#it smelled AWFUL

[orionshounds]

doodling deltarune everyday until it releases day 11; it's just been one of those days for me

(59 DAYS REMAIN)

[itz-pandora]

I may be partial to old man sonadow yaoi

[weirdsociology]

hey writers we have to talk.

if you've read any romance or fanfic in the past twenty years (i know you have), you know that there are a certain number of scents associated with hot dudes. you can probably recite the list of Things Men in Fic smell like in your sleep: leather, black pepper, pine, sandalwood, "something uniquely him", clean sweat, and if the character has ever fucking been within 50 yards of a firearm, something called "cordite".

here's the thing.

NO ONE SMELLS LIKE CORDITE.

cordite was a highly specific type of smokeless gunpowder developed in the 1890s by england specifically and used mostly in wwi.

if your good-smelling guy is not (a) english (b) using a very specific type of british rifle (c) dying in a trench in flanders, he does not smell like cordite. technically even if he does meet all those conditions he still doesn't smell like cordite because he smells like trenchfoot.

the point is, cordite is so far from universal that no one but the most hardcore gun nerds give a single shit about it. making your Sexy Hero smell like cordite is like naming a cassette-only bootleg live recording from the 1970s as your favorite grateful dead album. everyone at the party hates you immediately and knows you're doing it for clout. also, it's just factually... wrong. please stop. i know everyone else is doing it, but you can do the right thing here, i believe in you.

so what do people who are using guns smell like?

well if your story is set before the late 1880s, the smell of a fired gun is black powder, which, unfortunately, smells like seventeen flatulent cows have been shoved in a tire factory. trust me, you do not want your Hot Dude to smell like black powder. it's b a d.

if your story is set after the late 1880s, guns are using some variety of modern 'smokeless' powder - which speaking broadly doesn't really have a ton of scent when used. it does have some, but it's sort of non-descript: the best way i can describe it is the sweet, ozone, hot-plate smell of popping your car hood with a warm engine.

people who use guns a lot don't smell like fired guns all the time anyway, so while those scents might work in a fight scene, they're not realistic all the time. but there are some things that your Sexy Shootist will smell like basically 24/7 and that's metal and gun oil. metal you can go and sniff (i recommend non-stainless steel), but if you want a reference, most gun oils have a sharp, organic smell that's not dissimilar to canola oil but muskier and with a tang overtop. it's not unlikely leather is in the mix as well due to routine handling of leather equipment and gear. modern gear also tends to have a certain smell although it varies by production country and storage conditions - lots of opportunities there.

in conclusion: gunslingers and hired killers and military folks can be sexy and smell great on page, but i am begging you not to say "cordite" when you mean "gunpowder" ever again. we can do this. we are writers and therefore pedants. i believe in us!

[morganbritton132]

Eddie posts an old home video to his TikTok account. He’s not even in the video. It’s just Steve, in the early nineties, squinting at something off camera like, “Ew, look at that creature! What is that? How did that get in here?”

Then the camera pans over and it’s Mike glaring at Steve from the couch like, “Oh, fuck you.”

[krashlite]

Creaking!BigB from session 2!

I wanted him to be Of The Horrors, so now he's thoroughly half tree

how tree work? v

He doesn't have Any joint movement from that left foot up to his right shoulder due to the pale oak growth. This very much affects his mobility (specifically his ability to turn his upper body). He's mostly pivoting on his left foot to get around- which works pretty well!

Most injuries don't affect him like they would before, but this is because they get repaired with either oak, moss, or amber soon after the injury takes place. It doesn't exactly overtake BigB over time, just covers wounds. Hilariously, this has also affected his ability to get a haircut because it just kept growing back mossy (he gave up halfway through one and decided it looked cool)

This version of BigB can technically see out of any exposed amber on his person, including the heart. I imagine he forgets to turn towards people he's talking to because he can already see them without turning.

[pia55tri]

[kennimu]

I haven't drawn varigo in a while and I missed them 🫶🫶

[ahappydnp]

saw a clip of Dan saying that when Phil’s not home he orders pasta with a lot of cheese because Phil is lactose intolerant which is kinda crazy because couldn’t he order that even if Phil was there? they could each order their own plate of food?!?

how fucking dare you suggest that wtf dan’s blocking you on every social social media as we speak for that one. wtf.

