted of nicotine, stale beer, a slight hint of mint, and then the metallic taste of your blood on his tongue. If it were anyone else, you would've recoiled in disgust, but something about him was intoxicating.

He was so close you could feel his bulge pressing into you, and it only made you want him more. You didn't care that you were pressed against a wall in the back alley behind the police precinct, in fact, something about it, the potential thrill of getting caught, turned you on more.

Rafe's hands moved to grip your ass under your skirt, roughly palming the fatty flesh with his rough hands. He broke the kiss, his lips moving to your neck, where he bit down hard enough to leave a mark. "You drive me fucking crazy," he growled.

"Yeah, well you're fucking insufferable," you said breathlessly, tilting your head to the side and threading your fingers into his hair as he continued his assault on your neck.

He grunted in response, his hands squeezing your backside painfully before he pulled away to fumble with his belt, the buckle clanking loudly in the otherwise quiet alley.

As he fiddled with his belt, you took your opportunity to latch your lips onto his neck, the salty taste of his skin mixed with the thin layer of sweat coating him danced on your tongue as you sucked and nipped at the areas you knew would drive him wild.

Rafe's breathing hitched as you marked him, his body stiffening. He finally got his belt undone and his pants unbuttoned, shoving them down just enough to free his hard length.

He gripped your thighs, hoisting you up and pressing you hard against the wall as your legs wrapped around his waist. "Think you need to learn your place," he said darkly, pulling your panties to the side.

With one swift movement, he thrust deep inside you, filling you completely. He held you pinned against the wall, his hips rolling into yours in deep, punishing thrusts. "You're supposed to worship the ground I walk on," he muttered, his voice ragged.

You gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he began to move, his powerful hips snapping back and forth as he pounded into you. His blue eyes, darkened with lust, locked onto yours, watching your face intently.

"Answer me," he demanded, his voice low and menacing. He slowed his pace, his hips rolling leisurely, his thick length stretching you wide. He knew his slow pace was like torture to you. "Tell me you worship me, baby."

"Fuck," you moaned, your face scrunching in a mix of pain and pleasure as the brick wall dug uncomfortably into your back. "I worship you, Rafe."

A smug grin spread across his face at your words, his pace quickening as he continued to slam into you, his hips rolling in that way that always hit that spot inside you, making you practically see stars. "Good girl," he praised, his lips finding yours again.

Your arms snaked around his neck, fingers curling into his hair and tugging slightly as his mouth swallowed your little whimpers and moans.

He released your mouth, his head tilting down to watch where you were joined. He let out a low groan, his body tensing as he watched himself disappear inside of you. "Look at you taking me so well," he gritted out, his pace quickening.

You gasped when you felt his thumb begin rubbing tight circles on your clit, drawing you closer and closer to the edge. "Such a dirty fuckin' girl," he growled. "Letting me fuck you in an alleyway, behind a police station no less." His lewd words only served to heighten your arousal.

His other hand reached up to wrap around your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you dizzy as he continued to pound into you. "I'm going to fill this pretty little cunt with my cum," he snarled, his voice echoing off the brick walls.

His words paired with his grip on your throat and the way he was pounding into you sent you over the edge, your eyes rolling back as you moaned his name.

His hand on your neck tightened possessively as you came apart for him, his own release following shortly after as he felt your walls squeeze down on him, milking his cock. He buried his face against your neck, his breathing hot and ragged against your skin. "That's my girl."

You panted, your head falling back against the brick as you caught your breath, your mind reeling as the weight of what you'd just done crashed over you. It was reckless and stupid to have let that happen, especially behind the police station you worked at. If anyone saw you, it could raise some serious red flags.

Rafe slowly lowered you back to the ground, pressing one last kiss to your swollen lips before tucking himself back into his underwear and pulling his jeans up, refastening his belt. He leaned against the wall beside you, lighting a cigarette as he looked you over with a lazy smirk. "Try not to look so guilty."

"Don't be an asshole," you shot him a sharp look, fixing your skirt and blouse. Now, you had to go back to work and act as if you didn't have a murderer's cum leaking out of you.

Rafe took a long drag of his cigarette, blowing the smoke out in a slow stream. He watched you intently, his eyes glinting with amusement as he observed you straighten your hair and adjust your collar, trying to regain some semblance of professionalism. "I'll pick you up after your shift. We've got a few more things to discuss."

