#lemur writes

[lemurious]

children of the barricade - they didn't last the night. watched les miserables - the movie and it hits hard, it hits different when you are no longer young and ready to give up your life for a cause, or at least, haven't thought about which causes you'd pick if you had to (have you had to, and avoided it?), for many years.

they are so young. so alone. so increasingly lost and terrified and determined and courageous anyway, except that now you realize the courage of living as well as dying, and long for simpler times, and miss being young and feeling like you may have a chance (or perhaps, a responsibility) to change the world, and miss having friends who would follow you unconditionally. (but have you truly lost all of it, whatever it was? would you have followed a cause, or a person you love? would you have had the courage for either?)

while poverty and desperation and treating people as things is just as true now as it was in fiction, or in reality during the time the book was written, and it is easiest to shut the door, avert the eyes, try to cultivate cynicism. and staying hopeful takes a special kind of courage, too.

(more musings may come; and more enjoltaire since apparently there's no escaping it... <3)

[bowserbowser29]

The Guardian Angel

[whimsical-sonic]

the sillies

[ID: A digital, colored piece of Whisper and Tangle. To the left, Tangle's eyes are closed with a big, open-mouthed grin. She is posing, doing jazz hands with one foot in front of the other. She is wearing a maroon-colored jacket and black sweats, her shoes reminiscent to her typical ones.

Whisper is facing away from the viewer at a 3/4 angle. Her head is tilted down, smiling. She's wearing a black hoodie, one hand in a pocket with the other holding her cane, obscured by her tail. She's wearing jeans and black sneakers with white laces.

End ID.]

[themightyhumanbroom]

When we were first introduced to Surge and Kit, I figured that Starline had made them from scratch, and was lying about them having lives beforehand.

But he had no reason to lie. So there’s the worse option, that he not only erased who they used to be, but utterly destroyed any trace of them.

And if they had families, did he kill them?

I wouldn't put it past Starline, being the perfectionist he is, to not only make absolutely sure there isn't a trail that leads back to him but to also to kill some people's parents just so he could have the perfect subjects. But the main obstacle to them having families theory is the can of worms it opens if it were to be true.

Where the hell are everyone else's parents?

It would be a weird plot point because it expects the audience to be shocked about the absence of parents when just about the entire IDW cast don't have any parents active in their lives with the exception of Cream.

And I guess Jet?!?

It gets weirder if you consider that Tangle and Jewel were childhood friends. Who was taking care of them? Were they orphans or had their parents not died yet?

To make things worse, the opportunity to organically introduce the cast's parents has long since passed.

Why? The Metal Virus is why.

Nearly the entire planet got subsumed by the virus. By the end the only organics left seemed to be on Angel Island. If there were parents wouldn't have all of them done everything in their power to make sure they were safe? It can't even be said the writers didn't think of this because of the Cream and Vanilla subplot.

In short, if there was an opportunity to introduce people's parents, it was then.

Why the writers haven't addressed this is anyone's guess. Maybe they don't think it's important or maybe something was proposed but was shot down by the higher ups who want to keep as much distance between them and the Archie Comics (where much of the cast have parents alive and active in the story) because of goddamn Ken Penders.

This makes sense with the OG cast, I can completely understand not wanting to traverse that legal minefield. The thing is that the same problem with Surge and Kit's parentage extends to the IDW original cast. It would also be kinda weird looking if the IDW cast got parents but the OG cast didn't.

This has been a really long way of saying It's a fun idea but I doubt we're gonna learn anything about their, or any of the casts for that matter, parents.

But that's what fanart and fanfiction is for. And believe me, I'm working on it on the fanfiction front.

[lemurious]

So way, way back, in the deep dark ages of 2020 I wrote an entire fic about these Orcs and what happened to them after the War of the Ring. (Imagining that Mauhur survived his fight with Éomer).

A Few Trusty Lads on AO3

Orc love!! <3

‘It’s going well, they say.’ ‘They would,’ grunted Gorbag. ‘We’ll see. But anyway, if it does go well, there should be a lot more room. What d’you say? – if we get a chance, you and me’ll slip off and set up somewhere on our own with a few trusty lads, somewhere where there’s good loot nice and handy, and no big bosses.’ ‘Ah!’ said Shagrat. ‘Like old times.’