[greenglowinspooks]

(DCxDP) The obligations of a rogue versus those of a parent (Pt. 4)

—

Tw: descriptions of body horror, Dr. Crane has PTSD and Does Not Realize, Crane has an actual panic attack and just doesn’t care, the Riddler makes one (1) sex joke about Batman

Will be crossposted to AO3 eventually

(Pt. 1 here) (Prev here) - (Pt. 5 here)

(Masterlist here)

—

Dr. Jonathan Crane is in his lab, the acrid scent of chemicals filling the air, and his hands are shaking.

Danny’s health, for the first week that he had him, had been steadily improving at an extremely quick rate. However, his healing had begun to stagnate. Danny said that it was because his body had run out of ectoplasm, and that while there was a lot of ambient ectoplasm in Gotham, he needed a stronger type in order to heal.

And so, that led Dr. Crane here.

He had stolen the research notes from the Penguin years ago regarding his experimentation on him.

(He quite vividly remembers the sound of bone creaking and groaning as it twisted, lengthened. The squelching of shifting tendons and muscles, the strange fabric-like tightening of skin. The feeling of going from man to monster, of losing all claim to his humanity.)

Danny had called him Liminal, part ghost. He had said that he was transformed by, among other things, a kind of synthetic ectoplasm.

Danny needed ectoplasm.

Crane had the research notes. He had every ingredient necessary. And yet, attempt after attempt failed.

The chemical smell burns his nose. His hands tremble.

Dr. Crane is not afraid.

He doesn’t feel fear anymore. He’s tried to, many, many times, but nothing has worked. And yet, his hands are shaking still.

(The horrifying sensation of vertebrae pop-pop-popping along his spine, growing and lengthening. The unbearable itching beneath his skin as toxin glands begin to form. The feeling of his teeth sharpening and elongating, of his skull growing, of his vision changing and brightening. The awful stench of chemicals. The awful stench of ectoplasm.)

Jonathan takes careful note of his shaking hands, his blurring vision, his accelerated heart-rate and shallow breathing.

(Human hands. Human vision. Human heart and lungs and organs.)

He takes note of them, but he does not let that distract him from the task at hand. Danny is not a chemist, but Jonathan is.

The boy knows enough about chemistry in theory, but he won’t go anywhere near Crane’s equipment. He seems to have some sort of intense fear of laboratory settings, probably developed during his stay with the GiW, and Crane is willing to respect that, if only because he cannot afford to lose him.

As such, Crane is the only one qualified to do this. And, unfortunately, if he isn’t successful the boy may very well die.

He heats the chemicals to precisely the right temperatures, adding each one to its correct container.

Dr. Crane thinks of the Scarebeast, that creature born of cruelty and greed and a sense of superiority. That creature which he tries to ignore is a part of him, that can never be removed. A damage which cannot be undone.

He pours the contents of a small beaker into a larger flask, watching the liquids swirl together. The stench in the air is becoming closer and closer to the one burned into his memory.

Crane’s whole body is wracked with unpleasant sensations. It’s truly unfortunate, he thinks, that despite his mind’s lack of fear, his body still reacts so harshly.

Jonathan’s eyes wander, eventually settling on a purple and green card sitting innocently on the corner of the table.

Right.

Even if they wiped out the GiW tomorrow, and even if Danny could survive without ectoplasm, he would still be in danger.

Crane has to get him back to good health. It’s the only way he can be sure that the boy can defend himself properly.

The solution in the flask begins to foam, and Jonathan does not hesitate as he adds the final ingredient. He pours the mixture into a new container, capping it and placing it into a freezer set to -40 degrees.

Hopefully this time he got the timing right.

Jonathan tries to relax, the ventilation in the room slowly but surely clearing the familiar smell from the air.

He thinks of the letter.

Surely, he thinks, that man can come up with some better material for his jokes. Or, at least something new.

Same old threats, same old attempted poisoning.

Aiming his threats at Danny, though, that was new. New and utterly unacceptable.

Scarecrow did what he had to.

He doubted that his solution would last forever, of course, as with that man it never did. As such, he would prepare both himself and Danny for the inevitable moment that his choices came back to bite them.

However, for the moment, they were safe. Danny could rest and recover, and Jonathan could figure out a plan to minimize possible damages.