"You can't pick me up here," you said, crossing your arms over your chest.

Rafe raised an eyebrow, pushing off from the wall and taking a few slow steps closer to you. "And why not?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous. He knew very well why not, but he wanted to hear you say it.

"Don't play dumb, Rafe," you rolled your eyes. He could be so very infuriating when he wanted to be.

"Say it," he insisted, his voice firm. He took another step closer, towering over you. "Tell me why I can't pick you up here." His hand reached up, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a deceptively gentle touch.

You huffed frustratedly, narrowing your eyes at his insistence. "Because you killed Elliot Ryder, and I'm your fucking accomplice," you relented.

Rafe's hand tightened, gripping your cheeks firmly, his touch bordering on painful as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "Shhh," he whispered, his voice dark and threatening. "You shouldn't go around saying things like that, baby."

You glared up at him, your annoyance evident in your gaze. Everything always had to be a game with him, and sometimes it utterly maddened you.

Rafe's lips curled into a smirk as he pulled back, his hand falling away from your face. "I'll pick you up around the corner," he said, as if the matter was settled. He took another drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground and heading down the alleyway to his car.

You watched him leave, your gaze burning holes into his back for a moment as he retreated before you shook your annoyance away, pulling the back door to the station open and heading back inside.

[starreyblueberry]

Im not talented enough for this but Timmy Turner vs The World Scott pilgrim au do NOT ask me who Ramona Flowers is I have no idea (good chance Timmy could be Ramona instead considering how many love interests he's had over the years) Or you could do his seven evil enemies, also I would of course tweak the cast/plot/overall vibe as I would want to include Cosmo and Wanda. Maybe the band could have AJ, Chester, and tootie? OH AND TRIXIE AS ENVY WOULD ACTUALLY GO CRAZYYYY!! Cosmo and Wanda could still be his faires tbh and that's how he gets all the video game stuff he has!! I really wish I could draw just so I could draw Timmy Turner as that one scott Pilgrim poster (I hope everyone knows what I'm talking about). Also Jimmy Ramona flowers anyone?? or is it just me. Idk I feel like Jimmy would be able to go though Timmys mindscape, but who knows <3 I just heavily see the whole like Loser adult who has a hard time growing up in Timmy!! OH AND KNIVES AS TOOTIE (except their the same age I am not doing a weird age gap sorry)

[bitchface24-7]

A small idea that popped into my brain 💡

This is totally random but I would love to read a Jason Todd fic a la John Wick style. Everything is still the same (relatively)

Jason is adopted by Bruce the same way (stealing the batmobile tires)

Jason becomes Robin

He’s great at it! He’s happy, kind, and a great relief to see for the citizens of Gotham

He and Dick eventually get around to having a lukewarm brotherly relationship

He still gets murdered by the Joker and somehow miraculously wakes up 6 months later in his grave (somehow. That’s up to you)

Here’s where it differs: More below ⬇️

The League of Assassin’s still picks him up and Talia trains him, eventually becoming like a mom to him

and he is a brother to Damian

Jason subsequently gets sent on missions, The Continental Hotels are run by the LoA

Due to his extensive training with both Bruce and Talia, Jason is quite a formidable enemy; even more so since the Pit fixed his years of malnutrition

He’s efficient. So efficient that he’s made quite the reputation.

Like in the first John Wick film (all the films tbh), the antagonist goes to his son,

“I don’t care about what you did, son. I care about who you did it to.”

“Who? That fuckin’ nobody?”

“That. Fuckin. Nobody. Is John Wick Jason al Ghul.”

The “Pit Madness” is barely there, only flaring up when Jason is under extreme duress (such as rage or heavy fear)

Due to this reputation, Jason has no trouble overtaking the crime syndicates in Gotham. We saw how effective he was in UtRH (I did this in two hours. Wanna see what I can do in a whole evening?) imagine him now a la John Wick. Unstoppable.

He went back to Gotham both to kill the Joker but to make sure Damian was okay

Jason holds resentment towards the rest of his family (excluding Alfred) to him, his death was meaningless. Jokers still alive hurting people, there’s a new Robin.

The definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome. Jason is going to change that.