Orc love 💖🥰🥰🥰💖

[soupsnspoons]

i really should post stuff that isnt finished more often <- wont do that

[imadethisaccountforwhispangle]

HI BITCHES i made a short 'n' sweet lil whispangle oneshot for da pride month prompts in the rainbow hill zone server (y'all might've seen it floating around it's been posted here recently) the prompt was PRIDE! im happy with how it turned out :D have a good pride month whispangle fans and remember #dykes4lyfe

[rivka-kopelman]

working on new scenes~ you can read my project here

https://www.tumblr.com/rivka-kopelman/734951066650722304/tableofcontents?source=share

[promptcorner]

I’ve been having this thought for a hot minute, and I can’t hold it in any longer.

You all know the number one rule of ghosts? Don’t ask a ghost how they died? Well, let’s expand on that!

What if ghost stories are put in a similar vain? When a human tells a ghost story that is actually true in front of another ghost or in their haunt, or it’s completely fake but the story is about said ghost, they get mad.

Like how in those ghost hunting videos where the hunters share the story near or in the haunted forest or something and the ghost gets pissed. They will either ignore them out of spite or haunt their butts in response.

The thing is, they’re fine with telling people their stories. But only their own story and only if they want to, because it’s still their death story. Unless they know about another ghost’s story and for plot reasons the ghost in question can’t tell it themselves, think the Pariah Dark episode where everyone is sitting around a plug-in camp fire, then they’ll share it.

It would be funny if Danny just never tells a ghost story, especially his own. He doesn’t know what stuff he makes up could be true and make a ghost attack him. Danny is also just tired of hearing ghost stories because of his parents at this point.

So, he goes around it by telling people internet movie/TV/book theories. I’m thinking the Mort Theory.

Just imagine Danny telling a group of people around a campfire in a haunted forest who have NO clue what Madagascar is and sully focusing on Mort in the Theorizer’s tone. He summarizes the first hour or so of the theory (the part where the Theorizer just goes episode by episode and explains the plot and points out all the weird stuff that happens) and it does the job.

It pokes fun at telling ghost stories while not insulting anyone and scaring everyone in the process. And bonus! Danny doesn’t have to share his story for a while!

[qqlettuce]

In Defense of Tangle

I and many of my peers had a pretty heated response to IDW 57 after Tangle's "Big OOF" moment. Given everything we know about their friendship up to this point, it almost seems like character assassination, but after letting it settle and putting more thought into it, I don't think it's as bad as I initially thought. Where I think things went wrong is that the audience didnt have enough context for Tangle's perspective up to this point. When we last saw her, she parted ways with the Resistance to go on a solo search for Whisper. And now all of sudden she's plopped back into this new situation. We have to remember that Whisper was the one that initially left Tangle. This parting that as we know, caused a lot of emotional disruption for Tangle.

And later in 57, Tangle is clearly put off by the mere idea of Whisper trying to separate herself again. Whisper keeps trying to run from her and I'm sure as someone who thought she was the other's closest friend, this would cause a lot of pain and confusion.

I think this would have all hit more effectively if we had gotten a glimpse of Tangle's search. Going out of her way to find someone she truly cares about and with a much more optimistic view of their reunion and future. Her search would be come to a halt when Jewel gives the call to action and possibly even mentions that Whisper is there? This is something that should be good right, she's going to see her best friend again! Looking back at the RI cover, a lot is told that we definitely didn't realize right away. The colors are bright and poppy, there's a cute pose going, and the girls are finally reunited and clasping hands! This issue should be all about fun and cuddly things right? But their expressions spell uncertainty! On the surface everything feels so bright, yet something is wrong. That's kinda how I believe Tangle felt reuniting with Whisper again.

Tangle and Whisper aren't in sync anymore. They've had a lot of time away from each other, Whisper just went through another horrid moment in her life that re-opened a lot of wounds. Tangle seemingly didn't know this from the beginning, and despite the past, the Diamond Cutters aren't an untouchable subject to Whisper. Tangle isn't stupid, she honestly comes off as one of the more emotionally intelligent characters, so I can only believe her namedropping the Diamond Cutters again was an attempt to get positive affirmation from her. She doesnt understand why her friend is acting so coldly around her and she continues to cut her off. I feel Tangle has done more than enough to try and understand Whisper, but now I think it's time for Whisper to understand Tangle.

Still though, I think there was a lot missing from the narrative to properly set this all up and have it not feel so sudden and out of place. I think a filler issue was definitely needed to see Whisper recovering from the Surge dilemma and Tangle on her search to get a good feel of the contrast in their state of minds.

Also even if you still think Tangle's comment were insensitive, I don't know how Whisper gets a pass for this.

[whispangleblogger]

I am not somebody that hops onto the "comic discourse" a lot. I usually prefer to talk things through with my friends and share opinions in private.