Jonathan is no longer shaking.

He’s exhausted. This is his fifth attempt today, and each one leaves an unfortunate strain on his mind and body.

With a sigh, he settles himself into his seat at a nearby desk, opening up his computer and logging his most recent attempt. He still has to wait for it to chill to know if it was successful, but he can always update the logs later.

Once he’s done, he stretches, joints popping loudly as he walks to the freezer.

When he sees the results of his tireless work, the ghost of a smile flits across his face.

Success.

Jonathan picks up the jug of ectoplasm and leaves the lab, which is in all actuality the basement of the new apartment that he moved himself and Danny into after receiving the note. The scrappy old woman who was his landlord had told him that as long as he paid her five hundred dollars up front, she would let him set up in the basement without any questions or cop calls.

And so, the most expensive apartment in the Narrows was his.

At least, he thought, the distance between the basement and the apartment was short enough that Danny didn’t have to sit in while he was doing his labwork.

Jonathan knew that he didn’t exactly have a strong grasp on the concept of ‘lab safety,’ proven by his built-up immunity to almost every toxic chemical he’d ever encountered, and he doubted that Danny should be around such an environment.

He was back to the apartment quickly, not bothering to hide the self-satisfied smile on his face. Danny is sitting in his armchair, trying to read one of his books. Danny looks up, ready to greet him, when he sees the jug in his hands and pauses.

“Is that..?”

“Synthetic ectoplasm,” Jonathan says proudly, “I found the Penguin’s research notes and decided to recreate it, since you said that you needed it to heal properly. I’m not sure if it’ll work the same as what you usually have, but I hope it’s helpful all the same.”

Danny is standing, now, and looking at Jonathan with a strange look in his eyes. He looks, Jon thinks, like he’s about to cry.

Then Danny is rushing forward and wrapping his arms around Jonathan, his scrawny form shaking.

Jonathan is, for a moment, horrified. Did he do something wrong somehow? Why is this child, who’s so afraid of touch, hugging him?

And then he hears Danny’s voice, and he knows that it was all worth it.

“Thank you,” he’s mumbling, over and over, “thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course,” Jonathan says softly, because what else can he say?

The boy cries in his arms for a while, and Jonathan briefly wonders what his life must have been like before, if a person like him can be seen as a comforting figure.

Then, Danny pours himself a small glass of the synthetic ectoplasm, putting the rest into the small fridge which had come with the apartment, and he settles back down, sitting in the armchair once again.

Jonathan sits opposite of him, and they chat with one another as Danny drinks.

Danny talks to him about the stars and tells him about different spaceships, and Jonathan makes sure to pay attention and ask the boy questions.

He doesn’t miss the way that Danny lights up every time he asks him something about his interests. He’s so passionate, so smart, a trait that he seldom sees outside of his fellow rogues, and Jonathan wants to encourage that.

It’s…nice. Peaceful, almost.

And then the front door flies open, because Jonathan isn’t allowed to have nice things.

“Jon,” a familiar voice rings out, “what the hell?!”

Danny is frozen in place, clearly terrified.

Jonathan heaves a sigh, turning to face the nuisance who’s entered his apartment.

“Eddie,” he drawls, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Edward’s face is red with anger as he invades Jonathan’s apartment.

“Oh, I don’t know! Maybe it’s the fact that you sent a bunch of rogues a cryptic message and then dropped off the face of the earth for two weeks! I was worried, Jon!”

Jonathan hums in acknowledgement.

“I didn’t think it was that cryptic,” he says, picking up a book in order to pointedly ignore the Riddler.

“Oh, of course you didn’t, you straw-stuffed hickory dickory dickhead. I swear, you’re always—” he pauses, finally having noticed Danny sitting opposite of Jonathan, “—who is this?”

“My apprentice,” Jonathan replies, dreading the upcoming headache he was no doubt going to develop from Edward’s company, “he’s helping me hunt down the GiW. His name is Danny.”

Edward gasps dramatically.

“You—an apprentice?! And you’re letting him sit in the old man chair?! You don’t even let me sit in the old man chair,” he wails, draping himself over the headrest of the couch with a flourish, “Jonathan, I thought I knew you!”

“Edward,” Jonathan says, “get out of my apartment.”