Jason doesn’t attack Tim. He’s just a kid, a teenager. His anger is more directed towards Bruce (“You’re not my son. I don’t need your teenage rebellion.” and the fact it seems he so easily replaced him.), Dick (why does Tim get to be Dick’s brother but not Jason? What’s so bad about him?) and even Barbara when she resented him for replacing Dick as Robin. Misdirecting her anger into a kid rather than Bruce.

Damian is proud to call Jason his brother and only addresses him with the al Ghul surname. Not Todd. Not Wayne. Not Todd-Wayne. al Ghul. Jason is an al Ghul down to his bone marrow, he gets affectionately called Ahki (brother)

This makes the rest of the fam stir crazy. Who is he? Is he Bruce’s kid? What’s his goal, his plan? Why’s he in Gotham now?

Dun Dun DUNNNNN There’s an identity reveal

Idk what else to add but I’d DIE to have a fic with this concept. I love Jason so much. Especially all the Jason and Damian meet in the League fics on AO3.

If anyone wants to write this, tag me!!! Please! My AO3 handle is queenie__v. Just give me credit for the premise and I’ll devour the fic you write like it’s ambrosia from the gods. Ps. Please give Jason the white patch in his hair, thanks ❤️

Xoxo love y’all!

[mrdogface]

so i know we retroactively apply autism headcanons to dr sir timothy francine drake but i gotta tell you bat family, it is just canon as of the 52 Weekly series. idk which of the four credited writers did it but they took the subtext of the dixon era and basically just made it text. our boy is here missing social cues left and right, counting, expressing autistic fixations and struggling with abstract brain teasers. look at this:

tbh i like the idea that tim is autistic provided little flaws and inconveniences of the disorder / neurotype are portrayed. i think we often see intelligent autistic characters fall into this weird, annoying supercrip savantism space, a whole "autism is a superpower" thing, that imo paves over the realities of the condition with a kind of toxic positivity that serves primarily to use "there there buddy, you're not disabled, just different!" rhetoric to deny the fact that, like, we do suck at some shit and often need accommodations.

[fernsnailz]

With all the new shadow content coming up, which are you most looking forward to? Any predictions for which will have the "best" shadow characterization? (I'll be interested in seeing the difference between the movie and generations)

hhoooough boy. definitely looking forward to the next episodes of dark beginnings the most. i think the team dark episode will change my brain chemistry forever, and i really enjoyed the style and execution of the first episode (for the most part - some of the 3D animation was a little wonky, but i can forgive her). I’m also excited for sonic x shadow generations and whatever crazy shit it pulls, but in all fuckin honesty i think i’m slightly more excited for the goddamn biolizard lego set LMAO

i am. nervous about sonic 3. there’s a few things that have really hampered my excitement for it and give me that feeling of wariness:

1. i do not trust paramount with handling any aspect of G.U.N. (and Maria’s death by extension). i’m not usually a fan of most portrayals of the military within hollywood blockbuster films. i don’t trust this one either.

2. jim carrey gerald robotnik is not a choice i’m looking forward to and i worry about the idea that he’s still alive (he might not be though, I have Theories)

3. i’m probably not gonna like keanu shadow. i’m sorry gang i know so many people are hyped about this but i just can’t do it. he’s just gonna sound like keanu reeves to me for the whole movie, not shadow the hedgehog

as far as shadow characterization goes, i have more faith that sonic x shadow generations will be able to flesh him out more. but honesty, that’s mostly because i doubt shadow is actually gonna be in movie 3 that much. like we’ll definitely have a few big scenes with him, but sonic x shadow is probably just gonna have more runtime with him and be able to flesh him out more. sonic 3 is a blockbuster film with way more characters to juggle, and i see a dark future where shadow’s role in the movie is actually really limited.

and tbh i think he’ll be… fine in movie 3. this is gonna be a version of shadow fresh outta the tube and probably full of hatred, which is honestly the easiest version of him to get down imo. idk, we’ll see. maybe I’ll be super wrong about all of this and they’ll have to hit me with the mephiles beam that killed sonic

[zhongrin]

hihihi!! no advice ask this time (crazy, i know) but i did want to ask if you had any zhongrin lore scraps for the starving masses (me)(no pressure ofc hahshk)? just silly mundane stuff like shared hobbies or how u split chores!! idk i'm a sucker for domesticity and u two are peak domestic life to me

- sachie 🫶🫶

iehdhwkurjewkhdkejd ahhhh yes with pleasure ueueue thank you for enabling me to share this aahhhhhh this has been in my draft for SO LONG (almost a year tbh-)!!!

this should (i hope) count towards domestic but i wanna. i wanna talk about zhongrin's babies…. bc i have settled on the idea that we're very proud parents of two noodle babies ᰔᩚ

i've talked about them very vaguely in one of the fics for the zhongli birthday series from last year.... their names are liwei (m) and liwen (f)!