But since Tangle more or less got ignored so far i take the chance and talk a bit about her appearance in 64

She jumps in as a supportive character towards Whisper and helps her to prevent another breakdown. While yes, there was a scene in Urban Warfare that did the exact same thing, i feel like with issue 64 we finally see how strong of an impact this support actually has on the page. (I talk a bit more about Urban Warfare further down this post.) I don't even dare and call this bait (Edit: Not my words btw. i saw this used in another heated post. I personally never felt baited in any form. If anything, the girls relationship is one big highlight in these comics.) because it simply isn't. Here is a character that cares for her partner and also is uncomfortable with the whole situation to begin with. She has to decide where her priorities lie. Her reaction is to be expected to be focused on a trembling Whisper and all i can say is i'm glad we finally have a good depiction of that.

Tangle has the right to approach Whisper in ways i think no other character is able to, she earned it and it pretty much shows on this page. Softly taking down Whisper's mask and checking on her, the body language in these panels is chefs kiss. She's truly a bouncy girl, but it's good to see her being serious every now and then, i feel like it's a side of her that people usually tend to ignore. (And i really don't know why that is.) Evan Stanley does always an amazing job if it comes to showing Tangle in a different light or how she cares about her friends and loved ones. In regards about the current arc and even the last one, i feel like this post is a good chance to add my personal take to it as well, since it's been on my mind for a good while now. I feel like 64 finally makes a step into the right direction again.

To elaborate a little on that, i wasn't really a big fan of Urban Warfare, simply for the fact that it's pacing is all over the place. There were a lot of things that needed to be covered, to name a few: - new team building - Whisper's trauma - Lanolin introduced as a new character - a LOT of other teams jumping into the scene - the city itself all squeezed into a 5 book arc. One more book compared to a mini series that usually gives full focus to a set of chosen characters.

To make this clear, there are also good things in Urban Warfare as well but thanks to the fact how rushed the whole story felt in it's core it's a bit hard to enjoy the good bits as well...

Misadventures still deals with the same pacing problem and i believe that is where the real issue lies. As a reader/collector of the books and longtime fan of them, all i can say is:

I wish the comics would get their old, well cared, time for details back. Yes, a story like the Metal Virus was a long run but in the end it was a fantastic read. Mini arcs like Trial by Fire (Still one of my favorites), that focus on other things instead of the usual action, are also very important for character development and add a lot of depth to them. Endless Summer is a great example for such addition as well. These books provide insight into character interaction we usually don't see otherwise. Of course i have no idea how much SEGA is involved into everything if it comes to general decisions like how long one arc is supposed to last and when the next one should start.

(The next part is based on my personal taste, this has nothing to do with the general narrative of the books. I just want to share my thoughts about this since i really don't write them down a lot.)

As a little side note, i feel like Lanolin is a great character so far. Her stubborn and rule book like demeanor as a leader is refreshing to say the least. She also seems to be really close to how her creator ABT imagines her to be and i really appreciate that. But i can't help it and feel like her team dynamic with Tangle and Whisper comes of as rather… rocky ? On a combat level of things it works really good but on a friendship level it's somehow lacking atm. There is this boss and coworker relationship going on that feels more like real work. Obviously though she's new and needs more time to get better established. I guess we will see how this plays out in the future. I'm all in for a good or funny team dynamic but i also can't help it and feel like she works better as an addition to Jewel, running the restoration, the navigator typ that sends intel via com instead of a field combatant. Even if she proved she's good at close combat as well during her encounter with Whisper in 64. That being said, i am all open for surprises and more character development on her part. This is really just a "now" opinion and can easily change over time. I like the sheep, i really do.

[lemurious]

[mme. euphrasie pontmercy pays her respects]

A belated fic for @lesmis-prompts. October 24: girls of Les Mis; October 25: reflections; October 30: love.

Here on AO3 and below the cut (it is on the long side).

She swore to remember them all. She would tell Marius how they had looked, calm and victorious in the morning light.

It was the early morning on the day after the barricades fell, and Cosette quietly slipped out of her house and walked towards the square where the guards were cleaning the rubble.

Cosette knew what Paris looked like at dawn only too well; she’d never been able to kick the habit of waking up while it was still dark, and didn’t try that hard either. Secretly she was almost grateful for the ball of anxiety that inevitably unraveled inside her, pushing her out of bed to scramble into the pre-dawn mist, where she could almost see the silhouettes of the nuns walking over to Matins, almost hear Mme. Thenardier yelling at her to get to the housework already.