“Oh my goodness, this is incredible. You’re becoming the bat!”

“I am not becoming the bat, Eddie, now get out.”

Edward has a shit-eating grin on his face as he waltzes over to Danny. Danny, who seemed terrified when he first appeared, is now looking at him with obvious amusement written all over his face.

“I mean, look at him! The hair, the eyes, the scrappy build. If you put him in one of those traffic light vigilante costumes, he could easily pass as a Robin!”

“I’m not doing this with you today, Eddie.”

“Riddle me this, Jon: I am a treasure hidden inside of a chest. You can break me, or steal me, or give me a rest. I can flutter, or pound, or attack, or drop, but if you don’t have me, you’re certainly fucked. What am I?”

Jonathan pauses for a moment before he groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“Eddie.”

Danny sits still, a confused look on his face as he repeats the riddle silently. Then, his face lights up in delight.

“A heart!”

“Jon, I like this one,” Edward says with a smile, ruffling Danny’s hair, “you are correct! A heart, something that I wasn’t aware that our dear Jonathan had!”

“Eddie, stop.”

“No, no,” Edward says, “I was worried about you, you deserve this. I mean, you even missed girls night! You never miss girls night!”

“Girls night?” Danny asks, absolutely delighted.

“Oh, of course,” Edward says, sprawling over on the couch, dangerously close to just laying in Jonathan’s lap, “we have it once a week. I’m invited because of Selina and Jon’s invited because Harley likes him.”

“And what does girls night entail, exactly?”

“Eddie,” Jonathan groans, “please.”

“Well,” Edward hums, “we usually paint our nails, or watch a movie, or gossip about the other rogues, and occasionally, we tell each other about any ‘encounters’ we have with Batman,” he says, raising his eyebrows up and down.

Danny’s jaw drops.

“Edward, shut up,” Jonathan says, an irritated tone in his voice that wasn’t there before.

“No way,” Danny says, “I thought that Batman, like, hated you guys or something. You mean he actually..?”

“Oh, the Bat is much like a bottle of liquor or a cheap cigarette, in that he was made to be passed around.”

Danny chokes on air.

“Edward Nygma,” Jonathan hisses, getting out of his seat and looming over the man, “get the hell out.”

Edward pales.

“Leaving, leaving!” Edward says, dashing away from Jonathan. He pauses, turning to flash Danny a quick smile.

“Remember Danny, I’m your favorite uncle! Not any of the other rogues, me!”

With that, he leaves, the room falling completely silent.

And, as per usual, that silence does not last.

“You full-named him?” Danny asks gleefully, “and it worked?”

Jonathan just sighs, sitting down on the couch and rubbing at his temples.

“Please, don’t take anything Eddie says seriously. He’s a moron.”

“Dr. Crane, please let me come to girls night with you,” Danny pleads, his eyes sparkling, “I promise I won’t embarrass you.”

Jonathan groans.

“Of course you won’t, Eddie will do it for you.”

“Come on, please?”

“I think we’re a bit busy with the GiW at the moment,” Jonathan snaps. He pauses as he notices the crestfallen expression on Danny’s face.

This boy is going to be the death of him.

“Perhaps, though, when all that is taken care of…”

Danny cheers, grinning wildly, and Jonathan is not at all relieved to see him happy again. Certainly not.

The rest of the day is relatively normal.

Danny works on trying to get information from the GiW database while Crane refines his his fear toxin, both preparing for a raid on the GiW base they located in Gotham.

It was only a temporary base, nothing of note, but there was a chance of discovering more bases through it, and that wasn’t something either of them were willing to give up.

Still, something like this would take time. Rushing would only lead to failure.

…

Late in the night, long after Danny is fast asleep in his room, Jonathan pauses.

The GiW are not the only threat out there. They aren’t the only threat to him or to Danny. Perhaps it could be helpful to reach out to someone with greater resources than himself.

He sends a quick message to Red Hood.

Hopefully, he thinks, everything will go smoothly.