.... and then i sorta kinda got carried away..... and this happened.....

...... *cough*

anyway yeah they're my precious children and i love them very very much ᰔᩚ

[arabaka]

Any nsfw Laios head canons👀👀

WE KNOW HE'S A MUNCH, RIGHT? WE ALL KNOW THIS BUT LET'S TAKE IT A STEP FURTHER...

₊˚ʚ ☁️ ₊˚ ♡ ﾟ. content warnings ⤸ nsfw. laios touden x afab!reader. cunnilingus 💦

how would eating monsters affect your flavor? would the consumption of these otherworldly creatures change the way your nectar tastes? could it affect its consistency, its amount? would it be tangy? sweet? somewhere in-between?

these are the thoughts that consume him in the night, when you're resting so peacefully in his arms, unaware of the drumming in his chest and surprisingly, the throb in his pajama pants.

it's safe to say that laios takes every opportunity to dine on that supple treasure of yours after the day's final meal. he's desperate, tongue already aching for your pussy by the time he licks his plate clean.

he's not quiet about it either, making sure you know what he's tasting and how much he loves it.

eyes half-lidded with a lustful fog over his golden irises, he swirls his tongue around your folds. "mmm," he groans, inhaling your scent before mumbling, "it's so good... salty but rich... can't get enough..." his nose runs up your clit, urging more of your arousal into his mouth. he drinks it all, pumping his own cock as he feels your hole clench around the velvet muscle of his tongue. your hips spasming against him, he doesn't stop slurping your climax until you have nothing left to give him.

you're so spent, body totally relaxed, that you can hardly muster the strength to open your eyes but you already know what laios is up to: recording his findings.

[tshortik]

Cryptic visions of space and time...

[bunnieswithknives]

I feel bad for neglecting Hazel so much, I do have many thoughts about her.. and also a mermaid au that im probably not going to do anything with

[macaronsintrees]

friends with benefits but the benefits are holding hands

[beelxebub]

i totally get why people make the captain a military man or ex-military in modern AUs because it makes sense but i personally believe he would simply be one of those middle aged autistic men whose special interest is wwii military vehicles

[sunnymainecoonx]

Got art stuffs so painted. Personally I like the sketch more but eh it's fine...

[turtleblogatlast]

Thinking about how Leo says he uses his jokes to cope and y’know, thinking harder on it I think it may very well be because of what else uses one-liners and puns and that type of humor.

Specifically, 80’s action movies and campy sci-fi. Even more specifically, the protagonists of these.

So I can imagine why, exactly, Leo leans toward this brand of humor. It’s directly linked to things he loves! But even more than that is why I think it’s used as a coping mechanism.

In these genres, these quips tend to be said by the winner - or, if not a winner, then someone who will stay alive. So there’s a confidence behind them, an assurance, almost, that even if things go wrong, things aren’t ever too serious. There’s no bad endings here! It’s all good fun, even if the stakes seem high.

Leo canonically has been known to steer his brothers away from the more brutal villains and toward more fun, lighthearted activities and not-so-dangerous criminals. So for Leo, these jokes definitely make things less heavy, make the situations they find themselves in less intense.

It’s kinda not just coping, but also can be seen as a form of escapism. A safety blanket. A way for Leo to defuse the tension of knowing just how dangerous their lives are and replace that with a levity which implies that things will be okay.

Unfortunately, levity alone does not alter reality.

[holygraund]

you put me on and said I was your favorite ;

[klanced]

“Keith is not a tsundere he just sucks” you know and understand more than a simple mortal mind could ever dream

i feel like a quintessential part of understanding keith's character is realizing that he is generally okay at socializing with people (he just doesn't like dealing with strangers), but there is something very specific about lance that makes keith fumble every single interaction they have