It provided her with the only hour when she could slip out of the house, as long as she didn’t make noise, but that was easy, she’d had a lifetime of learning to be quiet. It wouldn’t have occurred to her father that Cosette could’ve been doing anything other than sleeping peacefully, so he'd remained insensible to the little creaks of the floor and a click of the key turning in the lock.

In any case, this morning he was half dead with exhaustion from the previous night, which had brought him home dripping with black sludge and stinking like, Cosette smiled wryly to herself, in a manner her father still had never noticed, well, like the sewers. Well, that wasn’t anything a good bath, or a dozen, couldn’t fix.

And Marius was alive. Her father had told her as much, followed by a dejected sigh, before he slunk off to bed. Marius – her Marius – was fighting for his life, over at M. Gillenormand’s.

From the games of Azelma and Eponine back in what had seemed like another life, Cosette had managed to gather snippets of fairy tales where princes, or perhaps, princesses (she wasn’t too sure about the details) were able to lure their lovers from death’s own threshold with a kiss. That said, it was unlikely that M. Gillenormand would accept Cosette showing up at his doorstep before dawn with an offer to kiss his grandson, and it didn’t seem that sitting at the bedside of an unconscious Marius would be able to achieve much in terms of helping him anyway.

When he woke up, though, Cosette was going to wrap him in her arms and tell him that he was safe, that she would keep him safe, and mean it too, but she already knew that regardless of what he would say to her in response, no reassurances that she could give him would be sufficient.

There was a special kind of a hole that opened in the heart when there was no gravestone where one could go to mourn, and she had enough of those already. There was no need for another one in what was soon going to become her family.  

So well before the bright June sunrise dawned over Paris, Cosette put on her outfit with great care: a black gown, complete with a hat and a pair of gloves, and she would’ve sold her soul for a veil. At least she was pale enough from the sleepless night to have lost the rosy glow of youth, and the rest had to be in the bearing.

When the vocal mothers of the Petit-Picpus were taking one of their yearly baths, they didn’t look any different from the most pathetic, half-mad sisters, and, as one of Cosette’s own ditties had said, they didn’t fart in words of scripture either. Even so, the briefest motion of their hand could make any of the girls freeze on the spot, terrified that she had been found out in some nebulous sin, and one single look could turn the worst troublemaker in the crew into a trembling child, asking for forgiveness.

Cosette had watched, and she had remembered, and she had practiced, alone in the cemetery, scolding one gravestone, and praising another, until she knew she got it. The way to wear the clothes, the correct modulations of voice, the set of shoulders, the spacing between the steps. Much later, on a bench in the Jardin du Luxembourg, she had added to her arsenal the power of a shy glance and a fleeting smile, and a shower of ringlets sent over her shoulder with a shake of her head, which, when wielded with skill, could win her the heart of any young man who wasn’t otherwise inclined.

This morning, she tied her hair back in a severe bun instead, and hoped with all her heart that it would be sufficient.

When Cosette slipped through the gate and strode towards the Place Saint-Michel, watching the sky turn pale grey behind her, she was struck by the silence.  

Not a cart in sight, nor even the morning postman. Not a bakery door open, with the baker singing tunelessly as he was kneading the dough, getting ready to start serving the morning crowd before they went off to work. Not a passing lady of the night, her eyes blank, her feet dragging her home at last. Not a shadow of a worker standing in the corner, hoping to be hired to a construction crew for the day. Not a beggar asleep on a bench in the garden before he was turned out by a guard. Not a single gamin, darting around the corner just out of sight.

Cosette had been used to the sights and the smells of the mornings, and the early risers had known her as the girl who couldn’t fall asleep, who’d come in for the first bun of the day, and give it to the first gamin she met on the way out of the bakery, so it was rare for her not to have a trail of those ever-present kids of Paris, the younger brothers and sisters of the ones she had known when she was a kid herself, and the girls of the convent had devised a complicated system of sending messages, love letters and overripe pears back and forth over the wall, a system that had been carefully guarded and transmitted between generations of students.

Today the streets of her city had turned into a graveyard, and even the birds sounded muffled in the pre-dawn light, as if they, too, were in mourning.

Cosette straightened her hat, and with a look behind her to make sure that she wasn’t being followed, hurried on.

The street-sweepers hadn’t come out yet.

Only the guards were standing around their cannons next to a pile of broken furniture that was slowly getting dismantled.