—

[razzafrazzle]

in the ultimate display of masochism I have decided to fully redesign and make individual refs for all of my mtn dew ladies. startin off w flamin hot because I'm Biased

[image description: a reference image for flame, a gijinka for flamin' hot mountain dew. she is a lanky pale-skinned woman with a messy bright red mullet, freckles, a gold tooth, and multiple gold piercings. she is wearing a white stained tank top and black jeans with flame embellishments on them, as well as black leather boots. next to her are blurbs stating that her pronouns are she/any and that her title is "the con-artist". below that is a close-up sketch of her face, and below that is a short list of traits, those traits being "kinda gross" and "has a soft-spot for cute femmes". end id]

[wyervan]

In the least creepy way possible, what do smoon smell like? What kind of cologne do they wear, detergent they use. Maybe even their favorite scents?

Mucho amor ❤️❤️

*Morgan Freeman voice* I can smell you

I don’t think either are really the type to wear cologne regularly. Sun might pick up something he likes the smell of in the fragrance department at the mall, but then talk himself out of actually buying it because it’s “silly” and he’s a bit of a penny pincher.

So they probably both smell mostly like their shared bottle of 3-in-1. Irish Spring is the usual culprit. Their deodorants are similarly common drug store flavors. Eucalyptus or citrus for Sun, cedarwood or pine for Moon.

underneath it all, an unmistakable sharp metallic smell

Sunny loves the scent of coffee and freshly washed sheets. He finds the orange or lemon of cleaning products soothing (and he often smells of them himself). He’s prone to headaches when someone’s wearing too strong of a perfume around him, but he likes subtle floral or herbal scents like lavender or rosemary. Sometime he’ll light a candle while unwinding before bed. The smell of cotton candy and dust remind him of his circus days.

Moon has a sharp nose. He might be able to tell where you’ve been or what you’ve been doing or who you’ve been doing it with just from a couple of whiffs. He’s extremely averse to strong artificial sweet scents. Prefers musky, spicy, and earthier smells. Patchouli, fir, incense. Wet earth, decaying leaves, the static coming off a CRT screen. Cigarette smoke makes him nostalgic. He doesn’t hate the smell of weed either, but it’s probably mostly positive association.

[pavedinashes-if]

"This means there's quite some ROs for feMC who are sub if you want them to be."

It's not the same.. 😔 Especially since so many ROs are switches for mmc and doms for fmc. And the one that's a sub for mmc is a switch for fmc, as if women only want to be dominated 🤢

Ugh, damn. And here I was trying to hide the fact that my only intention with writing this IF was to create a world full of women that are dominated. No, let me correct myself... want to be dominated. Apparently, I didn't hide it as deeply as I thought.

I was genuinely debating whether or not to respond to this ask. But if this is the takeaway you've gotten from everything shared on this blog, then I think you've missed a major point. So sure—if that's the essence you've decided to extract, then yes. Let’s go with "not a single sub for F!MC in sight."

Now, regarding the actual structure: the switch ROs exist specifically to offer different experiences based on how the MC wants to play. They can express both dominance and submission, depending on the dynamic you explore. If the wording or presentation of that flexibility triggered something for you, I'm sorry that it landed the wrong way—but the intention is to provide options, not reinforce some kind of gendered fantasy.

Maybe if you'd shown the slightest bit of decency and self-restraint—and skipped the passive-aggressive emoji—I'd have had something kinder to say. But given the tone, this is what you get.

Male MC:

dom RO

M!Sam (Switch)

F!Sam (Switch)

Felix (Switch)

Felicia (Switch)

Noah (Switch)

Naomi (Switch)

Francesca (Switch)

Xavier (Switch)

Alex

Laurenz

Laura

Michaela (Switch)

Michael (Switch)

Dima

Dalia

F!Sparks (Switch)

M!Sparks (Switch)

Paula

Paul

sub RO

M!Sam (Switch)

F!Sam (Switch)

Felix (Switch)

Felicia (Switch)

Noah (Switch)

Naomi (Switch)

Francesco

Francesca (Switch)

Xavier (Switch)

Michaela (Switch)

Michael (Switch)

F!Sparks (Switch)

M!Sparks (Switch)

Female MC:

dom RO

M!Sam (Switch)

F!Sam (Switch)

Felix (Switch)

Felicia (Switch)

Noah (Switch)

Naomi (Switch)

Francesco (Switch)

Francesca (Switch)

Xavier (Switch)

Alex

Luarenz

Laura

Michaela (Switch)

Michael (Switch)

Dima

Dalia

F!Sparks (Switch)

M!Sparks (Switch)