The captain was giving orders in a hoarse voice to a pair of soldiers barely older than Cosette herself, who were carrying what looked like heavy packages, wrapped in cloaks, and placing them on the ground outside the café, its entire front now pockmarked with bullets.

The last one had finally been brought in, much smaller than the rest, and the soldiers began to argue about which of them would have to go upstairs into the café.

--

Cosette walked straight up to the captain, and with the exact mixture of politeness and disdain that she had learned from a courtesan who stopped by Cosette’s favorite bakery every morning on her way home, bade him a good day, and asked him for a chance to spend a moment alone with the bodies.

“And what does Mlle…? need to do with the bodies?” he asked, clearly bewildered by Cosette’s sudden emergence from the mist.

“Sir, that would be, Mme  – it wasn’t even a lie, not really, she would start wearing the name soon enough, this was just trying it on, like a dress at the tailor’s before it is done  – Mme. Euphrasie Pontmercy, and I would like to pay my respects, thank you.”

It wasn’t what one said. It was how one said it.

Cosette stared down her nose at the captain until he appeared to accept her statement, which in truth had explained absolutely nothing. Perhaps ready for a break himself, he called off the guards and told them to go get breakfast before returning to cleaning the site.

--

Cosette kneeled next to the first body in the line.

The man’s figure was slight, almost as if he’d gone hungry with passing frequency. He had luxurious brown hair and was dressed in a waistcoat embroidered with flowers.

The lavenders and peonies were barely visible through the dark brown of the congealed blood, and the man’s eyes, which were the shade of dark blue that was more striking than any flower, were staring at Cosette with a mixture of surprise and disbelief, as if it was a remarkable inconvenience, and not at all acceptable, that one so beautifully dressed should find oneself dead on this fine June morning.

Cosette stretched out her hand and gently closed his eyelids. She arranged his cravat, and crossed his arms over the chest, and buttoned his coat around the waistcoat, until he looked no less dead and scarcely less bloody, but dignified enough to be lying in state before a solemn funeral, not merely as one of the bodies thrown on the ground.

Cosette stood back to look at the man, made a sign of the cross, pulled up her sleeves and went towards the next body.

She swore to remember them all. She would tell Marius of how they had looked, calm and victorious in the morning light. She would draw them, as best she could, and she would learn their names, and she would ask the sisters of Petit-Picpus to put them in their prayers.

The one whose glasses were all askew, and she had to snap them into shape before she put them back on his head.

The one whose hat she had to climb the barricades to find, and she knew it was his because its band was the exact same shade of purple as his waistcoat.

The one whose hands were holding a gun so tightly that it was easier to arrange it by his side instead of removing it.

The one who had been shabbily dressed, with the right shoe beginning to gape open, and his face blazing with determination undimmed by death.

The one who had a book in his coat pocket, and after Cosette closed his hands over it, she noticed that she was arranging a treatise on fighting infections in the slums as if it were a holy book, and it was entirely appropriate.

The one right before the end.

Her arms were so thin that her wristbones were showing. Her crooked smile made her face look more peaceful than all the rest, and her hat couldn’t quite cover the messy strands of hair falling over her shoulders.

Cosette had met her before. She had used to carry messages for Marius, and even then Cosette could easily see that all she had wanted was to be loved.

“Maybe you had it the easy way,” Cosette whispered, her mouth dry as the dust on the pavement.

“Myself, I will have to live for him instead. I’ll try to do it for both of us.”

She took off her own cloak and covered her tattered dress with it. After rearranging the hair and pinning the hat back on, the woman looked so suddenly beautiful that Cosette surprised herself by smiling at her, as if they were going to exchange little compliments and confidences any time now.

The smile vanished as soon as Cosette had turned to the last body in the line.

This is why the gamins were absent this morning.

There was little that Cosette needed to do. The boy looked perfectly presentable. Someone had arranged his clothes and closed his eyes already. He must’ve died earlier than the rest.

The guards were still at breakfast.

Cosette turned towards the wall, stuck two fingers into her mouth, and let out a high, shrill whistle, echoing down the streets.

It used to be their sign, back at the convent, the one that had warned the boys on the streets that something important was going on, so the girls wouldn’t make it to their meeting place across the wall.

Of course, this had been years ago, and words and signs on the streets change faster than the costumes at the opera. But if this was the only way Cosette could show that the boy was remembered, was loved for who he had been, before what he must’ve thought of as just another adventure, and perhaps, well, perhaps it was –

Cosette brushed her eyes with the back of her hand. There would be time enough for tears later, when she would see Marius, when she would have to help him mourn, and then, help him find joy again. But this morning was hers, and hers only.