Paula

Paul

sub RO

M!Sam (Switch)

F!Sam (Switch)

Felix (Switch)

Felicia (Switch)

Noah (Switch)

Naomi (Switch)

Francesco (Switch)

Francesca (Switch)

Xavier (Switch)

Michaela (Switch)

Michael (Switch)

F!Sparks (Switch)

M!Sparks (Switch)

[idontmindifuforgetme]

I complain about wanting male attention bc of my daddy issues and then when I get perceived in any sort of way by a man I’m like I’ve been doubly victimized …. This is the worst, most blasphemous thing to have ever happened to me ……. The nerve on you to think you can speak to me …………….

[spocks-husband]

I'm reading DC Christmas Comics (exposure therapy recommended by my doctor lmao) and unfortunately It's A Criminal Life is actually the funniest fucking thing I've ever read so. Basically if you're not familiar, it's part of this year's Christmas special release (one of them anyways) and involves Joker getting It's A Wonderful Lifed by Jaybin. And when they're in the alternate world where Joker doesn't exist this happens. And I've been cackling for way too long.

[xjackjackx]

Victim Becker is like The character ever because. as a Person he absolutely deserved better, he deserves a second chance to be happy again with Mitsi and Agent and his three new friends. he does not need an atonement arc, he does not need to apologize for anything, the world should be apologizing to him. but as a Character i would fucking hate it if victim redeemed himself.

like no. there is no world where i can see any scenario where victim gives alan and/or chosen a second chance and i'll be happy with it. it's not like chosen, who owed all his strength to alan and ultimately knew they have to team up against a stronger evil. it's not like purple, where his issue was a shitty father that he needs to forget and move on from, not hunt for approval or revenge or anything else. it's not like king, whose "villain" was a nonsentient game he was projecting his rage and inability to protect gold onto. victim has an objective, real antagonist to his story, and that antagonist is Alan Becker and his (in victim's mind) sidekick The Chosen One. There is no misunderstanding like King, there's no greater evil or vic owing them something like Chosen. Alan is responsible for every bad thing in vic's life, knowingly or not, that's an objective fact. Victim was traumatized for years because of Alan, Victim lost the love of his life because of Alan and Chosen (even if Dark is the one who killed Mitsi, Chosen assisted and Dark's dead so there's no one else Vic can hunt for)

I just. cannot see Victim ever redeeming himself. Him ever giving Alan and Chosen a second chance. Him going "I won't actively hunt you if you fuck off and never show up again" would be the best outcome, and that'd still feel wrong cause it's been over a decade, would Victim really back off after all of that?

What could make Victim back off? That's the biggest issue here. Why would Victim ever turn good after a life like his. He's spent 12 years plotting revenge. He lost the most important person in his life. He's so stuck up his own ass he views all his former employees as traitors and cowards. He's never shown himself to be grateful towards Agent despite all the shit that he did for him. He's convinced the rules are "I'm good and anyone against me is evil and probably with Alan ngl". His innocence is gone, Mitsi is gone, Agent is on his side and if he'll turn against Vic he would be written off as another "coward" and "fool", and the mercs are random hired guns that he does not give two fucks about.

If I was writing Season 3, I would not give Victim a redemption for the sake of a "happy ending" (he's similar enough to King anyway). For me, Victim is a character defined by tragedy; he's been wronged, nothing ever goes his way, he is the Victim of this universe. For me, Victim's story will end with failure, with a death that he won't return from, after he's lost everyone in a single-minded obssession with getting revenge. The same way the Chosen One became a hero, the Dark Lord died a monster in a failed attempt for world domination and the Second Coming succeeded where his predecessor couldn't, the Victim cannot escape the fate that's been forced onto him since his author wrote his story. Since fate cursed him. Since Alan gave him that damn name.

Would it be cruel and tragic for Victim to never get a happy ending after a life of suffering? Yes. But it would give AVA a more mature story than another "happily ever after". But it would teach Alan and Chosen that no matter how hard they regret and atone, some of their victims will never let them go. But it would teach the Stick Gang that even if they want to, there are some people you can't group-hug it out with.

Funnily enough, I only have that feeling with Victim. I'm very open for an Agent redemption, but that's for another day.

[twolovelyberries]

au where light is untethered and his rage knows no bounds