The previous night she hadn’t even tried to get out to the barricades, aware that there was little she could do but die, gloriously or otherwise. Instead, she had decided that, should they fall, she would have to live to be worth of the memory instead.

--

Cosette suddenly remembered that before the guards were told to leave, they had been talking about going into the café.

After a short prayer, over the boy whose name she was now going to have to find out together with the rest, she opened the door of the café and stepped inside, to the rubble of the broken furniture, thrown aside to make a path to the stairs.

She found two bodies on the second floor.

While it’s been a while since Cosette had last carried buckets of water for miles, she wasn’t frail by any accounts. Still, it took her the better part of the hour to drag the bodies back down, and lay them side by side, the one in the green jacket right next to the boy, the one in the red vest, who had been held against the wall by the bullets piercing his chest, at the end of the line.

By the look on his face, which could inspire others to follow him even in death, he must’ve been the leader.

The golden light of the morning fell on them all, but the leader’s smile was more radiant than the dawn.

Cosette had noticed that he had looked as if he had been reaching for the other man, the one who had been lying on the ground, and after a brief consideration, she placed their hands into each other.

For a moment, it seemed that the man in the green jacket glowed with the same radiance, but perhaps it was just a trick of the light.

There was only one thing left to do.

Stumbling with weariness, Cosette turned back into the café.

When she climbed up the stairs, to collect what she had left behind while she was taking care of the bodies, she noticed two handprints, clearly marking the wall near the window, and the floor under it.

A heavy dresser stood in the corner of the room, having somehow survived the wreckage. Cosette pulled and pushed at it until she got it wedged under the window, covering both handprints and preventing the soldiers, or the women who she suspected would be ordered to clean up the debris, from washing them off.

If the gamin who Cosette usually found near a bakery in the mornings returned the following day, she would tell him about the handprints, and where he could find them.

Somehow, she felt that it would be more appropriate than telling Marius. The handprints didn’t quite belong to the revolution, nor to the group of friends who had started it. They belonged to the bright June sunrise when the city was in mourning.

Cosette’s skirts were dusty and torn, and smeared with old blood from dragging the bodies. The guards were not going to let her stay around much longer; after the last glance around the room, she grabbed the flag, torn and stained, and folded it until she could tuck it under her arm.

Cosette had thought to arrange it under the flowing golden hair of the leader, or put it in his hand, but then she realized that it would only ensure that the flag would end up in whichever mass grave to where the bodies would be carried.

Instead, she was going to take it home.

--

And after Cosette Fauchelevent truly became Mme. Euphrasie Pontmercy – even though she felt that it had already happened somewhere between the pre-dawn light in her chamber, and the cold skin of the dead bodies under her fingers – she was going to put it on the wall, so that the new friends of Marius and of her own would be able to see it, and hear the story of where it had come from.

And when another barricade rose again, because it was always when and never if, not in this city she loved with all her heart, then the flag would fly over it one more time, and Mme. Pontmercy would stand close behind.  

[pocketscribbs]

my favorite thing is when Sonic artists get creative and consider the characters’ abilities/personalities when drawing them in action

my personal favorite example is Tangle the Lemur and her fabulous tail

she ziplines down grind rails, she’s probably fast enough to spin dash regularly but she instead uses her tails to create her own “spiral dash”(this is what i’m calling it)

just one of the many reasons why I think Tangle is such a fun character, her excitable and thrill-seeking attitude mixed with her powerful, stretchy tail makes for some creative and entertaining visuals

[secretarysong]

very enticed by the idea of mayday's big elf ass ears being weirdly expressive for someone 100% human . Yes as a matter of fact she CAN move her ears independently from each other and yes she CAN angle and pivot them (within reason... they're on a human head after all) in a given direction to hear someone better ... yes they flatten when she's pissed ... it's just an odd little quirk she has

[themightyhumanbroom]

Just had a really funny idea that a lot of the IDW original cast has a lot of weird or alarming misconceptions about humans on account of the only human they've met being Eggman.

Amy decides to educate them about humans after hearing Tangle say with way to much confidence that humans have to eat a dozen eggs everyday or they melt and everyone (Jewel, Whisper, Lanolin, Surge, Kit) didn't question it. This group lesson goes off the rails and the only conclusion the six of them came too, much to Amy's frustration, is that humans love guns but are all terrible shots.

[spiral-lemur]

i hit my foot on a shelf like a minute after posting this idk what it means for me but hey look indulgence and gay people